Unable to resist, I grab it and unlock it with my thumbprint, then open the YouTube app and search Vega’s name. Her channel comes up first in the search results. Viva la Vega.
I go to her channel, grudgingly impressed when I see that she has over two million subscribers. I scroll through an exhaustive list of beauty tutorials until I find the video she uploaded the day after my interview with Reyes.
I pause for a moment, my finger hovering over the screen as curiosity eats at me. Do I really want to know what she had to say about Reyes and me? Does it even matter?
With a sigh of self-disgust, I click off YouTube, shut off my phone and toss it on the bedside table. I’ve tortured myself enough for one day.
Too agitated to sleep, I get up and wander into the sitting area to admire the large oil painting hung above the marble fireplace.
Avi Nicolau’s interpretation of Da Vinci’s Madonna and Child depicts Natalia cradling Reyes in her arms. Her expression is achingly tender as she gazes down at her infant son’s sleeping face.
Like the portrait displayed in the wine cellar, Avi Nicolau perfectly captured the minutest details: the faint dimple in Natalia’s cheek, the feathery wisps of Reyes’s black lashes, the delicate folds of his skin.
Trying to ignore the strange pang gnawing at my insides, I turn away from the haunting painting and head into the bathroom to shower, brush my teeth and get ready for bed.
I have every intention of waiting up for Reyes so we can talk and hash things out. But once I slide under the covers, a fresh wave of exhaustion hits me and I soon drift off in the big comfy bed.
I’m awakened sometime later by the gentle strum of a guitar.
I sit up slowly, blinking groggily in the moonlit darkness.
Who in the world is playing a guitar at—I squint at the bedside clock—one o’clock in the freaking morning?
Groaning in grumpy frustration, I flop back against the pillow and am about to cover my ears when I hear a deep, melodious voice.
I bolt upright, my heart pounding excitedly.
Reyes!
Tossing back the covers, I jump out of bed and throw on a robe over the tank top and shorts I slept in. Then I rush across the room, fling open the balcony doors and step outside.
The sight that greets me brings tears to my eyes.
Reyes stands below the balcony strumming a guitar and singing softly in Catalan. His head is bent over the instrument, black hair falling across his face and concealing everything but his moving lips.
Gathered behind him with broad grins are Greer, Alejandro and Uncle Miquel.
Heart swelling with emotion, I stand in the shadows listening to the deep timbre of Reyes’s voice as he serenades me with a stirring ballad called “Sense tu (Without you).” Even with my limited Catalan vocabulary, I can appreciate the sheer loneliness of the heartbroken lover who despairs over living without his soulmate.
When Reyes lifts his head and I see the raw longing in his beautiful golden eyes, it doesn’t matter what the lyrics mean. He could have been singing about drying cement for all I care. What had started out as a painfully lonely evening is now the most unbelievably romantic night of my life.
When the song ends, I lean over the railing with a huge, silly grin and call down to Reyes, “I thought you only knew ‘Points of Authority.’”
“I lied.” He smiles up at me. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what you said earlier . . . .”
“Yeah?” I straighten slowly, my heart doing jumping jacks. “And?”
He slides the guitar over his head and hands it off to his uncle, then takes a few steps closer to the balcony, gazing up at me in such earnest that I almost melt right there on the spot.
“Emerson,” he says huskily, “you mean everything in the world to me. I can’t imagine being apart from you another second, can you understand that? I don’t want anyone else. Never have. You are the love of my life, sweetheart. Ets l’amor de la meva vida.”
My hand flies to my mouth as tears rush into my eyes. “Reyes,” I manage in a strangled voice. “I love you so much.”
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“I said— Oh, to hell with this,” I mutter impatiently under my breath. “Wait, I’m coming down!”
“You’re doing what?” Realizing my intent, Reyes begins protesting as I clamber over the railing and latch onto the sturdy branch of a nearby oak tree.
Reyes’s protests are joined by the others’ alarmed exclamations.
