Page 187 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

One of the sales assistants had murmured laughingly as she’d helped Mia out of the dress, ‘Señorclearly only has eyes for his wife.Oh, la la!’ She’d clucked her tongue, smiling and shaking her head, while Mia had blushed.

And Mia only had eyes for him, she thought. Whatever else was going on in their marriage, whatever else was out-and-out wrong, and maybe even impossible to fix, they still had that. And maybethatwasn’t a small thing. Maybe it was actually quite important, a way of connecting that didn’t require words that could be misconstrued, silences that felt oppressive and accusing. It was certainly exciting, anyway, and just now it felt just about all she could think about.

But first dinner, and in one of the most expensive and exclusive restaurants in all of Barcelona. Santos had reserved a table for two in its own private alcove on a rooftop terrace overlooking the city, sheltered from the other diners by velvet-draped partitions.

As themaître d’guided them to their table, Mia noticed other diners glancing at them in curiosity, which was understandable, considering she was dressed as if she were attending the Oscars. She didn’t care that she might appear a little ridiculous, though. She just liked the way Santos looked at her, with both heat and admiration in his eyes, every gaze lingering on her as if he were savouring the sight.

Still, the gownwasa bit much... ‘I think I am a bit overdressed,’ she remarked wryly as she sat down.

‘I think you look perfect,’ Santos replied. He looked pretty perfect himself, in an expensively tailored navy suit jacket and trousers, his white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, the perfect foil for his bronze skin. His dark hair was brushed back from his face, the silver and gold links of his expensive watch glinting on his wrist. ‘As beautiful as you did the first time I saw you,’ he added, and Mia couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

‘Really? Because, if I recall correctly, back then I was wearing a T-shirt and cut-off jeans.’

‘I know. And you looked beautiful to me.’

Mia shook her head slowly. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with these compliments; there’d been months of icy silences, of disapproval, hurt and guilt, so that she no longer felt as though she could trust the kind words that were coming out of Santos’s mouth. Yet maybe, for the first time since he’d come back into her life, she wanted to.

‘Why did you come up and talk to me that night, anyway?’ she asked. The more she had come to know Santos, the more she realised how utterly out of character for him it had been. He was as sensible and strait-laced as they came, considering every angle before he made a move, thinking through all the options, making sure he picked the wisest one.

And, as for marrying her after just two weeks, he might as well have had a personality transplant. Why had he done it? Did she really want to know? What if it wasn’t the reason she hoped it was?

‘I’m not really sure,’ he admitted. ‘A moment of...of madness, I suppose. Very unlike me, as I’m sure you’ve gathered.’

A moment of madness? Mia wasn’t sure how she felt about that. And yet, what had it been for her? A sense of slotting into place, of belonging in a way she never had before, right from the beginning. She’d jumped in with both feet and hadn’t let herself think about any repercussions because she’d wanted that—him—so badly.

Except it hadn’t turned out to be real...

‘I couldn’t help myself,’ Santos admitted, drawing Mia back into their conversation. ‘There was something about you, Mia...there still is. I was...utterly compelled.’ He let out a little laugh, shaking his head. ‘As fanciful as I know that sounds.’

‘And completely out of character,’ Mia added. ‘Of course, I didn’t know that at the time.’

‘It was out of character,’ Santos agreed with a nod. ‘But it felt right.’

But did it still feel right, Mia wondered, nearly six months on? And, even if somethingfeltright, did that mean it actually was? Those differences between them were still there, and stark. Whether they were insurmountable remained to be seen.

A waiter came with their menus and, as Mia opened hers, she almost laughed. It was full of incomprehensible-sounding dishes, things she’d never heard of, never mind had: what was arepa, agrodolce, mochi or gurnard? She’d never heard of any of them, and it was a salient reminder of how different they really were.

Santos seemed to be taking the menu in his stride, perusing the offerings with lively interest while she just felt lost...and that was before she’d counted the forks. Six, in total, even more than his mother had had for those interminable dinners, along with knives and spoons. She hadn’t noticed them when they’d first sat down, but now she saw the table was covered in cutlery and it filled her with dread.

They’re just forks and knives, she told herself. They didn’t have to mean anything. And anyway, she thought she knew which one to use. Santos’s mother, Evalina, had murmured to her to start from the outside and work her way in. It had been a kindness, Mia realised, even if it had embarrassed her at the time, and Evalina’s tone had seemed a bit too pointed.

‘What is it?’ Santos asked, looking up from his menu with a frown. He seemed attuned to her moods in a way that was both gratifying and a little alarming. How could he sense what she was feeling about cutlery, for heaven’s sake, when he’d misunderstood so completely about something as important as their own child?

But she didn’t want to think that way, Mia reminded herself, not tonight. ‘I’m just wondering what to order,’ she admitted. ‘All of it looks incomprehensible.’

‘Yes, I have no idea what onglet is, and I can’t decide if it sounds tasty or not.’

‘You don’t know what it is?’ Mia asked in surprise, and Santos raised his eyebrows.

‘Is there a reason why I should?’

She shook her head slowly, bemused at how confounded she felt that her assumption about this very small thing had been wrong. ‘I don’t know... I just assumed you knew everything on the menu—that you’d had it all a million times before. Just like you know which fork to use.’ She glanced wryly down at the full array of silverware.

‘I just follow the golden rule,’ Santos told her. ‘Start from the outside and work your way in.’

Mia let out a little laugh. ‘That’s what your mother told me.’

‘That’s what she told me as well, so it must be right.’ He smiled at her, his face full of warmth, and her heart felt as if it were turning over. It was such a small thing—a matter offorks—and yet it felt much bigger. It felt as though the wryly wagging finger of providence was reminding her that they weren’t as different as she feared they might be.

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