| |
Angela inhaled deeply, trying to slow down time so she could fully enjoy her every minute in Barcelona. It was her first night in town, and she knew that the six days were going to fly by in a whirlwind of work, Soren, and fun.
With so few days, it was hard not to think about her departure looming in the near future, depressing in its inevitability. However, she needed to get back to L.A. with her new photographs, in order to get her book finalized so that she could meet her goal of an October launch. Besides, Soren would be moving to London the day after she left.
She wiped her mouth and smiled at Soren. “That was delicious.”
She and Soren were at one of her favorite places for casual dining in Barcelona: a quaint pizza place located just off one of the main plazas in Gràcia. The restaurant was clean and modern, white with black tables and red booths, with large glass windows gazing out towards the plaza. It reminded Angela of pizza places back home.
While she and Soren were having dinner alone, Kieran and Dalia were also out somewhere. Dalia had hinted that she had picked a romantic restaurant in the Ciutat Vella, or Old City.
Angela couldn’t tell if Dalia was interested in Kieran or wasn’t. She knew it shouldn’t matter, but for some reason she found it disconcerting.
Soren interlaced his fingers with her, bringing her back to the present. “Are you done?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, and I know just what I want to do next. Let’s walk; it’s not too far away.”
Soren pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and gave her an amused look.
He grabbed her red sweater wrap from the back of her chair and held it up while she shrugged it on. He leaned in, planted a kiss on the side of her head, and whispered into her ear, “I’m so glad you’re here,” before taking her hand and leading her outside.
The night air was beautiful: crisp but fragrant, with the scent of spring perfuming the air.
Angela had never been in Barcelona during spring and it was quickly becoming her favorite season there. The plants and the trees of the city had come to life, but were not wearing their full summer regalia yet, allowing more light to pass through their broad canopies. The promise of warmer weather to come hung in the air, lending a festive quality to the cooler temperature.
A wide silence spread between them as they enjoyed each other’s company and took in the beauty of the unique urban landscape. As they walked along Diagonal—the large highway-like multi-lane street that bisected the city—they passed park after park filled with leafy plane trees, which gave the impression that Barcelona was a city set in a forest, rather than the other way around.
Angela slipped her arm around Soren’s waist.
“Where are we going?” he asked, as he pulled her tight.
“Someplace very hygge,” she said, referring to the Danish word that meant cozy, intimate, and authentic all at once and was one of the most valued qualities in Denmark and thus, for Soren.
“Really? Hygge in Barcelona? That sounds intriguing,” he said, his eyes lighting up.
He pulled her to him, enjoying the warmth along the sides of their bodies where their skin was touching. He couldn’t imagine being any happier than he was at the moment. Walking through Barcelona with Angela felt like they were making up for the time they wasted when she lived there; a time he still sorely regretted. If only he had told her how he felt back then, their relationship now would have been well established, and then London...well, he didn’t want to dwell on “what-if’s.”
He sighed heavily.
Although it was only in the high-50’s, Soren kept his sweater tied around his waist, enjoying the crisp air on his exposed throat and forearms, reminding him of home.
He had been disappointed when Angela didn’t come out to Barcelona in March, although the few days they spent together in Hawaii had given him a much better understanding of her. However, summer was coming, and with it, the promise that London held.
Maybe.
Angela still hadn’t given him an answer to his proposal to move there, and although he wanted to bring it up, he also knew that pushing the issue would not help his cause either; he already tried that once before. He just wished he knew more about her life in Los Angeles. He canceled Jameson’s surveillance because of Angela’s spontaneous trip to Hawaii. Then—when she mentioned that Kieran would be coming to Barcelona—it seemed like Soren didn’t need Jameson to do his dirty work for him. He could see with his own two eyes what Angela and Kieran’s relationship was like.
His jaw tensed just thinking about Kieran. He’d yet to see the man, but he equally craved and detested being in his presence again.
Angela must have felt his tension because she asked, “Are you okay?”
He rolled his shoulders back, and stretched his neck from side to side. “Yes darling.” Determined to redirect, he continued. “My family will be arriving tomorrow. My mother invited us to have dinner with all of them at their hotel. They are staying in the Old City.”
Angela’s voice went up noticeably. “Oh God Soren, all six of them at once?”
