Page 6 of No Greater Oblivion

Lost deep in thought, I almost miss Rian as he approaches us. Before he can get a word in, I rise to my feet and throw my arms around his neck, kissing him so deeply that Damiano yells at us to get a room.

The night is young. And I fully intend on not remembering any of it by tomorrow morning.

2

SECRET KEEPER, TRUE DECIEVER

Alejandro

Barcelona, Spain

The Present

The last time I stepped foot on this street I was wearing a bloodied morning suit and had a pair of wedding bands in my pocket.

A hideous yellow Fiat is parked in front of the corner house across the street, owned by a seventy-something year old couple who never waste an opportunity to complain to the neighbors about their neglectful children who rarely visit. The house two doors up, once occupied by an American World War II veteran and his Spanish wife, has been vacated and remodeled, currently inhabited by a young couple recently returned from the hospital. Watching the father drag a pair of toddlers up the front steps while the mother gently cradles a newborn against her chest is proof that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

When I finally reach a familiar red gate, I pause.

Regina’s house is different.

The vibrancy of the stucco exterior has aged and faded with the time, the once rich tan color now washed out by the Mediterranean sun. Red and green shingles cover the roof, some the same shade of fire engine red as the shutters and balcony. Built into the hillside, the property has many layers, surrounded by stone walls and greenery, with a view of the city that is nothing short of spectacular.

Regina always said she wanted to live as far north as possible, on an estate with a farm and an old stone castle she could hide away in, safe from everyone and everything. Up here in Sarrià is as close as she’ll ever get.

I lift my hand to knock but pull back at the last minute. Should I have come? Was it a mistake to come all the way out here? Regina and I have history going back almost twelve years—I think it’s time we finally clear the air between us. Either that or I’m an idiot for thinking this was a good idea and I should leave before anyone sees me. Before I can muster up the courage to make a decision, the gate opens and Regina stands on the other side.

We stare at each other.

“I saw you…” She presses her lips together. “On the camera.”

Regina, unlike her house, is exactly as I remember her—not the woman she grew into after we separated but the girl she was when we first met. Rosy-cheeked and soft-spoken. For a moment, a decade feels no longer than the sliver of time between breaths.

“Have—?”

“How—?”

Our voices overlap. We plunge into uncomfortable silence once more.

Regina steps aside. “Come in.”

I follow her up the stone steps and onto the back patio where the pool has been emptied for the winter and a large umbrella shields a small iron table and two chairs. There’s a teapot, laptop, and a scribbled-in journal resting on the table. She must’ve been out here working.

I pull out a seat for her before taking my own. We sit and watch the sun for a little while, resisting the urge to occupy ourselves with inane conversation. Sitting in discomfort somehow allows us to ease into each other’s presence. A half hour passes before Regina brings out coffee and bread and for a moment, I feel twenty-three again.

“How are things?” I ask finally.

“Quiet,” she replies. “Have you been sleeping enough lately?”

“A little.”

She draws her shawl around her shoulders and sinks back in her seat. “And Dahlia?”

“What about her?”

“Is she still wreaking havoc in New York or have you figured out a way to bring her back?”

I put my coffee cup down. “I don’t want to talk about her.”