by Alexa Land
It was like I remembered it, only better. The old wood floors had been refinished and were glossy and amber-colored, and the white plaster walls looked like they were freshly painted. To my left, a red, overstuffed couch and matching chairs were clustered in front of a stone fireplace. Red plaid drapes framed the windows, adding to the cozy atmosphere.
Tucked in a corner to the right of the fireplace was a six-foot-tall Christmas tree. It didn’t have any ornaments, but it was swathed in white lights and looked beautiful. The crisp pine scent perfumed the air. “The housekeeper really outdid herself. I just asked her to pick up something simple, like a little tabletop tree,” Ignacio said. He looked around and added, “All the furniture comes with the cottage, by the way, so I hope you like it.”
“I love it.” A little laugh slipped from me, and I said, “My Christmas present to you is so stupid. I need to write you the world’s biggest IOU. But what the hell do I get for someone who gave me back a piece of my family history, and some of the very best memories from my childhood?”
“As long as you’re happy, that’s all I want.”
“I am, and I’m so incredibly grateful, Ignacio. I’m also completely stunned.”
“Why don’t you look around while I bring in our bags?” I kissed his cheek and nodded. He seemed to know I needed a couple of minutes alone to process everything that had just happened.
The other half of the main living area, opposite the fireplace, held a sturdy dining table with four chairs, which was adjacent to a charming country kitchen. It still had the same 1950s appliances I remembered, which I thought was fantastic. A hallway led past the kitchen to the one bathroom and a pair of bedrooms. The smaller of the two had been converted into a cozy sitting room with lots of built-in bookshelves. At the end of the hall, a big, brass bed nearly filled the master bedroom. Its linens were dark yellow, a shade deeper than the honey-colored walls.
The entire cottage was barely a thousand square feet, but that meant it was more than twice as big as my apartment. I suddenly realized my life back in San Francisco felt like a distant memory, even though I’d only been gone a week. How could I feel like I was home, when I hadn’t been here since I was ten years old?
I took off my shoes and socks and draped my jacket over a chair in the corner before climbing onto the bed. The linens were soft, and they smelled like laundry detergent. I stretched out on my back and grinned at the bronze light fixture on the ceiling. Like every fixture in the cottage, it originally held candles, and later it had been converted to accommodate oil lamps. Later still, it had been wired for electricity. The cottage’s entire history was represented in those funky, old fixtures, and I was so glad the previous owner hadn’t decided to update them.
After a few minutes, Ignacio joined me in the bedroom. He was barefoot and dressed in just his long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans, and he carried two glasses of red wine, which he put on the nightstand. I kissed him deeply when he stretched out on the mattress, and then I said, “I never want to leave here. I suppose that’s a bit problematic, since I have a job back in California.”
“The nice thing about being a painter is that I can work anywhere, including little cottages in the Irish countryside. Given that, maybe someday you’ll decide to quit your job and let me take care of you. We can spend part of the year here and divide the rest of our time between San Francisco and anyplace else that calls to us. I may not be rich, but we could still live comfortably on my income.”
I smiled at him and asked, “What would I do all day, once I was a kept man?”
“Anything you wanted to, including pursuing your music. You’re an astonishingly gifted violinist, Cam. It’s a shame nobody but me ever gets to hear you play.”
“It’s a nice fantasy, but—”
“I know. You’re not ready to turn your whole life upside down, but maybe someday.” Ignacio picked up my hand and held it against his chest. After a pause, he asked, “Are you hungry? It feels like it should be dinnertime, but I guess that’s just because it’s been getting dark so early.”
“I’m definitely looking forward to our Christmas Eve feast, but first, I’m planning to work up an appetite.” He grinned as I pulled off his shirt and cupped his ass through his jeans, and then he rocked his hips and rubbed his cock against mine.
Within minutes, both of us were naked and sprawled out on that big, comfortable bed. He climbed on top of me and grasped my cock and his, then began jerking us off. After a minute, I asked breathlessly, “Do you still have that blindfold?”
