Page 38 of Before the Storm

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LUCÍA

The combinationof smells was the first thing I noticed when I woke up. It was a mixture of the scent of the summer flowers and the earth after a rainfall wafting in through the open window. The blinds were down, but I could see daylight peeking through, a ray of sunshine illuminating the closet doors opposite the window.

“Hi,” Francisco rasped in my ear. His voice was all gravel and seduction, rough around the edges. Sleep was still lingering around it, and his breathing was even and steady. I stiffened because I couldn’t remember anything from the night before. I had lain in bed with him, watching over to make sure he was okay, but eventually sleep took over. It was obvious we were drawn to each other, our bodies orbiting the other consistently, taking us to this moment, flush against each other, his chest moving behind me. “Good morning.”

I smiled into the pillow and then tried to turn around to look at him, to feel his forehead and confirm the fever was gone, but he pulled me into his body instead, putting us incredibly closer to each other. His right hand was circling my stomach, his fingers sneaking under my shirt and giving me goosebumps. I closed my eyes, enjoying it for a moment and letting go. I knew I couldn’t do much more than this because we needed to talk first. “Francisco,” I said, but no more words came out. Instead, I moaned softly at the feeling of his body, hard against the curve of my ass.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, his mouth against my hair, giving small kisses down the column of my neck and to my shoulder. My hand reached for his, linking our fingers together and moving with his, up and down the soft skin of my stomach. I couldn’t help myself. I needed more. My body was aching. “Linda?”he encouraged, almost desperately.

I was ready to melt into the mattress. Pretty. When had we turned intothis?

He grunted and rocked his hips forward, his hand moving down to the waistline of my shorts and slipping under the stretchy waist, pausing for a second at my hip and tightening his hold there. I sighed, and my hand started moving his down, down, down to the sweet spot between my thighs where all of my energy was. I could feel his erratic breathing behind me, his body warm but nothing like the night before.

“Lucía.” The gruff voice could only belong to one person, and that was Charlie. “Lucía,” he repeated from downstairs,louder this time. He sounded exasperated, like maybe something had happened, and he needed help. Although that was completely out of character for him because he never needed anything from anyone. My eyes shot open, and I tried to say something, and then Francisco chuckled, his forehead resting on my shoulder. He was shaking with laughter, and I could feel the smile on his face on my skin.

“Yeah,” I croaked, the sound bumpy against my pillow. “¡Ya voy!”

I sat up, my face heating with embarrassment. Francisco was still laughing, his eyes burning a hole through me. He moved under the covers and then draped a forearm on his face, his laughter still booming in the room.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked with a smile on my lips. How pathetic were we? Thirty-some-year-olds being interrupted by my older brother.

I stood from the bed and rushed to the bathroom, taking a moment to compose myself and put myself together before going downstairs to see what Charlie needed. Francisco was still on the bed, lying there casually and scrolling through his phone with a frown on his face.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, looking over my shoulder before leaving the room. He looked up and smiled, but there was a slight edge of concern in his eyes, his eyebrows scrunched slightly. “I’m going to see what he needs.”

I fixed my hair on the way down the stairs, opting instead for a messy bun that looked more put together than whatever had resulted from whatever that was withFrancisco. There were noises coming from the kitchen, cabinet doors slamming shut and the tap turning on and off.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked, walking towards the island. Charlie was standing by the stove, his hand holding the kettle hovering over the burner, frozen in mid-air. He turned slowly, blinking almost in slow motion and then cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, you’re here.”

I raised an eyebrow in question, wondering why he was surprised that I was, in fact, here. “Duh,” I said and smiled wide to see if I could manage even the tiniest smile from him. “I live here.”

He blinked a few times, then turned towards the stove, turning on the gas burner with a match and setting down the kettle.

“I let the cat in.” He shrugged.

“What time is it?” I turned to look at the microwave, but the numbers were flashing.

“A little past seven.”

“Seven? What is wrong with you? Why are you here so early?” Now I was concerned. Yes, he was an early riser, but he had his whole routine. Probably worked out and then headed for coffee or breakfast at Santiago’s hotel. He stopped by every day to see if anyone needed anything now that our brother was out of town.

He grunted, then turned back to the stove, opening the kettle to see if the water was boiling yet. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are you sick?” I walked towards him, lifting my handtowards his forehead, but he slapped it away with a glare that only made me smile wider.

“I’m going to the city today for a few days,” he said, averting his eyes. “I’m meeting with a bunch of friends from law school.”

“Okay,” I drawled. “But I’m confused?—”

“Lucía,” he deadpanned, impatiently looking inside the kettle again. Slow footsteps came down the stairs, the fourth step creaking under Francisco’s weight. The cat came into the kitchen first, trotting elegantly to her food bowl and sitting in front of it, waiting patiently for me to refill it with her morning snack.

Francisco followed her in, face glued to his phone and his free hand running through his mussed hair. Charlie turned towards me and widened his eyes, then pursed his lips. He blinked a few times, maybe trying to say something to me without any words.

“Shit,” Francisco mumbled into his phone.“Linda,”he said absentmindedly, still looking at the screen on his hand. He ran his fingers through his hair once more, then looked up.

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