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“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be here.” I finally force myself to speak but still can’t meet his eyes.
“What’s your name?”
I see him through my eyelashes ‘cause my damn shyness doesn’t allow me to look in someone’s eyes, even if I’m a little curious now. His voice is beautiful despite sounding harsh. I have no doubt it belongs to someone who is used to giving commands.
The first thing I notice is his broad shoulders, almost stick-straight. And when I say broad, that’s the exact definition. His suit looks like it was painted on him, with not a single wrinkle in sight.
Curiosity overcomes my shyness, and I lift my chin to look at him directly. Maybe that’s not very polite, but I stare at him.
He has a natural-looking smooth and tanned skin. He also gives the impression of having so much energy built up that I doubt he’d ever stay still, basking in the sun.
Must be over thirty.
Dark blond hair, cropped short, not a strand out of place—the opposite of mine, which is so thin that it is always flying around. Straight nose. A square jaw in need of a shave completes the picture. In a crazy way, I like it because it gives his aura of perfection a little humanity.
Move closer to me, a voice that comes from nowhere says in my head.
Closer? I don’t think so. Going by his looks, he could be a royal. His posture is that of a true king.
I’ve never felt so affected by the presence of a man before, and I can’t stop staring at him.
I meet his deep, blue eyes, which stare right back at me as if they’re allowing me to examine him.
He still holds me in place without saying a thing.
“Name,” he repeats, and this time, his tone is sharp, raising the hair on my arms.
“Zoe Turner.”
He takes a step closer, but I’m not afraid—quite the opposite, I’m eager. Before either of us can speak again, though, I see the door behind him opening, and I run, afraid that superior staff could be coming to catch me.
I can’t believe I’m here! It’s like being in a movie. I finally get to see a sight I looked up so many times on tourist sites on the internet.
From Boston to the world, Pauline.
When I was hired to work on the cruise, I made a list with Mom of the places we would dock so that we could explore the cities’ best tourist attractions.
We didn’t have money to buy tickets in advance for all the museums I wanted to visit, but from what we researched, I would at least need the one forLa Sagrada Familiabecause they are limited and sell out quickly.
When I arrived, there was a huge line of tourists outside waiting to get in, and I thanked God I was forewarned.
I read the pamphlet in my hand.
“La Sagrada Familia is a large unfinished basilica in Barcelona, Spain. Designed by Spanish architect Antoni Gaudí, it is part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The construction of the Sagrada Familia began on 19th March 1882, under the supervision of the architect Francisco de Paula del Villar. In 1883, when Villar resigned, Gaudí took over as chief architect, transforming the project with his architectural and engineering style, combining Gothic and curvilinear Art Nouveau. Gaudí dedicated the rest of his life to the project and is buried in the crypt. By the time of his death in 1926, less than a quarter of the project had beencompleted.
Relying only on private donations, the construction of the Sagrada Familia progressed slowly and was interrupted by the Spanish Civil War.
In July of 1936, revolutionaries set fire to the crypt and stormed the workshop, destroying part of Gaudí’s original blueprints, drawings, and plaster models. It took 16 years to piece together the master model’s fragments. Construction resumed with intermittent progress in the 1950s.
Advances in technology allowed for faster progress, and construction passed the midpoint in 2010. However, some of the project’s biggest challenges remain, including the construction of over ten towers, each symbolizing an important biblical figure in the New Testament. . .”
As I walk through the nave of the church, I see people photographing the walls. I’d rather look first and later buy a book with pictures because if I stop to take photos, I’ll miss the real thrill of being here.
When I get out, though, I’m going to take my picture with Pauline. She’s in my bag. So far on the trip, we have taken almost thirty photos together, and we are going to upgrade our album.
Before the cruise, I only had pictures ofher inside Boston: at the Science Museum, at the Quincy Market—which I love to visit, even though I don’t have the money to buy anything—and at Boston Harbor, my favorite place of all when it’s not summer. That’s when tourists fill the streets, and you can barely reach the port.
