Page 91 of No Merciful Corruption

THE THIRTEENTH FAMILY

Alejandro

El Aliciente was the last thing our father left us before he died and when it burned down six years ago, it was like losing him a second time.

The lounge remained empty for a while. Such extensive damage to a historic building meant any potential renovation and restoration would prove challenging, both legally and logistically. Immediately following the fire, the debris was cleared and the doors and windows were boarded up. It wasn’t until we moved back to Barcelona a few years ago did Dahlia take an interest in breathing new life into the place.

For my part I was content to let it rot here. Selling it was out of the question—I couldn’t fathom the thought of letting go of this last piece of Dad, no matter how unreasonable it was. But I also couldn’t invest my heart and soul into it the way I used to. It was haunted for me. The place I almost lost Dahlia.

She is braver than I am by sevenfold. She yanked the padlock off the front door, waltzed inside, and decided six years was long enough. She surprised me with blueprints over Christmas and I surprised her with a ring.

Personally, I’d have proposed a lot sooner but Dahlia can’t be rushed. Things have to be done in her own time, at her own pace, and when she’s ready. She plans her life meticulously, every step calculated and measured, every possible outcome already weighed on a scale of pros and cons so she can predict another ten steps ahead. It’s why I jumped on the opportunity when I saw it.

We were strolling down Paseo de Gracia when we got caught by a passing shower and ducked under the balcony of Van Cleef’s for cover. The window display boasted a myriad of fine jewels in every color and shape, all encased in precious metals. Platinum, gold, silver. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Necklaces and earrings and bracelets but none of those caught her attention.

For a brief, almost infinitesimal moment in time her eyes caught on the engagement rings. Up until that point she’d never expressed any interest in viewing them and always regarded them with indifference. Yet something about the engagement rings on display had captured her attention and I knew it wasn’t a look of mere admiration. None of them were her style and Dahlia had never worn a piece of silver jewelry in her life.

No, it was the wonder in her eyes as she looked at them. A spark of longing and curiosity that, as short-lived as it may have been, didn’t evade my notice. Not wanting her to know I’d seen her looking, I grabbed her hand and we braved the rain the rest of the walk home.

Instinctively, I touch the wedding band on my left hand. It’s been there a little over two months and yet I feel naked without it. Even removing it to wash my hands is strange. The absence of it against my skin is unnerving and whenever I put it back on, I feel the phantom of Dahlia’s touch when she slid it onto my finger for the first time.

“Look who’s here!”

My hand stills as it rests on the door handle. Mauricio steps onto the street and heads in my direction with Dimitrio close behind.

“Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon? Naked on a beach in the Maldives while your pretty wife feeds you grapes off the vine?” Mauricio smiles as he pulls me in for a brief embrace.

“Judging by the smug look on his face, they were naked on a beach somewhere but not eating grapes off the vine.” Dimitrio says when he reaches us.

“Another mention of my wife being naked and I’m going to kick your ass.” I grab Mauricio and Dimitrio by the collars of their shirts and push them through the door. “Now get inside.”

The two of them laugh as they stumble into the foyer and Mauricio lands a few playful punches in Dimitrio’s side, pretending to box with him. Dimitrio ruffles Mauricio’s hair before pushing him away, the most affectionate I’ve ever seen him behave with anyone. At least, not since Manuel. In the beginning, Mauricio was young and inexperienced, if not a little rough around the edges. Dimitrio took to grooming his new protegee with a sense of duty and fear he couldn’t shake. Manuel had been like a kid brother and it seems that with time, Mauricio has since filled that hole.

Still a few months out from the slated completion date, construction is coming along well.

All the framing and reinforcement is complete as well as the electrical and plumbing. A flurry of workers pass us, some carrying power tools, others buckets of paint and planks of wood. Music blares from an old beat-up radio on the floor where the bar used to be and a small group of men mull over a set of blueprints on a makeshift table of plywood over stacked white buckets. A sharp, clean, and slightly dizzying scent drifts through the room. Nostalgia warms my chest as I recall the first year Dahlia lived in Barcelona. Endless nights of painting, sanding, shining and varnishing done with stained fingertips and floor wax all over her clothes.

Time has a funny way of creeping up on you. At some point, all the years started meshing together for me. I can’t remember if the particular scent I’m picking up on is reminding me of the time Dahlia hand painted flowers on all the windowsills in the Rose Room or if it’s from the time she painted a mural on the back of Allegra’s nursery door. At some point between crossing paths with her in this very lounge seven years ago and now, we’ve lived a whole lifetime.

And to think this is just the beginning.

“Dahlia was thinking of moving the kitchen’s entrance from here,” Mauricio gestures. “To here. Problem is, we’d have to get rid of that staircase over there and if we are, we have to do it soon before all the walls go up.”

I examine the space and give a slow nod. “All right. What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is that if we do, we’ll only have one path to the basement,” Mauricio moves over and points down a long hall. “And one staircase going upstairs.” He points to the spiral stairs across the room which miraculously survived the fire. “Plus, we’d have fewer bathrooms than before.”

“Why are we moving the kitchen entrance in the first place?” I ask. “And isn’t this something you should be asking Dahlia?”

“She planned on moving the kitchen entrance because you always complained about how unsightly it was. It faces the entire lounge.” He turns and extends his arms to fully encompass the space. “During the day it doesn’t matter as much but at night when the lighting is low, a stark white kitchen draws attention.”

I blow air through my teeth. “I forgot about that.”

“Plus, access to the offices and apartment upstairs will change.” Dimitrio explains. “Imagine all the foot traffic it would create on the spiral stairs. They’re functional but mostly decorative and aren’t wide enough to transport furniture.”

“Dahlia says it’s up to us since we’re the ones who’ll be using the stairs the most.” Mauricio says. “She said to take a look around and figure out what makes more sense for the space.”

I’d have preferred it if she was here to walk us through our options herself but she already had plans to see Regina this afternoon and I wasn’t going to ask her to reschedule. If it’s a meeting with Regina, then it had to have been important.