Sebastian’s other hand moves to rest in the hollow between my collarbone and throat. Our deep intimacy and his ever-present nonverbal support make it easy to talk to him, and I go on. “Funny, I’ve always believed a mother’s first and foremost role is to make her child feel special, no matter what. I guess mine was absent from that crucial lesson.” In a way, I feel purged after pouring out my heart. The adrenaline fueling within me also makes me . . . gutsy. I turn to lay on my belly, my chin on Sebastian’s stomach. His eyes meet mine, and he is about to say something, but I cut him off.
“What’s the real story between Lola and you?”
Chapter 19
“Torn”
Natalie Imbruglia
He nods. I couldn’t appreciate more the fact that he doesn’t try to play it as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about or try to brush it off. In the same breath, I’m not sure I want to know the real story, particularly with his soft expression morphing into edged solemnity.
“We’ve been friends forever. I guess she’s what you’d call my best friend. She’s also essentially a family member. Our moms are close friends. They always teased us about how we’d get married when we grew up. Though I always assumed there was much more behind the joking.
“We were inseparable. Lola even followed me to study abroad. For the sake of our friendship, we used to have ‘the talk’ every now and then, about how we felt toward each other and how it would ruin our friendship if these feelings were other than platonic. I never had any feelings for her, in that sense. I always thought she looked good, but I never found her attractive. She’s always been like a third sister to me. She used to insist she felt the same way about me.” His eyes drift from mine to the ceiling. “That was until one of our friends from college died in an accident. It was hard. We were pretty close to him.”
“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice. Sebastian nods to the ceiling. I kiss his bare stomach, and he resumes.
“Lola was devastated. She dated him a couple of times. It didn’t work out, but they remained friends. When we heard the news, an immediate memorial gathering took place in one of the rooms in our dorms. Lola didn’t want to go; she felt it was too painful and wanted to just be with me. We ended up in my room, passing a bottle of cheap scotch between us in silence. When she asked me to hold her, I did. It was the most natural thing in the world.”
And as the plot thickens, the less I want to hear. The tighter my stomach twists.
“Then she kissed me and asked me not to stop.” He sighs, his tongue moves to stroke his front teeth. “We were sad, we were shocked and shattered, and we slept together.” His eyes search mine. “I’ve never regretted anything more in my life.”
I nod.
“The morning after, when she told me that she had feelings for me, I told her I didn’t feel the same way. She swore it wouldn’t change anything between us, and that she didn’t want to lose me as a friend.” Sebastian’s jaw tenses. “Lola found out she was pregnant a couple of months later. For her, coming from a Catholic family, keeping the baby was the only option.”
My stomach clutches. I keep quiet, watching him attentively.
“When a child and the closest person to you are involved, you choose them over yourself. I told Lola I’d marry her and that we’d raise the child together.”
Many questions run through my mind. All of them leave an acidic taste in my mouth.
“I felt like I was giving up my life at the age of twenty-one.”
I tense, waiting for the rest of his story.
“When we came back home for Christmas break and told our families, Lola was already three months along. Our mothers couldn’t contain their joy, regardless of our young age or the fact that I was torn.” His voice dims. “I was about to give up my life . . .” Another dejected sigh leaves his mouth. “There were complications and she lost the baby two weeks later.”
“Sebastian,” his name is a whisper on my lips. I lace my fingers through his in empathy.
“It tore me apart. I was broken. I felt like somehow it was an unspoken wish of mine fulfilling itself. I hated myself for the longest time for the simple relief I felt.”
“Sebastian, you were trapped in something you didn’t want, and yet you stepped in and was about to give up your own future and happiness just to make sure others were taken care of. That’s such an incredibly selfless thing to do. It’s not your fault that the pregnancy ended that way.”
“I’d never let myself get into such a commitment again unless I’m more than a hundred percent positive it’s what I want. Hell, I can’t even think about going through anything like that again.”
I couldn’t agree more. Nevertheless, I can’t ignore the heavy press his words have on my heart.
