Chapter 35
Anneawokeandstretchedlanguidly. A breeze bowed the bed curtains, brushing against her naked skin. Only a sliver of moonlight illuminated the bedchamber. For a second, she believed herself in her own room, but the waves brushing against the sand sparked her memories. Her skin heated, and a fluttering started in her stomach.
They had made love, not in her dreams, but in his bed. Anne felt inside herself for changes, like one who glides a finger on the rim of a precious vase after dropping it, searching for chinks in the porcelain. She found none. Instead, a profusion of new colors and textures startled her. She had known love—not the perfect, frictionless love of her fantasies, but edged, bristled, even sweaty love. Real love. She had been touched by it, warmed from the inside out, a glow not unlike the hummingbird had shown the hyacinth in Inês’s story.
And she wanted more.
She reached for his side of the bed. Her palm touched the coolness of empty cotton. He had left. Anne's heart ached, and she hid her face in his pillow. He had pushed her away yet again.
A melody whispered against her cheeks, floating just out of her reach. Guitar strings, poignant, exotic. Pedro's notes caught her senses and tugged. He had stayed. Anne wrapped her nakedness with the sheet and padded barefoot to the veranda.
He sat with his foot propped on the balustrade, the guitar blurring under his fingertips. The moon caressed his profile and loose hair, and thousands of stars twinkled, casting their light closer to him. Even the tide swelled, wishing for a better view of Anne's lover. Light-headed, she inhaled the salty air and leaned over the threshold, mesmerized by the music he coaxed out of string and wood. His notes carried feelings for her he had not yet spoken, sensuous, joyful, and vibrant. Then they changed, turning melancholy, singing of his shadows, and her heart wept.
The music ended, and he splayed his hand over the rosette, stopping the chords.
Would he send her away? Sorry for having seduced her, claiming to put her interests first? Anne took a tentative step closer, but hesitated. If he rejected her after the night they had spent together, she wouldn’t recover.
Pedro lowered the guitar and caught her gaze.
Anne sustained it, surprising herself with her steadiness. "I woke up and didn't find you... I will go back to my room—"
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. "Your room is here."
Her heart registered his words, pounding madly against her ribcage. Could it be true? "Will we…? I mean—"
Pedro nibbled her lower lip, silencing her. Then he pulled away, and his eyes sparkled. "I want to show you something."
After carrying her to the bedroom, he lit a candelabra and placed the light atop the table, revealing a tray. "You asked about Salgueiro's wine."
Anne gasped. "Is thisVinho Luz?"
"I found a casket in the cellar." Pedro poured the pale liquid into two glasses. "Some say the Arinto grapes have a distinct passionfruit scent."
Anne swirled the golden wine in her glass. The candle gave the liquid a mystic glow. Wine was alive and, in a sense, a special vault, capable of capturing a moment in time. Be it a season, a community's effort, a person's dedication, or a unique blend.
What moment of Pedro's life did Vinho Luz preserve?
Anne peered into the crystal, wanting to catch a whiff of his past. A woodsy, fresh scent teased her nose, reserved but playful. Closing her eyes, she sipped. The nectar coated her tongue, unctuous and rich, taking her to the top of a hill, among buttercups and daisies, kissed by sunlight.
He circled her waist and gazed at her intently. "Do you like it?"
The doubt in his eyes wrenched her chest, and she cradled his cheek. "How could I not? I've tasted summer, I've tasted the ocean breeze, I've tasted light. Your light."
A part of him untouched by shadows.
Pedro's breath caught, and then he frowned. "You see too much."
Anne went on her tiptoes and nipped his lip. "I want to see all. If only you would show me."
"Now, remember? The past has no place here."
Anne sighed and hugged him. She was patient, and one day she would convince him to abandon his shadows.
"Are you hungry?" Pedro tugged her to the table.
With infinite care, he fed her cheese and olive-filled pastries and tiny pancakes with caviar. The candle cast a secluded aura over their private banquet, a bubble of intimacy just for them. Anne drank his wine and accepted morsels from his fingertips, but it was the man gazing at her with jewel-colored eyes that left her intoxicated.
"What are these?" Anne picked a cluster of little ruby grapes, marveling at the lush color and translucent skin.
