I tried to think, and in my frazzled state came up with nothing. “I have no idea.”

“I love you because you are you. You’re a little bit crazy, and I find that more interesting than being normal. You’re passionate and I find that more fascinating than being calm. You’re curious and adventurous and sexual, and you’re full of life and you make me want to be a better man, to live louder, to bend and break all the damn rules.” He kissed me hard and I was so shocked by it, shocked by his words, I didn’t have time to reciprocate before he broke away. “And those are all the reasons why my parents will fall in love with you too.”

I gave him a shy smile. “Well, except for the sexual bit.”

“Hey, they are happy as long as I am happy. And Vera, you make me happier than I have ever been. Even now, even with all this shit going on around us, I am still happy because I have you—by my side and in my bed. We will get through this. I promise you. I swear on the stars.” He raised my hand to his lips and ran them over my knuckles.

My lip quivered. Fuck, I was getting really tired of getting so weepy all the time, but at least now these were happy tears.

Mr. and Mrs. Casalles lived in a two-story stucco house on the outskirts of the city, in a nicely kept suburban neighborhood. It kind of reminded me of home, except all the houses had this wonderful Spanish-style architecture and the gardens were a lot more colorful.

Mateo pulled the car up into the driveway beside Lucia’s Mercedes. It was funny—the car that Mateo drove was just a black SUV, nowhere near as flashy as his sister’s, even though he could obviously afford a Mercedes himself. I liked that about Mateo, how he had quite a bit of wealth, but aside from the suits and the apartments, he didn’t really flaunt it.

I got out of the car, conscious of my every step, every movement, walking in slow motion. He came around to my side and looped his arm through mine.

“Did I tell you yet how beautiful you look?” he asked, grinning down at me.

“No,” I said. “Did I forget to tell you the same?”

He stroked along his beard, holding his face in his hand. “This old thing?”

We walked up the stairs to the porch and rang the doorbell. I was surprised he didn’t barge right into the house.

I held my breath as I heard footsteps on the other side. The door opened and an older man with a thick grey beard and glasses peered out at us. He was a tad shorter than Mateo, slightly portly, and I was immediately reminded of a thinner George R. R. Martin. He even had a fisherman’s cap on.

“Papa,” Mateo said with a respectful nod.

His father smiled only slightly at his son and then fixed his eyes on me. He raised his bushy silver eyebrows and said something in Spanish to Mateo.

Mateo looked to me. “Papa doesn’t speak English. But he thinks you’re very pretty.”

Now I raised my brow. That didn’t seem like what he said.

Luckily there wasn’t time to stand on the porch and think about it. He opened the door wider and Mateo led us inside.

The home itself was cozy and inviting. Very Spanish—lots of tapestries, some Dali and Picasso prints among pastoral landscape paintings, walls of color mixed with wood. It smelled amazing, like herbs and olive oil.

“Mateo!” a woman cried, coming out from what I assumed was the kitchen, wiping her hands on her messy apron. This must have been Carmen, and at first I was shocked at how young she looked until I remembered that his father had waited ten years before he remarried.

She put Mateo’s face in her hands, squeezing it until I had to laugh, then kissed him twice on each cheek. She was a tall woman with a lively, friendly face. When she finally focused on me and I could see that same warmth in her eyes, I knew she was just a friendly, good person.

She came right over to me and embraced me like I was an old friend. “Vera,” she said, her accent heavy. “I am so happy to meet you, Vera. I have been asking Mateo about you.”

I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say. She pulled away, and with a firm grasp on my shoulders, looked me up and down. “You are very beautiful. Such a lovely face.” She looked at Mateo. “She is an angel, Mateo.”

“More like an angel in disguise,” he said gleefully, biting his lip at the daggers I was shooting him.

“Oh, you are no good,” Carmen said to him. She looked back to me. “Are you hungry? I hope you are hungry.” She started leading me toward the living room. “Come, come, sit down.”

Mateo’s father said something but Carmen waved him away. “Quiet Sebastian,” she admonished him. “Mateo’s father doesn’t speak a word of English but don’t worry, he is more harmless than he looks. He thinks he’s turned into Hemingway in his old age.”

I wanted to make a remark about George R. R. Martin but decided not to push it. I had a tendency to gang up on people when I was trying to make friends.

Carmen sat me down on a worn velvet sofa. Mateo joined me while his father and Carmen disappeared into the kitchen.

“You are doing great,” Mateo said to me, putting his arm over my shoulder. “Carmen is very lovely.”

“Yes, she is.”

His father came out a moment later holding a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. He gave us one each and poured the bottle of red into our glasses. Mateo thanked him and he only grunted, shuffling back into the kitchen.

“My father is shy,” Mateo said. “And, well, he can be a bit of a grump before he’s had his wine. He will loosen up later, you will see. I bet he is nervous about you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because he doesn’t speak English and wishes he did,” he said. “He always wanted to learn, he just never got around to it.”

“Maybe I can teach him English one day,” I suggested. “Apparently I am good at it.”

“You are,” he said, clinking the edge of his glass against mine. “And even the fact that you would offer that makes me very, very happy.”

We finished our wine while Carmen worked in the kitchen. Eventually his father came out and made small talk with Mateo, becoming more animated the more wine he drank. Then Lucia came down, a sullen look on her pretty face.

“What is wrong, sister?” Mateo asked in English, giving her a hug.

She shrugged. “Carlos isn’t coming for dinner. He is working late. Again.”

She came over to me and gave me a quick hug. “Nice to see you again, Vera,” she said sincerely, even though she was pouting a bit.

“Fuck Carlos,” Mateo said.

“Mateo!” Carmen admonished him from the kitchen. “Please be nice.”

He laughed. “I am serious, Lucia. He is always cancelling on these dinners. When are you going to give him the boot?”

She glared at him. “His reasons are all true. Don’t be so overprotective.”

He sat back down, pulling me against him. “I am not overprotective. I am just getting annoyed that you are dating the invisible man, that is all. I mean, how do you even kiss him if you can’t see his face? Seems complicated, yes?”

I elbowed him, feeling like Carmen. “Be nice.”

He grinned at me like a jackass. “What? It’s true. I wonder about such things.”

I rolled my eyes, though secretly I was enjoying the banter between the two. Playful Mateo was always fun and he really loved to rile Lucia up who fell into his trap every single time.

Dinner was pretty much the same thing, except that his father was smiling a lot more. He asked me a few questions too, which eager beaver Lucia translated for me. The food was amazing—finally some authentic homemade paella that wasn’t made for tourists—and there were endless bottles of wine. I was pretty buzzed, laughing at everything, while Mateo stayed sober so he could drive us home. And by the time that came, I actually didn’t want to leave. I had a long embrace with Carmen and even Sebastian seemed affectionate enough when we said our goodbyes. For all his grump, there was an innate kindness in his eyes.