“So, that’s the story,” he concludes. “We are still good friends, friends with substantial baggage,” he adds in bitterness. “And I can only assume my mom’s attitude toward you comes from the fact that she never really got over the idea that Lola and I will never get married.”
“Wow,” I breathe. There’s so much to process.
“You feel better?” he asks, catching me by surprise. “The hangover?”
“I think I do,” I say, unfocused, pondering what he just laid before me.
“Let’s go for a walk. There’s something I want to show you.”
Chapter 20
“Poison and Wine”
The Civil Wars
I sit at the garden café, having a glass of Cava, waiting for Sebastian, who had to meet his dad for a short recap of the day. I cross my legs under my A-line, floral halter-neck dress, tapping my green slip-on shoes against my heel, while contemplating the way I’ve opened up to Sebastian about my mom and thinking about a fragment of a conversation I had with Dr. Schmurtaz before I left for Spain. Thoughts that make sense of my recent actions, choices, and mostly, my inner dilemmas. “You have to take on the job of changing your patterns yourself. An answer from me won’t get you anywhere, it will just be a waste of your time,” the doctor said. His words keep echoing in my head to a point, which makes me question therapy in general.
Perhaps, it is time I started changing my own patterns. Perhaps, instead of finding so many ways to be troubled by what Sebastian shared with me earlier, I should just be glad he shared it with me, opened up to me, and let me in. With the next sip of my bubbly drink, I decide to take a break from therapy once we are back home. Take a break from overthinking, and everything that threatens to overshadow my current bliss.
“Ready?” Sebastian offers me his hand. I gift him with a thin smile, admiring the sight of him in casual attire. Black cargos and a black snug tee. Simple, yet delectable.
“Where are we going?”
“Have you ever been to a wine cellar?” The mischievous expression on his face makes me think he might have asked something much less innocent.
“Not yet.”
He brings my hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss. “Let’s go.”
After a short walk in the gardens, we return to the main house. Sebastian holds the door for me and nods at the lady at reception. He guides us to a wooden door adjacent to the restaurant and then to a flight of stairs that ends in a darkened, cave-like cellar. He sends me an intense look as we walk through a thick brick walled corridor.
We are welcomed by a musty, moldy scent once we enter a vast room with rows and rows of wooden barrels lying against natural stone walls. It’s chilly, humid, faintly lit, and majestic. I run my hand over one of the cold surfaces of a barrel, and lift my eyes to the stoney arched ceiling. I take in the dusky place and turn to look at Sebastian.
“It’s beautiful, in a perfect murder setting kind of way.”
Sebastian’s lips tip up to the side. “There’s more.” Sebastian’s low voice echoes in the opulent room. I follow him to a smaller room covered wall to wall with bottles of wine nestled in dark wood racks. The wall of large barrels hides the room; a small cave in the darkened underground cellar.
> “Would you like a taste?” he asks.
My eyes trail to Sebastian’s. I hold his gaze and glide my tongue over my lower lip. “Yes,” I say softly. “Of you.”
Sebastian takes a step forward. He brushes my hair back over my shoulder. Slowly, he tilts his face, nearing my collarbone. He flutters his lips over my skin, raising bumps in his wake. Even slower, he leaves a trail of supple kisses up my neck, to my cheek, toward my mouth, while gently guiding me backward with his weight.
My back meets the round belly of a barrel when I send my hand to Sebastian’s neck and pull him to me for our mouths to fuse. Sebastian’s hands skim over my dress, tracing my curves. One of his hands roams under the hem of my dress, slowly grazing my thigh, reaching higher. His other pulls down the straps of my dress and bra, revealing my lace covered breast. Leaving my mouth, he suckles my skin, kissing my neck, descending in igniting bites lower and lower. He wraps his warm lips over my nipple that hardens under the lacy fabric barely covering it. He sucks hard, biting, sucking again and leisurely laps his tongue to soothe the heated peak. My eyes roll back in my head and a soft moan funnels through my lips. I keep my head tilted back, savoring Sebastian’s touch. I bring my hand to his hard chest and stroke his defined ridges toward his belt. I slide my hand under the belt till I reach him. I wrap my hand around the taut, warm skin and watch him halt then drop his forehead to my chest, his eyes closed. His breathing picks up as I gently squeeze him, rubbing my thumb over the head.
