Luis entered through him and approached me.
"Do you think he'll come?" I asked him.
"Marcos is very stubborn," he replied. “But I have slipped into an emissary that is impossible to refuse.”
He winked at me, and although he tried to be an accomplice I could not deny that I was terrified that she might not come. But she did. Only five minutes had passed since the threat of conversation with his brother, when Marcos leaned out of the grotto, following a vivacious Daphne, who ran into his father's arms.
"What's going on here?" he asked, unable to move from his place.
When his eyes were glued to me, I advanced slowly towards him. But at that moment, Nerea entered in his footsteps, dazed too, and I stopped in the middle of the road.
“What's going on?” she wanted to know.
Her presence was a heavy blow to me. I didn't know why they were together but it certainly wasn't what I had expected and for a moment I was completely blank, feeling like the most ridiculous person in the world because my parents and their own were there. Everyone would see his rejection and how he traded me for his ex-wife on the same stage where he had prepared our own liaison. However, something was activated inside me when Nerea shook his hand and he kept looking at me. In the time we had been together I had learned to decipher every look in those dream eyes. Suddenly I didn't care about Nerea, I didn't care about ridicule and I didn't care about humiliation. I continued to advance and stood in front of him.
"When I was 13 years old I fell in love with a boy to whom I didn't dare say anything," I said. “High school was over when we turned 18; he left and I left. I lost him. Even then I was a disaster with legs. And I still am 14 years later. I've been an imbecile, Marcos, and I've been very wrong about you. But I don't want to lose you again. And if you accept... I want you to be my husband.”
Marcos looked at his mother, who smiled sadly, as if she feared that her son would take badly the fact that he had become my accomplice in this. Then Marcos turned his attention back to me.
"Have you prepared a wedding?" he asked.
I nodded, excited and on the verge of tears.
"Our wedding," I clarified.
“And you've brought everyone here.”
“All of them.”
"God..." he exclaimed.
“I'm not telling you this because I'm proud of it; it must have been much earlier and I should have told you the truth but... I've left... Well, I canceled... you know, everything. I want nothing more than to be with you. Don't take me away from you, Marcos. Please.”
He sighed deeply and his silence exasperated me.
"Don't marry her," Nerea asked him then.
I fixed my eyes on Marcos's ex, responding to the challenge of his people, who would have killed me if they had been able to do so.
"Nerea..." murmured Carmen, begging.
"Don't mortgage your life for a while of fun," she continued. “Remember everything we've lived, everything we've been through together.”
Marcos looked at her, surprised, I supposed, at that unexpected confession; or at least, unexpected for him because I had been very clear from the beginning what Nerea was feeling.
"It didn't work..." he replied.
"We will learn from our mistakes," she added, holding him by the face. “I will take care of you, I will watch over you and I will strive to give you tranquility and calm, I will invest every second of my existence in helping you and not in stupid things like plaguing a cave with candles, a cursed idiocy that is of no use to you. Does this look like a wedding to you? she exclaimed, releasing Marcos and approaching me. A wedding was the wonderful day he and I lived in, in a beautiful tent in the country with a lot of guests and... This is just garbage, one more mockery. What you should do, if you really want to, is leave him alone and understand that being with me is the best thing for him, that I do care and I don't just enjoy it while I can.”
Marcos closed his eyes and let go of his hand. Something told me that he wanted to intervene but he was hurt with me and I assumed that he wasn't born to defend me either.
"I think Marcos is old enough and intelligent enough to choose for himself," I replied, "even though you don't give a shit about his decisions."
"The decision to die? she exclaimed, more upset.
Marcos snorted as he looked at me.
"No," I replied, "the decision to live. In his own way.”
"Nerea," said Alejandro, Marcos's father, "your thing didn't work in its day, and now my son has the right to rebuild his life, to be with whomever he wants."
“Of course. His son chooses this woman to have a good time but me when he feels bad and I think that shows who he really trusts, who should be by his side. Who he really needs.”
"What do you mean?" I demanded to know. "Have you felt bad?" I asked Marcos.
“Today he felt bad and it was me to whom he called, me to whom he appealed. Not you.”
“Why don't you shut up, you harpy?” intervened Victoria.
It had taken a long time. Marga held her and tried to calm her down but my friend was at her peak.
“Victoria...” I mumbled too.
“No Victoria, no shit!” she shouted, "To begin with, no one has invited you here, and to continue you should understand that your time has passed. Or do you want me to make you understand?" She continued, as she rolled up her sleeves.
"For God's sake, Victory" Marga muttered, frightened.
"Victoria calm down, please," I asked her.
Marcos was still looking at me, but he couldn't speak, overwhelmed by his mother's concern.
"Aren't you well?" she said. “Why didn't you say anything, son? All this has been a mistake; you should be resting and not here.... This bunch of crazy things won't help you or...”