He leaned off the bed and pulled it from the pocket of his discarded jeans before asking, “Which one of us is wearing this?”
“Me, to begin with.”
“You sure?”
I nodded and said, “I trust you.” I raised my head for him while he tied the bandana over my eyes. My heart was racing, but I’d meant what I said.
He began to slowly, tenderly, kiss and caress every part of me. My breath caught when he licked and then lightly bit my nipple. I felt him shifting around, and he parted my legs and knelt between them. He ran his hands down my body, and when his warm, wet mouth closed around the tip of my cock, I moaned softly.
Waves of sensation pulsed through me, and in just a few minutes, I cried out as I came in his mouth. When I felt his hard cock against my thigh, I tried to push past the anxiety that welled up in me, and I murmured, “You can finish in me if you want to.”
Ignacio kissed my stomach and said, “We’re not ready for that yet, Cam.”
I clutched the sheets and whispered, “But you need to cum.”
“You’re right, and you’re going to help me.” He shifted around, and I grinned and relaxed as he straddled my shoulders. His voice was low and sexy when he told me, “Open your mouth.”
I shivered with pleasure and did what I was told. Something brushed my lower lip, and I stuck my tongue out and grazed the tip of his cock. He trailed it over my mouth again, and I bucked my hips and ran my hands up his thighs.
On the next pass, I caught it between my lips and sucked him eagerly. Ignacio started fucking my mouth with slow, rhythmic thrusts, and I reached down and began jerking myself off. I didn’t know if I could cum a second time, but I was hard again and wildly turned on by what was happening.
A few minutes later, Ignacio shot in my mouth with a sexy grunt, and I swallowed his cum as I clutched his ass with both hands. When he finished, he stretched out beside me and caught his breath. I pushed the bandana onto my forehead and smiled at him as I said, “That was phenomenal.”
“It was the perfect first course.”
“What do you mean?”
Ignacio smiled too and slid the bandana back over my eyes. Then he whispered in my ear, “We’re just getting warmed up.” As his fingertips skimmed my cock, laughter tumbled from me. I was too damn happy to contain it.
*****
Later that night, we curled up together on the couch in front of a roaring fire, beneath the big comforter from the bed. As he idly rubbed my thigh, I murmured, “This is the most perfect Christmas Eve in history.”
We’d fooled around for hours. Once we finally left the bedroom, we feasted on the lavish meal we’d brought from a Dublin restaurant before winding up on the sofa. I felt wonderfully satisfied. Judging by Ignacio’s grin, it was safe to say he did, too.
He said, “It’s just gone past midnight, so it’s officially Christmas.”
“It is? In that case, I want to give you your present.” I pushed the comforter aside and got up as I added, “It’s not nearly enough after the gift you gave me, but I hope you like it.”
I unpacked my violin and bow, which were on top of the luggage near the front door, and spent a minute tuning the instrument before returning to the seating area. As I stood beside the fireplace, I fidgeted with the waistband of my plaid pajama bottoms and murmured self-consciously, “This is just called Ignacio’s Song, because I’m terrible at naming things. I composed it for you.” I rested the violin
on my bare shoulder and took a deep breath, and then I began to play.
I’d written the song with the nearly impossible goals of trying to show my boyfriend what he meant to me, and somehow conveying how happy I was when we were together. Even though nothing could ever truly achieve that, I was proud of what I’d done. For nearly five minutes, I played through my composition, keeping my eyes on the instrument. The song built and built, until it reached a joyful crescendo.
When it was finished, I placed the violin and bow on the coffee table and turned to look at Ignacio. His eyes were bright with unshed tears and he stood up and pulled me into an embrace. Then he whispered in my ear, “I love you, too.”
Chapter Twelve
Ignacio looked incredibly sexy as he wandered into the kitchen the next morning. His hair was tousled, and he was dressed in just a pair of red flannel pajama bottoms, which rode low on his narrow hips. When he saw I was making pancakes, his face lit up. I kissed his cheek and said, “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Better than I have in a very long time.” He kissed my bare shoulder, then tore the edge off a pancake from the teetering stack on the counter and popped it in his mouth.
