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I can’t marry Diego. There has to be another way.
There has to be.
“I need a minute to think about this,” I say as I head to what I assume is the bathroom.
I stand before the mirror, wondering if my olive skin is too dark for him. It's a reminder of the fact that I'm Spanish. Belén, having lived in America for years, has developed a paler complexion, probably because she's indoors most of the time. My long, jet-black lashes emphasize my dark eyes, and I've been admired by family who say I don't need to put on false lashes like most. I have a few freckles on my nose that are so light they look like a sprinkle of cinnamon on a richcafé con leche10.
I run my fingers through my chestnut hair, which flows down my back. The idea of it being cut up to my shoulders sends a shiver down my spine. A complete change means that I will no longer be me but her. I don't know if cutting my hair is enough, because I'm a few kilos heavier than Belén, a fact she scolds me about more than enough times. I don’t know how I’m going to fit into that dress. Ever since I've been living in New York, I've developed an unhealthy appetite for cookies. Who wouldn't? They are nearly on every street corner. If I do this for her, then maybe, just maybe, we can have the relationship I've alwayscraved. But this will mean losing my identity and everything I know. I don't know if the sacrifice is really worth it. Or is it?
1 Shit!
2 Aunt Maria
3 My grandfather.
4 My grandmother
5 What happened?
6 The devil. The nickname for Diego.
7 Mom.
8 Sister.
9 Dad.
10 Coffee with milk.
2
Diego
“¡Joder!1” I snarl at Lucas, my brother, who had the sense not to be part of the family business and take on his own career path. Abuela said that since there are three brothers, one of us straying isn’t a bad thing. There would always one of us that would be neutral.
“Calmate!2”
I narrow my eyes at him because he knows the last thing he should do when I’m angry is to tell me to calm down. The priest smiles, and my eyes cast to the altar decorated with ivories and blush peonies, with the towering bookshelves behind it. Who gets married in a library anyway? Anyone would think that the cascade of bouquets lining this room with nearly two hundred guests is a good idea, but right now it all feels as if it’s a little too suffocating, and I’m struggling to breathe as my allergies start to test my patience.
Every seat is decorated with peonies and greenery, and the grand windows framed with heavy drapes bring in a soft glow, casting a warm atmosphere over the congregation as they smile at me every time I turn to face them. Belén said that getting married here was romantic. She’s a lover of romance books, andI’m trying a new thing; it’s called pleasing my bride. It’s a shame she doesn’t feel the same way about me, by not turning up on time.
If I had my way, there would be no marriage. If it were football season, I would be on my jet with Lucas, watching a game in Madrid at Santiago Bernabeu. It's the one place where we can escape and act like the inner children we keep hidden from everyone else, but during a football game, we let it all loose.
My throat is dry, and the lights and streaming sunlight make me feel as if it’s too bright in here. Maybe I had one too many shots before the wedding to calm my nerves.
In this modern day, there’s no room for arranged marriages anymore. The whole idea was mi abuelo’s wish, and he said it would make us stronger and firmer as a family because we all have the same roots. We come from small villages in Spain. He’s no longer here to make sure his wishes are carried out, but Abuela keeps the family in line. Also, she chose for the Lopez girls to be our brides because she’s best friends with Belén’s abuela too. They’ve helped each other out over the years, and she said that they were a natural match for our family.
Abuela la Grande3, we call her behind her back, or at times to her face. She loves the title. She thinks she knows better than all of us combined, because she’s older and wiser.
The only reason I’m getting married today and not my older brother, Jorge, is because he’s presumed dead. He has been for the last six years, but I know my loser of a brother more than anyone. With the company in the red and our businesses going to the shit, he has done a runner, there’s no doubt in my mind about it.
Why else would he book a skiing trip before an important board meeting?
Jorge’s the weak one of us three, which is why when Papá said he should take over the company when Abuelo died, I knew it was a mistake.
We all did.
As a medic, Lucas has never shown any interest in being part of the business, so I, the youngest, had to marry the woman Abuela selected many moons ago.