Ignoring their warnings, I steadfastly descend the old tree, securing my footing with each step as Reyes shouts at me from below. When I’m within a few feet of the ground, he instructs me to jump so he can catch me.
I land clumsily in his arms, laughing as we nearly fall on our asses. Reyes is half hysterical with anger and relief.
“What the hell’d you do that for?” he exclaims, grabbing my face in his hands. “Are you fucking crazy? You could have broken your damn neck!”
I laugh, breathless with exhilaration. “I guess those tree climbing lessons came in handy after all, huh?”
He scowls. “That was ages ago, Emerson. When was the last time you climbed a tree?”
“Um . . .”
He shakes his head at me, fighting a smile. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Crazy about you, Reyes Malone,” I declare, showering his face with kisses. “I love you so much. I never stopped.”
“I know, baby.” He clings tightly to me, returning my kisses. “I love you so fucking much it hurts. Don’t ever leave me again.”
Emotion chokes me. “I won’t. I promise you.”
He draws back, his eyes penetrating mine. “Marry me, Emerson. Say you’ll be my wife.”
I don’t even hesitate. “Yes, Reyes, I’ll marry you!” I exclaim tearfully, throwing my arms around his neck. “Again and again and again, I’m yours!”
We seal the deal with a kiss as Greer, Alejandro and Uncle Miquel burst into cheers.
Reyes drags his mouth from mine, grinning a mile wide. “Almost forgot.”
I watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dazzling engagement ring with an emerald-cut diamond the size of an iceberg.
My jaw drops. “Oh, my God . . .” My stunned gaze swings from the ring to his face. “How . . . when . . . ?”
He takes my left hand and slides the ring onto my finger. The enormous diamond catches the moonlight, causing the facets to sparkle and dance.
Tears swim into my eyes. “Reyes . . .”
He buries his hands in my hair and brings our faces together, whispering fiercely against my mouth, “We got our second chance, carinyo. Let’s make it count.”
“Yes. God, yes.” I’m laugh-crying as his lips crush mine, drawing more cheers and whistles.
From an upper floor window, Àvia takes in the scene with a triumphant smile. And then, clasping her hands in giddy excitement, she hurries from her bedroom to share the joyous news with the rest of the sleeping household.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
EMERSON
Our wedding is scheduled for next Saturday.
Since we were both raised Catholic, we don’t argue when Àvia insists on us marrying in a traditional Catholic Mass. The venue will be the historic cathedral pastored by Father Lozano, the family’s longtime priest who married Reyes’s parents thirty years ago. Nestled into the hillside in a neighboring village, the church looks stunning in photos. I can’t wait to see it in person.
After a celebratory family breakfast in the solarium, Reyes and I go for a walk in the garden to discuss wedding plans. I’m dying to share our wonderful news with my mom and Zoe, but it’s too early to call anyone in the States. I’ll have to wait at least a few more hours.
“We can call my dad and sister,” Reyes says, pulling out his phone. “They’re in the same time zone in Italy.”
“Really? Your dad’s in Italy?”
“Yeah. He spoke at an agriculture conference in Rome this week. Af
terward he hopped a plane to Milan to see Mireia. We can tell them our news at the same time, kill two birds with one stone.” Reyes steers me toward a wrought iron bench in the shade of orange trees.
As we sit down, he opens up Skype and hits the video call button. In moments, his father’s handsome face fills the screen. He appears to be sitting in a wide open square flanked by grand buildings with a sculpted fountain at the center.
The moment I see him, something reaches into my chest and squeezes tight.
“Hey, Dad,” Reyes greets him warmly.
“Hello, son.” The sound of that achingly familiar deep voice makes tears sting my eyes. “I was going to ask what you’re doing up in the middle of the night. But I see it’s daylight there. Where are you?”
Reyes grins broadly. “I’m in Spain visiting the family.”
“Really? I didn’t know you were planning to go this month.”
“I wasn’t. It was spur of the moment.”