“There’s coffee. I made it on the stovetop because there’s no coffee pot. It turned out a bit strong, but it’s not horrible. Fortunately, the previous owner left behind a couple of pots and pans, along with some dishes. Either that, or the housekeeper thought to provide them. That’s a damn good thing, because otherwise I’d be trying to cook these on a rock in the fireplace. I was determined to make you pancakes on Christmas morning.”
“Thank you for doing that.”
“Very welcome.”
He stood right behind me and wrapped his hands around my waist, and then he nuzzled my shoulder and asked, “Can I help with anything?”
“No thanks, I’m on the last batch.”
He kissed my neck while I flipped the pancakes in the cast iron skillet. Then I looked around for something to hold the warmed syrup. I ended up using a teacup, which I brought to the table with the pancakes and a couple of side dishes.
After we stuffed ourselves, we stood side-by-side at the cast iron sink and enjoyed the lush, green landscape outside the kitchen window as we did the dishes. A flock of sheep provided entertainment. As if on cue, they all trotted to the east, then banked south before coming to a stop. I grinned at my boyfriend and said, “The sheep are organizing. That’s probably a bad sign, since they outnumber us twenty-to-one.” He chuckled at that.
Once the kitchen was cleaned up, I stacked another log in the fireplace, which was keeping the entire cottage nice and warm. When I joined Ignacio on the couch, he produced a small notepad, which had the name of our hotel in Dublin printed across the top in tiny letters. He tore off a sheet and handed it to me, and as he got one for himself, I asked, “What’s this for?”
“Our Christmas tree is beautiful, but it needs some ornaments. Have you ever done any origami?”
“I learned how to fold a crane when I was about eight or nine.”
Ignacio smiled at me and said, “That’s exactly what I was going to suggest, since it’s the only thing I know how to make.”
For the next half-hour, we lounged on the couch with our legs entangled and folded an entire flock of cranes. Once all the paper was used up, we placed them on the branches of our Christmas tree. I stepped back to admire our handiwork and said, “It’s perfect.”
“I think so, too. In fact, it’s the best tree I’ve ever had. It’s also the only tree I’ve ever had, unless you count the little tinsel thing in your apartment.”
I turned to Ignacio and kissed him tenderly before asking, “Do you want to go for a walk? There’s something I’d like to show you.”
“Absolutely.”
We bundled up, since the sunshine was deceptive. The temperature was probably only in the mid-forties, but we warmed up quickly as we set out across the fields. “I only sort of remember where the thing is that I want you to see,” I admitted, “so we’ll have to explore a bit. Oh, and we’re totally trespassing on someone’s pastureland right now. I hope the same family still owns it, because they were always nice about my forays onto their property when I was a kid.”
Recent rains had left the ground damp and spongy, and our feet made little squishing sounds as we walked. Ignacio picked up my hand and squeezed it, then kept holding it as we trekked past the flock of sheep. They were round and fluffy with their thick winter coats. It didn’t seem like their skinny little legs should be able to support them. Ignacio bleated at one of them, who was watching us closely. When half the flock answered, we both burst out laughing.
Eventually, we reached the hills and started to climb. “I promise this’ll be worth it,” I said as I scrambled over a boulder, then held my hand out to Ignacio and helped him up.
Finally, about forty minutes after we left the cottage, we stepped around an outcropping of rocks and I exclaimed, “Oh hey, I actually found it!”
Before us were the stone ruins of some ancient buildings. Only two partial outer walls, the rough outline of a room, and three crumbling towers remained, but they were grand and imposing. “I stumbled on these as a kid. I choose to believe they’re the remains of a castle, but honestly, I have no idea. They remind me of the dream castle you painted for the kids at that community center, which is why I wanted you to see them.”
