by Staci Hart
I decided he was my favorite.
Val’s grandmother held her face in spindly hands, smiled brightly. “Ah, mi cariño. You brought your appetite, sí? And a friend?”
“Yes, but I think he only came for your paella, Abuelita.”
They all turned to me, and I stepped into the light of their attention. “It’s true. I’m a sucker for paella, and from what Val’s told me, I might be spoiled forever after tasting yours.”
The old woman laughed, shuffling toward me with arms outstretched. I bent when she reached me, and she placed her hands on my face, her skin paper-thin.
“Tell me your name, príncipe.”
“I’m Sam. Thank you for having me, Abuelita.”
“Thank you for coming with our Valentina.” She searched my face, her lips in a sly smile and eyes twinkling. “Qué lindo.” Her hands moved to my shoulders, then my arms, giving them a squeeze. “Muy fuerte.” She leaned in, saying conspiratorially, “You know, príncipe, Valentina has hips made for babies.”
“Oh my God, Abuela,” Val groaned. “Mama, please?”
Her mother laughed. “Come on, Mama,” she said, taking Abuelita by the arms. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Victoria. This is my father, Matias, my husband, Sean, and our sons, Dante, Francisco, Maximus, and Alejandro.”
Val’s father stepped forward and extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Sam. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I took it, clasping it firmly, pumping it with a friendly shake and a sideways smile. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. If what you’ve heard is from Dante, I’ll go ahead and see myself out.”
He laughed, a genuinely amused sound, touched with surprise. “You’ll learn soon enough that Val’s opinion counts more than all four of her brothers put together.”
Max faked a cough, masking the word lameculos with impressive skill.
I had no idea what it meant, but it couldn’t have been good. This was confirmed by the look Val’s dad shot at him.
“Cállate,” Abuelita said with the flick of her hands. “Fósforo. Don’t listen to them. They are just matches, quick to flame, easy to put out.” She snapped her fingers and gave her grandsons a look that had them glancing at their shoes.
“It smells incredible,” I said, wandering over to the stove where a simmering pan sat, sizzling with black rice and seafood.
“Mama makes paella like I’ve never had before,” Victoria said from my elbow.
Abuela waved her hand again and made a sound of dismissal. “When you’ve made it your whole life, it’s not so hard. Have you ever been to España, Sam?”
“No, I’ve always wanted to go to Barcelona.”
It was Abuelo’s turn to make a dismissive noise. “Everyone wants Barça. Where you need to go is Madrid. That is where you find culture. Food and cava and flamenco.” He curled his fingers in a wave, plucking the strings of his guitar without looking. I could almost see a dancer in my mind, stomping her heels to the beat.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Victoria said. “Boys, will you set the table, please?”
“I’ll help,” I offered.
Val laughed, a tittering sound that indicated her nerves. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I said, reaching for a stack of plates as four hurricane-lobos descended like the thunderhead she’d warned me of.
“We’ll help, too,” Dante said, wearing a wolf smile if I’d ever seen one.
“Great. Grab the knives,” I said, shifting to make room. “And I’ll follow you in.”
Dante humphed. “Maybe you’re smarter than you look—” I almost smiled until he added, “—but I doubt it.”
Her face pinched in fury. “Leave him alone, Dante, or I swear to God—”
“Val, come here and help me with this, would you?” her mom asked from across the room.
Val gave me an apologetic and mildly terrified look. Then, she pinned Dante with one that I was surprised didn’t actually make him combust on sight.
“Coming,” she said.
I waited patiently while they gathered up glasses and wine and cutlery, and one by one, they filed past me into the dining room. Each took the opportunity to eyeball me. Franco was last, his glare punctuated by a smirk and a small shrug.
We moved around the long, rustic table in a silent assembly line. Knife, fork, glass, napkin, and plate—me—last.
“So, what do you want with my sister, Haddad?” Dante’s voice was as fiery as wood coals. “Because whatever it is, I know it can’t be good.”
Knife, fork, glass, napkin, plate, shift.
“Would you believe me if I said I just want to make her happy?”
A laugh from the quartet, dry and distrustful.
“Not a chance.”
I nodded. “Figured. I also figured there’s nothing I can say to convince you. Give me a little time, and I’ll prove it to you.”
Dante glanced at his knife, the light glinting off the blade. “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion you’re full of shit?”
“Because you’re a suspicious guy. It’s the only reason I ended up with Shannon instead of you.”
His square jaw clamped shut and flexed. “Fuck you, Haddad.”
“I don’t mean it like that. It’s part of who you are, man. If you trusted people, you’d get the girl more often.”
Knife didn’t move, and fork, glass, and napkin waited, eyes shifting between us.
“Please don’t stab me with a dinner knife. I don’t think she’d ever forgive you.”
A dry laugh through his nose eased the tension only marginally. We shifted around the table.
“If people were worth trusting, maybe I’d agree. But you don’t know what she’s been through. You don’t know what bullshit she’s put up with. And if you hurt her, I swear to God—”
“Listen, if I hurt her, I’ll come back here of my own free will and let you put that steak knife to good use. I know I don’t deserve her, and I know you don’t have a reason to trust me, but I mean it—I just want to make her happy for as long as she’ll have me. That’s it. That’s all. I know you’ve heard about me, but I’d bet you’ve never heard me to be a liar.”