“Liv,” he growls.
“Yeah.” I stroke him in long lingered strokes while pushing my middle against him. Sebastian inclines his head to look at me with a stare that melts my insides. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as his fingers graze over my underwear. With his eyes burning mine, he rips my panties off me, tucking them into his pocket. His hand reaches back to me. His thumb dipping between my pleats, slowly pressing harder as he caresses it in long, slow motions. We hold our stares firm when he pushes a finger into me and I stroke him firmer, reaching the base and cupping him in my hand.
“God . . . Sebastian,” I breathe.
“Joder,” he groans.
Sebastian sinks another finger in me and my head drops back. “Unbuckle my belt,” he commands. In a matter of a few short beats, his pants drop to a pool of fabric at his ankles, and my dress is lifted to my waist. He grabs me by my thighs and lifts me to straddle him. I wrap my legs around him. One of his hands moves to a higher barrel, holding the weight of us both. His other cradles my rear, holding me right in front of him.
“Take me inside you,” he rasps.
Holding his gaze, I reach for him and guide him closer. I rub him against my arousal as his stare on me darkens. I position him right where I’m burning for him and when he pushes in, in a fluid thrust, we both freeze at the sensation.
“I want you so much.” An irresistible urge coats my words. And he pulls out and pushes in, this time harder, just like I need him to. “Harder,” I cry out and he submits. To my rapid breaths and rough tug on his hair, he increases his thrusts to a forceful, intoxicating pace. He pounds harder, repeatedly, in a rhythm that makes me build up faster. The ample room echoes with the sounds of our erratic breaths, pants, curses, the sound of flesh against flesh, and our names on each other’s lips. He drives wildly into me, filling me completely, his wide length touching all the right spots. I grip him harder, one hand in his hair, the other around his neck. I dip my mouth to reach his firm shoulder and bite it hard as I absorb his raw, blessed attack. I become slicker and greedier, feeling him grow thicker in me. He slows to steal some hungry kisses from my lips. I squeeze him deeper, tighter, as I climb to the very top through my ecstasy. And as he slams into me with undeniable fire, I let go with his name enlaced through my cry. Not long after, Sebastian chases my climax with his own.
Chapter 21
“Matters of the Heart”
Tracy Chapman
They say each day we die a little more. Physiologically, it obviously couldn’t be more true. In a sense, even mentally we do. Life has a tendency to wear us out, even when it’s good to us. Even through moments of great happiness and bliss, we still age. However, since the moment I arrived here, since the moment I met the girls, and mostly, since the moment I met Sebastian, I feel like I’m getting a little more alive every day. Though I haven’t done anything truly momentous or grandiose, these past months have been the happiest I’ve been in a long, long while.
“Coffee?” Vivian asks from where she fusses about with a few orders behind the counter. Resurfacing from my philosophical musing, I send her a questioning stare. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Liv?”
I nod, still somewhat pensive, my thoughts pulling me back to earlier this morning. To when Sebastian left my place. To how he kissed my lips, lustful and ardent enough to leave me yearning for more while he’s away. Sebastian left this morning for Lisbon for a week. A business trip to further negotiate the new opportunity his father mentioned when we were at the resort, which feels like ages ago now. My lips settle in a calm arch as I think of what’s coming next, at the end of the week. This coming Friday, I am to meet Sebastian in Barcelona, where we plan to stay on his family’s boat for the weekend. I’m not sure what excites me more about the weekend, Barcelona, which I’ve wanted to visit since I arrived in Spain, spending time on a boat with Sebastian, or just simply spending the weekend with Sebastian.
