Page 90 of Every Step She Takes
“For the next two nights, we’ll be completing a homestay experience outside of Vigo, and during that time, I want each of us to reflect on what refills our cups.”
“Wine, usually,” Ro deadpans, and everyone but Inez laughs.
She purses her lips and shoots Mal a strange sideways glance. “Funny you should say that, given where we will be staying.”
We aren’t staying in the city limits of Vigo, Spain. Shortly after lunch, we turn off the Camino and walk along a two-lane highwayfor a few miles. We move away from the coast and head inland toward open fields and countryside.
Eventually, Inez leads us away from the highway and up a winding dirt road.
“Where, exactly, are we staying for the rest days?” Mal asks from beside me as we twist around another bend in the road, and there’s a sharp edge to her voice I haven’t heard before.
“You’ll see shortly,” Inez answers.
“No, seriously,” Mal bites out. “Where the fuck are we going?”
Ro glares back at Mal. “Whoa. Relax.”
The road winds past terraces of grapes, and Mal curses under her breath with every step. I can’t figure out how she’s miserable over a rest day in this picturesque place.
The dirt road curves one more time, and as the group crests a hill, a black gate comes into view, stamped with the monogrammed initials CQ in gold filigree.
Behind the gate, we glimpse a mansion on a lush green hill overlooking the property.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Mal shouts as Inez presses an intercom button beside the gate.
“Are you okay?” I whisper to Mal, but it’s drowned out by Vera asking, “Wait, are we staying at a Quinta Costa vineyard?”
“I’m going to kill her,” Mal grumbles, and I’m not even sure whichhershe’s referring to. I reach out to put a hand on her elbow to calm her, but she’s still poised like a spring about to explode.
The intercom buzzes, and the gate opens in a grandiose arch. “I’m sorry, Mal,” Inez says in a low voice. She rattles off a few rapid sentences in Portuguese, but they don’t change Mal’s dark expression.
Inez shifts her focus back to the group. “Quinta Costa is the largest producer of Portuguese and Spanish wines, with twelve wineries spread out across the Iberian Peninsula.”
We follow Inez up the path toward the house as she continues. “Several of the vineyards offer overnight stays where guests can learn more about the wine-making process, especially during the wine harvest in September or October. They’re also supportive of local businesses like Beatrix Tours, offering us free overnight stays for our rest days.”
“Bullshit,” Mal erupts.
“Dude, what’s your deal?” Ari glares at Mal. “You’re kind of being an ass right now.”
“Oh,” Vera says, snapping her fingers together in triumphant understanding. “Oh, of course!Thatis where I know you from!”
“Do we get to drink free wine?” Rebecca wants to know.
The overlapping conversations come to a halt as an older woman comes down the path toward us. “Buen Camino!” she greets with a warm smile. Her silver hair is styled in an elegant bob, and she’s wearing a white linen pantsuit, tempting fate with the dusty fields all around us. “Welcome, pilgrims! Welcome to Quinta Costa! I’m Luzia Ferreira, and I’m the manager of the Vigo vineyard you see before you. I will be taking care of you during your time with us.”
Mal pulls down the brim of her trucker hat and positions herself behind me as the woman offers Inez twin air-kisses. A flock of porters appear to take our packs inside, and Stefano comically hands off all four of his before Luzia guides the group through a manicured garden up to the house. It’s a Spanish-style villa with a wraparound veranda, wide porticos, an expansive courtyard with a tiled fountain, terra-cotta and adobe everywhere.
We’re ushered into an expansive foyer, and I’m overwhelmed by architectural details. The floor is Italian marble, the chandelier looks like Tiffany glass, and each piece of furniture, from the ornate mahogany end tables to the art deco statues, are perfectly curated, working harmoniously in the space. Nan would’ve absolutely lost her mind to see this place.
“Through this archway here is the dining room where your communal meals will be served during your stay. Come.”
Luzia urges us along with a soft wave, and we find a dining room the size of a football field, where trays of tapas are spread out. A server offers us complimentary glasses of white wine from stainless steel chilling buckets, and everyone tucks in enthusiastically.
Except Mal, who is still hiding behind me.
“What are you doing?” I turn around to face her, but she bobs and weaves, trying to stay firmly concealed behind me. But all her darting only results in her backpack—which she stubbornly refused to surrender—bumping into an antique bar cart. A crystal decanter rattles, then firmly falls onto the marble floor, shattering. The antique dealer in me knows the decanter was worth at least two thousand dollars, and now it’s destroyed.
I gasp, and Mal curses, and then the room goes painfully silent. Luzia cuts off in the middle of a speech about the grapes used for the Vinho Verde, and her gaze homes in on the two of us, where we miserably hover over the mess we made. Her tone is clipped. “What happ—” She starts, before cutting off abruptly. “Maëlys?”
