“Most of the houses around here have someone from the village who comes in to help a few days a week,” he continues. “Cleaning, cooking, looking after the garden. It’s a small place; people know each other.”
“How long has it been on the market?” Alex asks. It’s the first thing he’s said.
“Not long, señor.” Javier opens his folder and runs his finger down a page. “Since March 7.”
My birthday. I catch my breath.
Alex turns to me, taking my hand. “I don’t thinkwe need to see other houses, do we?”
“No,” I say. “We don’t.”
“I never bought you a birthday present, and this is a birthday house,” he says, letting me know he remembered. “Shall we?”
I nod, gazing up at him, tears in my eyes and not trusting my voice.
He turns to Javier. “Is the sale contingent on the seller buying another home?”
“No, señor, está libre.” Javier smiles at me in apology. “That means it’s free.”
“I’ll be in touch when we’ve discussed it,” Alex says.
Javier bends over my hand and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “A pleasure, señorita.”
I glance at Alex, wondering if I’ll need to restrain him, but he’s watching with amusement, perfectly relaxed.
We drive away, and I have to stop myself turning to look out of the back window.
“Better in reality than the pictures,” he says, as we follow the winding road through the hills.
“It’s beautiful. It’s stunning. It’s everything I want.”
He glances across at me. “That’s what I feel about you.” There’s no playfulness, it’s no quip. He means it.
He pulls off the road, his foot on the brake, and turns to me. His expression is as neutral as ever, no emotion, his control absolute. “I only have one question.”
“What’s that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light. He’s hiding something, and it makes me nervous.
“Can you be happy here?”
The last thing I expect him to ask me. I take my time, not wanting to rush the answer to something so important, asked with so much weight.
“Because if you can’t,” he says, “we’ll go somewhere else. Italy. England, perhaps—they understand American there.”
He hasn’t suggested going back to New York, or anywhere else in the states. I know why, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve left nothing behind.
But he has. “And what of you, Señor Reyes? Canyoube happy here?”
He nods slowly. “If we stay, I think I’m going to take up riding again. It’s been a few years. There’s an active horse trade around here. I’m thinking of breeding some. Make full use of those stables.”
“Would that really keep you busy?”
“No… but there’s the olive grove, some trading on the side…” He trails off with a shrug. “I’ve decided I don’twantto work anymore. My energy could be put to use elsewhere.” He tilts his head. “But I was asking after you. What willyoudo? Is happiness possible?”
I think of the house. The peace and quiet around. Filling the rooms with children and noise. “Yes, I could be happy here.”
“Good.” Alex releases the brake, and drives back onto the road. “Then I will let Javier know to proceed.”
“Will it take long?”