“Everything okay?” I ask Vivian, who settles into the seat beside me. She continues to rub her hand on her chest, a hint of pain soaring over her face.
“Si, si. It’s just this pain; it comes and goes, started last night. I think I just slept wrong. It’s nothing, I’m sure. It’ll go away.” She puts her ever-present smile back on.
“Are you sure?”
She dismisses my concern with a nod. She eyes me for a lengthened moment, bringing a Carquinyolis toward her mouth. She bites into the Spanish biscotti version, eyeing me curiously, her stare narrowed as though she’s trying to read me. I glance backward, checking if any of our friends have arrived yet.
“I’m seeing Sebastian,” I say in a low voice, answering some unspoken question. “I spent the weekend with him in Masquefa.”
She doesn’t say a word, her lips tipping up behind the biscotti she holds next to her mouth.
“I’m going to tell the girls, but I really don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
Her eyes joyfully join her smile.
“I thought I’d tell you before, since you know him and all.”
She keeps silent, her calm smile unbroken.
“And since it’s just a temporary thing, with me leaving in a few months . . .”
She nods with an easier smile. “I’m glad for you.” She squeezes my hand and rises to stand. Uncharacteristically, she doesn’t add a word and instead heads toward the working area. Her reaction, the enigmatic bright expression she has on makes me think of a gypsy fortune teller who has just found out what your future holds and for some reason is not willing to share the revelation.
I stare at her, confused. “That’s it?”
She glances at me over her shoulder. “Yes. I’m glad for you, both.” The flat undercurrent of her response and that little secretive glint in her eyes leaves me bothered, even concerned.
Dominique is the first one to join us. She kisses me airily on both cheeks and glides to the seat at the head of the table. “Is everyone coming?”
“Embar has a thing, she said she might drop by later.”
Dominique nods. “I see you had a good weekend,” she determines after throwing me a brief, yet exhaustive side-glance. I smile at her in response.
Stephy joins us just as Vivian sets an aromatic duet of Manchego cheese fondue and chunks of crusty, crackly bread on the table. When Alma shows up moments later, Vivian adds small dishes of jambon, cubes of apples, marinated mushrooms, and gherkins.
“Dzese will go great wiz a Chenin Blanc,” says Dominique, gesturing to the fiesta on the table.
Vivian tells Dominique to check the pantry and I can’t help cringing at her wince when she rubs her chest again. I listen to my friends as they rave about the flamenco show they went to over the weekend, the one I was supposed to join them at. Every now and then I send concerned glances Vivian’s way. She is not her usual, vivid self. Something about her is off.
“Hold up, Liv, weren’t you supposed to join us?” Alma says, prompting everyone’s eyes to focus on me. Uh oh. Okay, I can’t keep hiding my relationship with Sebastian. That would be simply ridiculous. However, the last thing I feel like doing right now is plunging into a discussion about my lover, which I’m sure is inevitable. Noticing Dominique’s subtle grin, I decide to announce the news Frenchie Bitch style.
“So, I’m going to tell you something and each one of you gets to comment on it in three words and then we drop the subject. Okay?”
Alma and Stephy’s brows furrow on cue and Dominique’s smile expands. Vivian just sends me a soft glance. I down the rest of my wine.
“I’m sort of, um, I’m in a relationship with Sebastian Balle.”
Stephy’s mouth drops and Alma’s smile is so wide I fear it might split her face right in the middle.
“You lucky bitch.” Dominique winks at me and takes a drink of her tall glass.
“Wow, good for you. Both of you, I mean.” Alma’s grin doesn’t lessen.
“That was nine words, but I’ll let it slip,” I counter with a smile of my own.
Stephy’s baffled expression gradually fades. “You and Sebastian?”
I nod.
“What, like, he’s your boyfriend?”
I nod once more.
“Awesome!”
I let out a light giggle. When I turn to Vivian, all I get is that glee in her eyes, the one she had when I told her about Sebastian in the first place. I make a mental note to talk to her alone later and find out the root cause for her strange behavior.
Leaving Me Behind Page 18