I moved away at that moment and tried to leave the grotto, aware that what I had planned was not going to happen there, feeling like an idiot for arranging a wedding without the boyfriend. But Marcos followed me and grabbed my hand, preventing me from leaving. The wind was blowing with a little more force out there and I fixed my gaze on the little points of light that were lost in the blackness, as if through them I could find a path that threatened to disappear. I realized that Marcos was observing what I was observing.
"I was just tired," he explained. And angry.
“And you have called her...”
Our gazes met then, fearful of finding something that would prevent us from moving forward, a harsh confirmation that would put an end to what we had built.
"I have called her... I was furious with you, hurt.”
“Did something happen?”
Marcos looked at me, mute, and I felt that something in me threatened to break.
"Have you slept with her?" I insisted. I didn't even know why I was asking that question. To see it would be devastating. But I assumed I needed it.
"No," he replied, to my surprise. “It was about to happen, but I couldn't do it.”
“How far did you go?”
Marcos sighed and put his fingers to his temples.
“We kissed. We began to undress and... When I laid her on the bed, I was only able to see you sitting there, crying a few days before while I packed your suitcase. I couldn't. Then Daphne called and said to come to the beach, follow the trail and that she needed me. I didn't understand anything but... here I am. I just want to know something" he added, after a long silence.
I looked at him, waiting for him to expose his doubts.
"I can understand," he began to say, "that you didn't dare tell me that you were with someone but... the fact that you hadn't left him.... Were you hesitant to go on with him when I...?”
“No. No, Marcos. I swear I didn't. I'm not even going back to the United States. I want to stay here," I added, looking at the sea.
"Marcos..." Nerea muttered, suddenly appearing.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, turning to her. “I can't stop screwing up with you. But this is the end of it.”
She looked at him, disconcerted.
"Are you going to... marry her?” She asked. Here?
"If she still wants to..." he replied, looking at me.
Nerea left without a word, and no matter how strange it was, it didn't give me any sense of triumph.
“Will you marry me, Claudia Delgado?” He asked me.
“How can I say no to you, if I have organized everything myself?”
I laughed nervously as I embraced him. Feeling him in that moment fitted in with me gave me back all the air I had lacked those days before, although paradoxically he installed in my heart a silent fear that I would not recognize and that, probably, Marcos would already know: if his absence had become so suffocating in a few days, how would I manage to face the definitive?
"I missed you." he muttered, his voice muffled.
He moved away, slowly and caressed my cheek, smiling with a halo of bitterness.
"Does that mean there's a wedding?" Carmen burst in, accompanied out there by his son Luis.
“There is, Mama. Of course there is.”
Carmen held Marcos without further delay and dragged him by the arm to the entrance of the grotto.
“I always dreamed of accompanying my son on his wedding day... with a decent dress, I mean, not with that sequined horror that Luis bought me for your wedding with Nerea.”
Luis rolled his eyes as he returned inside.
"You look beautiful, Mama," said Marcos
"I love you, my life," she replied emotionally.
"I love you too," he muttered.
"Do you see how Claudia is magical?" he whispered to Daphne.
The girl looked at him as if she didn't understand. Then Marcos's crystalline, excited eyes fixed on me, as I also walked on the arm of my excited father up there. Don Tomas' words were mixed with the rumor of waves that I gave priority to because they meant, in some way, one more extension of Marcos, a handle for the future. We repeated the vows and put on the rings; identical to the one that Marcos himself had given me only a few days ago, in the middle of any secondary road. Actually, mine was the same. I had given it to Luis and he had placed it on a small cushion that Daphne had brought with him. And after pronouncing the 'yes, I want' most emphatic of all my life, after hearing his, we kissed. I hugged Marcos as if it was going to be the last night together, the dreaded end. But it wasn't. That was just one more beginning in a life together that we had filled with beginnings.
We said goodbye to everyone with kisses and congratulations. The next day we would eat together at his parents' house to do it in a more intimate place but where at the same time no one was missing. The next day. Because that night, Marcos was mine and that night our particular honeymoon would begin, that we would interrupt only for the banquet with our own and that we would take up again later not to finish it anymore.
I took Marcos by the hand and we walked out, leaving that beautiful grotto that we had turned into our particular sanctuary. It was not a huge tent full of guests in some luxurious spot. But it was ours. When we set foot on the beach, we observed the row of candles that was lost in the sand, up to the promenade. Marcos kept looking at them.
"You used them to show me the way to you," I explained. “And I use them to show you the way to our next destination.”
“Do we have to follow them?”
“You have to follow them.”
“How far?”
“I don't know.”
“Have you put... have you put of this for all...?” he interrupted himself, incredulous.
I loved to get him to be speechless, to look at me in a way that made me feel unique, transmitting to me a mute appreciation and admiration.
“To tell you the truth, I have had help. I suppose Luis will bill you for his physiotherapist.
He laughed and I held him by the hand, following the path of little dots of light. When we got to the promenade, we saw that they were still crossing the road and the small park there.
"God..." Marcos muttered, shaking his head.
"That's right, Mr. Saavedra, you'll have to leave the motorcycle here for the night; we'll walk.”