His father chuckles. “I bet your grandmother was over the moon. Bet they all were.”
“Pretty much. Look who’s here with me.” Reyes leans over, holding the phone between us so his father can see me. “Remember her?”
I beam and wave. “Buongiorno, Mr. Malone!”
He stares at me, his lips parted in disbelief. “Emerson?”
I smile, my throat thick with tears. “It’s so good to see you.”
A big smile spreads across his face. “Young lady,” he says gruffly, “you are a sight for sore eyes.”
“So are you,” I say with a watery laugh. “You look wonderful. How’ve you been?”
“Can’t complain.” His smile deepens, beautiful blue eyes shining with delight. “God Almighty. I couldn’t have asked for a better surprise than this.”
Reyes grins and wraps one arm around my shoulders, pulling me close and kissing the top of my head when I lean against him.
“Where’s Mireia?” he asks his father.
“She went to the restroom. We’re having breakfast at the piazza.” Brooks grins at me. “How are you enjoying Spain?”
“It’s amazing,” I gush. “Spectacular. Breathtaking. I’m never leaving.”
Reyes and his father laugh.
“Who’re you talking to? Is that Reyes?” A young woman’s face appears on the screen. “Hey, big bro—” She breaks off, her jaw going slack when she sees me. “Emerson?”
I grin at her. “Hello, Mireia.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispers, staring at me in shock. “It’s really you.”
I laugh. “It’s really me.”
With her luminous tawny eyes and high cheekbones framed by long black hair, Mireia Malone bears such a haunting resemblance to her mother, it’s like staring at a ghost.
“It’s so good to see you two together!” she proclaims, beaming ecstatically at Reyes and me. “Where the hell are you?”
“I brought Emerson to Spain.” Reyes grins at his father and sister. “We have something to tell you.”
Father and daughter trade excited glances, then stare at us expectantly.
“Last night I proposed to Emerson, and she said yes.” Reyes’s grin stretches wider. “We’re getting married.”
Mireia squeals so loudly that we burst out laughing.
“Congratulations,” Brooks says with hearty satisfaction. “This is the best news I’ve heard in a very long while.”
“Seriously! It’s about damn time!” Mireia exclaims, shaking her head at us. “We’ve always known that you two belonged together. All of us—the whole family. Reyes was absolutely crushed when you broke up with him, Em, and I’ll be the first to admit that I went back and forth between hating you and missing you. Mostly hating you,” she admits with her characteristic honesty. “Dad wanted to stay in touch with you, but I told him that Reyes would feel hurt and betrayed. I would have too, truth be told. I thought you didn’t love my brother anymore, and that was a bitter pill to swallow. But then I saw the way you responded to him when he came on your show, and I realized that you were still very much in love with him.” She gazes at us, tenderness softening her expression. “Words cannot express how happy I am that you finally found your way back to each other.”
Reyes and I exchange quiet, poignant smiles. “So are we.”
Brooks drapes an arm around Mireia’s shoulders, and she gives him a grateful look as if to say, Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.
He tweaks her nose and then smiles at Reyes and me. “So when’s the big day?”
“Next Saturday.”
“What!” Mireia gasps in shock. “That’s less than two weeks away!”
“I know,” Reyes says. “We didn’t want to wait too much longer—”
“And we both want to get married here in Spain,” I add warmly.
“Very much.” He smiles at me before telling his father and sister, “Àvia and Uncle Miquel know people who can expedite the paperwork for our marriage license. If I have to grease some wheels, so be it.”
Brooks chuckles. “I guess there’s no point in me flying back to the States on Friday.”
“Yay! We can spend more time together!” Mireia smooches her father’s cheek and then eagerly rubs her hands together. “Emerson and I need to talk bride stuff. Reyes, you and Dad keep chatting. I’m going to call Em on her phone.”
Her father and brother laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
I give my number to Mireia and wave goodbye to Brooks. Reyes kisses me and winks, then rises from the bench and wanders off to continue Skyping with his father.