Dante assessed me, his jaw muscle bouncing. The other brothers shared a look.
“I’ll beat your face inside out, gilipollas. You so much as make her think about crying, and I’ll come and find you in your fancy apartment and bust your teeth like a stack of plates. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear.” I found myself smiling.
When I set down my last plate, I stepped around the table and extended a hand. He rolled his eyes and swatted it away, though playfully.
“Don’t press your luck, dickhead.”
A chuckle rolled through them, and I realized I’d passed some sort of test. Tentatively at least.
Val burst into the room. Her eyes darted from face to face.
“Dante,” she warned, “I told you to leave him alone.”
“Please. When have you ever known me to leave a guy alone who wants to date you? Especially not an immoral fuck like Haddad.” He shot me a look.
Pain flashed behind her eyes at the mention of my past, and for the first time ever, I felt a pang of regret. I’d done nothing wrong, deceived no one. But that truth hurt her all the same.
And I hated it.
I stepped to her side. “It’s all right, Val. They’re just looking out for you. If the tables were turned, I probably wouldn’t have let me walk through the front door, never mind sit at the dinner table. No hard feelings. Right, guys?”
They grumbled their agreement.
She let out a worried sigh, her brows together. “You four have run off every guy who’s ever come around. Please, leave him alone.”
Max laughed. “Poor Sammy, you need conejita to stick up for you?”
My lips flattened. “I don’t need anyone to stick up for me. But I really think you ought to respect your sister whether you agree with her or not. And if you make her unhappy
, then I suppose you’ll have to answer to me. I meant what I said.”
Rather than argue, Dante watched me for a moment with a glint of—was that appreciation? “Fair enough.” He jerked his chin at his brothers. “Come on. I think we could all use a beer.”
They filed out just like they’d filed in—with a glare and a scowl. But we’d come to an agreement, shaky though it might be, and I was calling that a win. Or at the very least, a draw.
She sighed when the last wide back disappeared. “God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
I laughed. “Of course I’m okay. We just had a little talk, that’s all. I like them. They’re scary as fuck, but I like them.”
Val leaned into me and sighed again. “This is stressing me out, Sam.”
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I knew I was walking in to a firing squad, and I came willingly. If I’m remembering right, I think I even invited myself.”
She chuckled. “I don’t understand you.”
I leaned back and captured her chin in my thumb and forefinger to tilt her face to mine. “What’s there to understand? I want to be the guy you bring home to meet your mom. I want to be good enough for you. I want Dante to see I’m serious. There’s nothing to understand beyond the fact that I want you, and I want to make you happy, whatever the cost. That’s it. It’s that simple. So just let me.”
Everything about her softened—her body, her face, her eyes, her lips. And so, I kissed those lips and told her without words that truth once more.
I leaned back from the table, so full that if I’d had another bite, I was sure paella would have spilled out of my nose.
Her brothers wore similar expressions. Alex held his fist up to his lips and stifled a burp.
“Hands down the best I’ve ever had, Abuela. Val, tell me you know how to cook this and that you can teach me. Otherwise I’m gonna be banging on Abuelita’s door for it weekly.”
Abuela laughed, her cheeks high and round. “Or conejita could bring you back again. I’ll feed you whenever you want, príncipe.”
Without any direction, Val’s brothers and father stood and began clearing plates. It seemed to be the way of things; the women cooked, and the men cleaned. I stood to pitch in, but Val stayed me with a smile.
“Let them,” she said quietly. “You’re our guest. It was bad enough manners that they let you help set the table. Abuela won’t stand to let you help clean, too.”
“It’s true. I won’t,” Abuela interjected.
Val’s mom laughed. “Come on, girls. Let’s get the vermouth. Papa, will you play?”
“Si, cariño,” he answered, shifting his chair back, using the arms to lift his weight.
The women left, Val last, offering the sweetest smile before she disappeared into the kitchen.
I sighed, sitting back, not realizing that Abuelo had returned until he was almost on me. In each hand was the neck of a guitar.
“Valentina says you play. Will you play with me?” His voice was old Spanish leather, tanned and smooth.
“I’d be honored,” I answered honestly.
I took the guitar, a beautiful instrument. The strings were soft, the sound full and thick when I strummed.
Abuelo’s head bent, his face untroubled. There was no concentration, only a flickering emotion on his brow, a hint of a furrow deepening, the crease between flexing, relaxing. And he played. His fingers stroked the strings in a blur, every note in perfect time, perfect harmony. For a moment, I watched a master in awe and reverence.
And then I joined him as he’d asked.
It was a simple addition, a quiet succession of chords to whisper under his melody. When he sped, I sped. When he crescendoed, so did I. When he slowed and let the notes sing for themselves, I followed every lead.
When the song ended, my throat tightened. Matias smiled at me.