“I can't leave my little girl here," he complained, hugging me.
“Your little girl will be fine. But your wife wants you.”
“You're incredible, Claudia.”
“I know. But seriously, you have to leave her here. The road was shorter on foot and the candles were out of my budget. Besides, the police put us in a lot of trouble and... Well, there are things you don't have to know.”
Marcos laughed as he turned around and we started to walk, following that peculiar trail. It was incredible the dimension that the simple act of crossing that small town on foot acquired from Marcos' hand. At times, I would climb on his back and we would run, laughing, screaming; at times we would stop and we kissed. The road grew delightfully longer until the last little candle led us to the door of his house.
Marcos took me in his arms, as tradition tells us, and we entered the interior, but everything he found there, as soon as he crossed the door, made him gently let go of me so that he could continue to admire himself. Once again the little dots of light showed us the way, this time to the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, the guest room... When we reached the staircase leading to the upper floor, the trail of lights forked. I took him by the hand and climbed a step, making it a little higher than he was.
“It doesn't matter where those lights take me, Marcos; you'll be in each and every place I go. Always.”
He came over to kiss me, but I shook his head, dragging him by the arm.
“A little patience.”
We reached the room, and as he entered, he stopped at the threshold. The walls were completely lined with photographs of him and me. And in the center, just above the head of the bed, the oldest of all: the photo of the end of the year in high school. Coincidentally or not, we posed together among that large group of students and I had cut out all the others, leaving only him and me, two 18-year-olds smiling, more him than me, looking straight ahead and unaware of all that life had in store for us. Marcos approached the bed and found that his name and mine were traced with an inexhaustible pile of glitter. I approached him and wrapped my arms around his waist.
"The petals are very visible," I whispered.
"And you have thought that smearing us with glitter is a good idea," he replied, smiling.
“Actually it was Daphne's idea.”
“Do you ask a five-year-old what you're going to put in your bed on your wedding night?”
“Well, I'd rather consult with her mother but you know how children are. She advised me to decorate her uncle Marcos's little bed with glitter, and how can I say no?”
“You can say yes and then do what you think is most convenient.”
“That would be lying. Besides, I find it very exciting. Don't you?”
I stood in front of him and got rid of the white dress, in the purest Ibizan style, that I had worn that day.
“The truth is that I've never done it under such brilliant circumstances.”
“That's the idea, to do things in a way you've never done before, don't you get it yet?”
I didn't even give him time to answer. I started unbuttoning his shirt while my lips devoured his. His hands managed to erect my skin by sliding along my back, my sides, my arms, my hips. We fell on the bed and the glitter scattered everywhere. I closed my eyes and laughed, just like Marcos, but immediately we forgot everything and focused only on ourselves; it didn't matter if there was glitter or stones on that bed, because in the arms of the other everything was simply perfect.
It wasn't the first or the second time that Marcos and I had made love, but that night something was different. And it wasn't marked by the fact that we were married because that for us was just a symbol, one more in a relationship that required them to become continuous signs that would guide me in particular when he was gone.
The glitter adhered to my skin when the sweat became a second layer
, designed by Marcos and composed by each one of his caresses, his kisses, his movements on me. Everything there was delicious. I pushed him, turned him over and ended up on him, walking my hands along his chest, lost in a symphony of groans that he accompanied perfectly with his breath shot. Suddenly Marcos sat down and lifted me up, dragging me out of bed.
"What's going on?" I managed to ask expensive questions.
“Are you all right?”
It was unbelievable. With his face full of glitter of all colors, disheveled and covered in sweat, Marcos was still the most handsome boy I had ever seen.
"I'm fine," he replied, not letting go of my belt, "but I'm starting to eat it," he muttered as he spat.
I couldn't help it. I burst into laughter and let myself be led to the shower, where Marcos opened the tap of the hot water that didn't take long to cover us, stripping us of that artificial glow. He kissed me on the lips, trying to restrain a desire that was evident in the way he looked at me. Marcos didn't want to be brusque with me but I could perceive his desperation to monopolize my whole body with his hands; to perceive and understand why the same thing happened to me with him. I walked my hands on his intoxicating chest, while he held me by the hips and lifted me up, carefully placing my back against the wall.
His hands slipped to the beat of the water, sliding through my thighs, the line of my hips, my waist, towards my breasts, which he sought also with the lips, with the tongue. I was unable to bind a groan. I grabbed his hair tightly and delighted my other hand on the lines of his back, his arms, his chest. Everything in him was perfect, necessary and vital to me. Two bodies destined to fit, to be braided between gasps, ties of pleasure and words which escaped in broken whispers. He looked me in the eyes, while I traveled in in a rush of unique sensations, of new perceptions: the warm touch of his saving hands running through my naked body; his breath against my face, his lips blessing every part of my being. His pressure against me was accentuated when I lost the ability to breathe, clinging to him with more strength and Marcos' groans turned for me into celestial music that drew a smile on my face.
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