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‘About eight, I think. I can’t quite remember.’
‘Why did you choose it?’
‘I like the expression,’ he said with a shrug, as though it barely mattered. ‘It’s something my father used to say.’
That pricked her attention. Only once, back then, had he referred to his real family, referencing deceased parents and a younger brother. She knew he didn’t like to talk of them, so hearing the casual reference to his father had her pushing up onto her elbow, looking at him with more care. ‘Tell me about him.’
His eyes shuttered. She’d pushed it too far. He wouldn’t speak.
Her sigh was soft—an acceptance of his boundaries, of his desire to keep that part of his life locked up. ‘My own father is still in Seville, you know,’ she said after a pause, lifting a finger and absentmindedly tracing the tattoo.
‘I wasn’t aware.’ There was a coldness in his tone, but she understood it.
‘He’s no longer involved in the church, but his life is there now.’
‘Not with you?’
‘I haven’t seen him in a long time.’
She felt his chest still, as though he were holding his breath.
‘A month after you left, he sent me to England.’
‘Sent you? Without him?’
She nodded.
Graciano’s eyes flicked to hers, a thousand questions in them. ‘How did you feel about that?’
She frowned. ‘Better not to ask how I felt then. Now, I’m glad he sent me away,’ she said firmly, with defiance. ‘It was the right decision.’
‘You were sixteen. He was your only family.’
‘Not quite. I lived with my grandmother—his mother.’
‘Even then, you didn’t see him?’
The colour had drained from her face. ‘He wouldn’t see me,’ she said quietly.
Graciano caught her hand, holding it still on his chest. ‘Because of me?’
‘Because of us,’ she said softly, on a gentle sob. ‘Because of what we did.’
He swore under his breath. ‘You were a teenager. You made a mistake.’
‘He didn’t raise me to make mistakes. He didn’t raise me to sin,’ she corrected with vehemence. ‘What we did was a crime in the eyes of the Lord. His words, not mine.’
‘And so he threw you out?’
‘Not onto the streets, as he did you,’ she said angrily.
‘It was just one night,’ he said with a shake of his head, clearly not realising how that evaluation cut her. ‘What about forgiveness?’
‘I have come to understand that my father talked the talk but didn’t walk the walk. His faith is skin-deep.’
‘I have had the same reflection.’
Their eyes met and something hummed between them—a shared understanding.
