Page 71 of The Fighter

Then, my father starts forward. “Cómo estás, Papá?” I have time to ask before I’m enveloped in his arms.

“It’s so good to see you, mijo,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so glad you’re home.” My mother hugs me tight, her eyes wet with tears, and Carlota thrusts her son into my arms. “Look, Adan,” she says. “This your tío Tomas.”

I genuinely didn’t know what kind of reception I was going to get from my family, but here they are. With less than three hours of notice, they’ve all shown up at the airport. They’re hugging me in their arms and talking at the top of their voices, and it feels like I’ve never been away.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m happy in Venice, but there’s always been a raw spot in my heart when I think about Valencia. It’s not the parks I miss, and it’s not the long afternoons in the sun drinking caña after caña, debating the fortunes of Valencia CF in La Liga and cursing its foreign owner for chronic underinvestment in the club. It’s not the café bombon, and it’s not the paella. No, it’s this. It’s the absence of my family that has scraped my heart.

But as I hug my mother tight, I finally feel that wound heal. I finally feel whole.

The padrino was right. I needed to face the past first, and now I can look to the future. A future that hopefully has Ali in it.

She’s standing off to the side, looking a little dazed at the commotion. I laugh and grab her hand, tugging her closer. “Meet my family, Ali.” I can’t stop smiling. “What did I say about them? Loud, opinionated, and nosy.”

And I love them.

45

ALINA

Am I a little overwhelmed? Yes. Tomas’s family is noisy, boisterous, and a little over-the-top. I mean, a banner welcoming him home. What’s next, a parade?

And I love it.

I stand to the side, not sure what to do with myself. Tomas has the family I’ve always wanted, and it’s hard not to feel a little envious. Then he catches sight of my face, and he smiles at me, wide and happy. “Meet my family, Ali,” he says, lacing his fingers in mine. “What did I say about them? Loud, opinionated, and nosy.”

That’s when his mother catches sight of the ring on my finger.

Her eyes go very wide. For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, and then she squeals in delight and pulls me into a tight hug. “Tell me everything,” she says, her voice high and excited. “How did you meet? When did you get engaged? Have you set a date for the wedding, and what about a venue? It’s going to be in Valencia, right?” She turns to Tomas, her arm still around me. “Mijo, if you tell me you want to have the wedding in Italy, I will be very mad.”

Oh shit. I give Tomas a horrified look. His mother thinks we’re really getting married, but of course we’re not. This is a fake engagement, and its only purpose is to convince my father that I’m not interested in marrying the Russian groom he’s lined up for me. And I don’t know what to say to his parents. I feel awful lying to them.

“Tomas,” I start hesitantly.

“Ali,” he replies calmly. “Mamá, let her go; you’re smothering her. Ali, this is my father, Jose Antonio Aguilar. My mother, Carina Cetrone. My sister, Carlota Aguilar Cetrone, her husband, Ramon Torrente, and their son, Adan. Everyone, this is Alina Zuccaro. My fiancée.”

Wait, he’s introducing me as his fiancée? I wish we had time to get our story straight. Had I known we’d be ambushed by his family, I would have insisted. “It’s good to meet you.”

Tomas’s sister gives me a warm hug. “Welcome to the family,” she says. “It’s so good to meet you.” She gives her brother an arch look. “Tomas hasn’t visited in five years. I’m assuming you’re the reason he’s finally here.” She beams widely. “I like you already.” She takes her wriggling child back from Tomas. “Tell me everything about yourself. What do you do for work, what do you do for fun, and what’s the most annoying thing Tomas does?”

“Umm…”

Tomas thankfully comes to my rescue. Again. “Carlota, enough with the inquisition.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Want to go to our hotel and get settled?”

“A hotel?” Tomas’s mother sounds horrified. “You’re staying in a hotel when you’re home? Nonsense. I readied your room when you told me you were coming. I’m not taking no for an answer, mijo. Family stays at home.”

I have to bite back my chuckle. “Your room?” I love this. Tomas is calm and collected all the time, and nothing ever seems to get under his skin except, from the look of it, his family. It’s funny. I’m seeing a whole new side of him, and I like it.

“My childhood room,” he replies, giving his mother a look of fond exasperation. “I moved out when I was eighteen, and yet Mamá still hasn’t got rid of my stuff.” He gives me an inquiring look. “What do you think? Stay with this lot, or opt for peace and quiet?”

“Hey,” Carlota says indignantly, punching him on his arm. “We can be quiet.” She seems to notice her barking dog for the first time. “Biel, cállate.”

Stay with Tomas’s family. I don’t hesitate; my answer is instantaneous. “I’d love to stay with your family.”

I half-thought I’d find posters of bikini-clad women in Tomas’s bedroom. After all, he says he moved out when he was eighteen. Sadly, there are no half-naked blondes gracing his wall.

His bed, though? It’s small. It’s not quite as small as a single, but it seems narrower than a double. Tomas notices me looking at it and grins. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze. Scared?”

He’s baiting me, but I’m not going to fall for it. “I’m just thinking that it’ll be hard to ignore your snoring in a bed this size,” I say repressively.

---