“Love is music. It’s learning when to be loud and when to be soft. It’s riding the scales up and down. Learning the curves and strings to play the song of your heart. You have to know when to lead and when to follow. When you’re wrong and when you’re right. Love is music, hijo mío. It is the greatest music there is.” He absently fiddled the strings, a brilliant melody exhaling into the room. “I won’t scare you like my grandsons. I won’t tell you not to love her. I’ll only tell you to love her well. Love her like you love music, and she is yours. Love her any less than that, and she is lost. Love her with all of you, or leave her to love someone else.”
My lips parted to speak, but the words caught in my throat. So I nodded just as the women entered the room again with glasses, oranges, smiles, and a bottle of vermouth.
He held my eyes and nodded back before picking up his melody. I followed him in, working only to complement him, feeling the warmth of her hand on my shoulder and the warmth of my heart in my chest.
Love. The word of a thousand sonnets. The word whispered across a thousand years. A word I’d never considered outside of my family. A word I’d never sought.
A word that brushed against my heart like fingertips.
Love is music.
The simple profundity of those three words struck me deep. And when I looked up into her smiling face, I felt the notes in my soul.
27
Believer
Sam
The room was a chorus of noise once more as we pulled on our coats and said goodbye. Abuela kissed both my cheeks and told me to be a good boy. Victoria smiled as brightly as Val and sent me off with a container of paella for lunch the next day. Sean shook my hand with a nod and a smile of approval, and Matias tipped his fedora from where he sat.
The four horsemen scowled at me from the back of the room, and I touched my finger to my forehead in salute. Dante jerked his chin in acknowledgment.
We said our farewells all the way down the stairs, waving once more before the door closed.
Elm leaves crunched under our feet as we left the brownstone behind us.
All the way to the theater, we chatted, though my mind was occupied, processing the last few hours, the last few days. I didn’t know how I’d gotten here, how I’d found this place. How my world had tilted just a little, just enough to change how I saw things.
No, I didn’t know how I’d gotten here, but it was the only place I wanted to be.
The theater was bustling when we walked in, the pit already dark. Musicians played disjointed bits and bobs, the sounds floating over each other in streams, filling the air with anticipation of showtime.
I walked Val to her chair, spent a minute trying to make her laugh. And when I’d achieved my goal and gave her a long, searing, mildly-inappropriate-for-a-workplace kiss, I headed toward the back of the pit where my instrument waited for me.
Unfortunately, that was not the only thing waiting for me.
Ian was leaning against the wall, arms folded, ankles crossed, lips smiling.
Everything about him felt like a lie.
“Well, well, well. Look at what the Spitshine dragged in.”
I ignored the insult to Val, contrary to what I wanted to do, which was put his head through a wall.
But that wouldn’t help matters. So I smiled.
“How’s it going?” I asked without giving a single shit.
“Fine. I didn’t see you at the club last night, but I figured you had a date. I’ve gotta admit, Sammy—I didn’t think it’d be Val.”
“Well, I’m just full of surprises.”
A laugh. “You’re telling me. Imagine my shock that you were with her when the bet was done. I’d ask you what the story was, but after that kiss? Pretty sure the whole orchestra knows. You finally fucked Susie Spitshine.”
Every muscle in my body tensed in unison. “Don’t fucking call her that. And it’s none of your goddamn business. Not anymore. Bet’s up. Game over.”
“Sure, sure. But what’s your angle? To be honest, I’m floored you waited this long to nail her. Think you’ll have her out of your
system by the weekend? There’s a pack of new chicks at the club, just aching to be taught a lesson.”
“Guess you’ll have them all to yourself. I’m staying put for a while.”
One eyebrow rose with the corner of his mouth. “Good one, Sammy.”
I shrugged and picked up my bass. He watched me tune it in silence.
“You’re serious,” he said after a minute.
“You’re the one with a penchant for elaborate jokes, not me.”
“You”—incredulous chuckling—“and Susie Spitshine. Dating. For real.”
“Yes. And if you fucking call her that again, I’ll break your nose,” I said with the seriousness of a cardio surgeon elbow deep in a rib cage.
Another laugh, amused and a little too loud. “Come on. You’re fucking with me, right?”
“Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”
“Not really, which is tripping me out. I mean, you can’t actually mean to date her.”
“Why not?”
He ticked off his fingers. “Because you’re a player. Because you don’t know shit about women’s emotions. Because you don’t know how.”
“Maybe she’s the perfect person to teach me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You honestly think you can be one of those happily-ever-after people? That you can just change? That’s never gonna happen.”
“You’re a fucking cynic.”
“I’m a fucking realist. Guys like us don’t get happy endings.”
“Guys like you maybe. I don’t subscribe to that line.”
He watched me, the darkness behind his eyes hard and cold. For a long, pregnant moment, he was silent. Then, a smile meant to be genuine. But in the tight lines of his face was betrayal. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day. Sam Haddad, all settled down with the little awkward trumpet player and all their hopes and dreams and fucking rainbows and happily ever afters. Wonders never cease.”
I turned to lay the full weight of my gaze on him. He’d said the right things with a tone that was all wrong.
“Angles, right? What’s yours?” I asked.