When my phone buzzes, I answer the call and start chuckling at Mireia’s ear-splitting squeal. “Better be careful before the polizia come arrest you,” I warn teasingly.
She throws back her head and laughs—a delightfully throaty, infectious laugh that turns heads. She’s practically skipping across the piazza, too excited to sit still at the table.
“Oh, Emerson,” she gushes breathlessly, “you and Reyes have made us so damn happy! You should see Dad. He literally has tears in his eyes!”
I smile softly, feeling pretty choked up myself.
Mireia grins excitedly at me. “We have to find you the perfect dress.”
“I know. Aunt Blanca says we can find something in Barcel—”
“You can’t wear something off the rack!” Mireia exclaims in horror.
I laugh. “It’s okay. I’m not picky.”
“Ah, yes,” she laughs. “How could I forget what a tomboy you were? You always hated wearing makeup and dresses. But this is your wedding day, Emerson. You have to look fabulous. And since you’re marrying an NFL star, you already know there’ll be paparazzi helicopters circling overhead and snapping pictures.”
“God, I hope not.” I shudder at the thought. “Anyway, I hear what you’re saying, Mireia. But there’s not enough time to have a dress custom made.”
She casually studies her manicure. “That might be true for people who don’t know any up-and-coming fashion designers.”
I stare at her. “What’re you saying?”
She gives me a look as if the answer should be obvious. “I’m saying that I’ll design your dress!”
“Really?” I’m stunned by the offer. “You’d do that for me?”
She laughs. “Are you kidding? You’ve just made my brother the happiest man alive! Designing your wedding dress is the least I can do!”
My throat tightens with emotion. “But it’s such short notice, and I know how busy you are. You can’t just drop everything—”
“Says who?” She grins. “Given what a famous couple you and Reyes are, this will be good publicity for my fashion house.” She puts a finger to her pouty lips, thoughtfully appraising me. “Hmm. I already have some ideas percolating. As soon as we get off the phone, have Senyora Molina take your measurements and then text them to me so I can get started on your dress.”
I grin and salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mireia slows her steps, her expression sobering and her
tone softening. “After Mom died, I promised to wear her wedding gown when and if I ever get married. I won’t break my promise to Àvia. But you were very special to Mom, and I know she would want you to wear something of hers on your wedding day. So I was thinking . . . maybe you could wear her veil? It’s so beautiful, and seeing you in it would mean a lot to Reyes.”
My heart melts at the touching request. Smiling through my tears, I tell her, “I would be honored to wear your mom’s veil.”
Mireia smiles at me, her eyes glistening with tears.
I look up as Reyes slowly approaches. I can tell by his tender expression that he overheard my words.
After his sister ends the call, he frames my face between his hands, leans down and kisses me ever so softly before whispering, “Thank you.”
Planning a wedding is stressful under normal circumstances. Pulling one together in less than two weeks will be a monumental task, and I honestly don’t think I’m up for the challenge.
After just one day of discussing bridal bouquets and table centerpieces, I’m only too happy to let Reyes’s grandmother and aunts take over most of the planning.
After consulting with Mireia, I decide to allow her and the rest of my bridesmaids to choose their own gowns from a pastel color palette that Mireia calls “sublimely perfect” for a spring garden wedding. She also wants their dresses to be floor length to complement mine.
I relay these details during a Zoom video call with Zoe, Teagan, Daisy and Susanna Malone on Thursday evening. They’re excited about the wedding, laughing and chattering noisily, sometimes talking over one another as they ask me questions.
Like my mother and Zoe, Susanna wept for joy when she heard our engagement news. She’s the only member of her family who plans to attend the wedding. Her parents and grandparents probably don’t approve, which doesn’t bother me as much as I might have expected. Susanna is the only likeable one in the clan—hence why I asked her to be a bridesmaid.
I grin at the girls’ happy faces staring back at me on the screen, Brady Bunch style. Each face occupies a square, mine appearing on the bottom left.
Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1) Page 28