Ignacio looked awe-struck. He wandered into the open space between the walls and piles of rubble and exclaimed, with an American accent for some reason, “It’s my castle exactly, just like the one from my dream! Or what’s left of it, anyway. Thank you so much for bringing me here, Cam. This is extraordinary!”
As I caught up to him, I smiled and said, “I’m glad you like it. Funny that you’d choose to say that in an American accent. It’s even more convincing than your Dublin one.”
Ignacio turned to me with a look of panic and murmured, “Oh God.”
“What’s wrong?” He took a step back from me, and I asked, “What are you doing?”
He took another step backwards, his eyes wide and full of agony as he whispered, “I can’t believe I slipped up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He turned his back to me and took a deep breath.
A feeling of dread crept down my spine. I didn’t know why he was acting like that, but something was obviously very wrong, judging by his reaction. “Talk to me, Ignacio,” I said, “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Please don’t ask. I’m begging you. Just pretend the last two minutes never happened.”
But I couldn’t let it go, not with that faint but persistent alarm bell going off deep inside me. “Tell me what has you so spooked.”
“I have to go.”
He started to leave the ruins, but I called after him, “I don’t understand. How did you slip up? Please talk to me.”
He stopped walking, and after a long moment, he turned to face me. His arms were wrapped around himself and he looked devastated. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
He whispered, “That I’m a total fraud.”
“What does that mean?”
Several seconds ticked by. The only sound was the breeze rustling the tall grass. Finally, he said, again with the American accent that didn’t fit him at all, “I’m not Ignacio Mondelvano. That person doesn’t exist. My name is Joe Martinez, and I’m from Inglewood, California, not Barcelona.”
“I don’t get it. I mean, I know you have to be joking, but I’m missing the punchline.”
“Ignacio is a character I invented. Nobody gave a shit about Joe or his paintings. He faded into the background. But Ignacio got people’s attention.”
A cold, terrible feeling squeezed my stomach. “You mean…you lied to me?”
“I lied to everyone. I got introduced to Ollie Caravetti as Ignacio, and I put on my act. I never planned to take it this far, but he was so kind to me.
Days turned to weeks, then months. I couldn’t tell him. I just couldn’t. He was like the father I never had. How was I supposed to admit to him that it had all been a hoax, nothing more than a pathetic attempt to sell my paintings? I did the only thing I could do, I let Joe disappear, and I became Ignacio full-time. It was easy after a while, even the accent. It just became…me.”
I took a step back, staring at him with disbelief as I whispered, “I only asked for one thing. I asked that you never lie to me.” I had to force air into my lungs. It felt as if something enormous was pressing on my chest. Maybe it felt like that because my entire world was collapsing in on itself and smothering me in the process.
“I know. God, I’m sorry, Cam.”
Anger rose in me like flood water, cold and dark. It completely took me over, and I yelled, “I trusted you! God damn it, Ignacio, I fucking trusted you! Do you know how hard that was for me, after everything I’ve been through?”
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
He took a step toward me, and I squared my shoulders and hissed, “Don’t.”
Ignacio looked hurt as he stepped back. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears, and I was breathing too fast, which was making me light-headed. He turned and walked away. I let him.
I felt like I was in a terrible dream, where reality was bent and distorted. That couldn’t have just happened. It couldn’t. Ignacio wouldn’t lie to me. He loved me. He….
He wasn’t real.
Ignacio Mondelvano was just an act.
A lie.
I sat down on the ground. Cold and dampness soaked into my jeans. I didn’t care.
I was shell-shocked as I pressed my eyes shut and concentrated on my breathing. Slow breaths in, slow breaths out. That was all I could manage over the next few minutes.
Once I’d calmed down a little, I hugged my knees to my chest and began to replay our entire relationship. There had been so many clues, from the mask tattooed on his arm to the fact that he switched accents at will and had shown me again and again that he was a perfect mimic. But I’d never suspected something like this. Who would? He’d kept up that fake accent all the time, in every circumstance.