Soren stopped and turned to Angela, seeing the nervousness in her eyes. He kissed her forehead and wrapped her in a fierce hug. “Darling, what’s wrong? They are going to adore you,” he whispered the words into her hair; breathing in the roses that lingered there.
“It’s still daunting the thought of meeting them all at once. What have you told them about me? About us?”
“I’ve talked to my mother and siblings about us. My mother and brother know almost everything, although we’ve only spoken about you a few times.” Soren tended to be tight-lipped about everything, his Danish reserved intensified by his own personal idiosyncrasies about privacy. He was a lot like his father in that way.
“Everything? Did you tell them that I was in London to visit another guy when we got together? I hope you aren’t one of those full transparency families where you talk about your sex lives. I once knew someone like that. It was very awkward.”
Soren laughed loudly. “No, of course not. I would never share that detail with them. They know the highlights of our relationship, they know I love you and they know I’ve asked you to move to London.”
Angela exhaled loudly. “Okay, that’s not so bad. But do they know that you want to support me financially?”
“Yes, they know about that.”
“They can’t be happy about that. I know my parents wouldn’t be...”
Soren frowned. “My siblings think nothing of it. They are very progressive and understand my feelings for you and my desire to make it possible for us to be together. Look Angela, the distance between us is an obstacle, the money is simply a bridge that brings us together. I don’t think of it as anything more than that, and you shouldn’t either.”
“They don’t think I’m a gold-digging leech trying to get my hooks in you?” Angela asked as she pulled his hand and they began walking again.
Soren gazed into her eyes. “No darling, they would never think that. And they know that I’ve never done anything like this before, so they understand that my feelings for you are special.”
“And your parents?”
Soren paused thoughtfully before saying, “Truthfully, I’m not sure. But really, we are only talking about my mom. My father has no opinion about these sorts of things. As long as I’m working in banking, he doesn’t care about anything else.”
“And your mother?”
“My mother is more complicated. She’s happy for me, but she’s worried that we are rushing into this.”
Angela sighed. “She’s not wrong.”
A thrilled of fear ran up Soren’s spine. “I don’t care. I’d rather rush than lose you,” he said remembering the way he’d seen Kieran looking at Angela.
Oblivious to the implications in his words she said, “You can’t lose me. I love you.”
He kissed her forehead, appreciating the sentiment, but too logical to lie to himself. Kieran was an opponent and he knew it.
“Here we are.” Angela stopped abruptly, excitement in her voice.
They were just south of Diagonal, in the central-Northern part of the Barcelona district known as the Eixample. This district of Barcelona was developed in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s to connect the original Old City of Barcelona with the smaller separate towns on its outskirts. The Eixample, meaning “extension” in Catalan, created the large contiguous city now known as Barcelona, and was characterized by its progressive design including its easy to comprehend grid layout, its sunlight-friendly, short buildings and its car and pedestrian-friendly chamfered intersections that facilitated traffic more efficiently.
Soren looked at the lovely stone facade that was unremarkable here in the Eixample, but would have been a head-turner anywhere else. The building was typical for this neighborhood at 5-stories tall with businesses underneath and residences up top.
Angela pulled him to a white door, which had a sign hanging overhead that read, “Quilombo, Desde 1911.”
“Come on,” she said as she pulled him towards the door.
They walked into a dark, womb-like space and were enveloped by the music of a single guitar, the murmur of conversation, and the heavy smell of cigarettes. The club was small and full of people. A guitarist was sitting against the back wall strumming his instrument oblivious and unaffected by the various degrees of attention that the patrons were paying to his efforts. The walls, painted an oxblood red, served to heighten the intimacy of the space. Flags of various countries decorated the walls, giving the club a sense of welcome and unity that instantly put Soren at ease.
“You are right. This place is very hygge,” he said dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
“It was a favorite of mine and Charlene’s when we lived here. There’s a seat over there.” She pulled him to a corner and placed her hand on his thigh as they sat and tuned in to the music.
The guitarist had long, dark hair that he wore loose and wild, and a matching goatee. He was dressed all in black, except for a multicolor, tapestry vest that hung open and moved as he played. He strummed well-known hits, but with a Spanish guitar flair, and encouraged the audience to sing along if they felt moved to do so. It felt like a group of old friends gathered in someone’s living room.
Angela watched Soren’s face intent on the guitarist, his lips moving, singing silently the words to “Hey Jude.” She could see how much he was enjoying himself in this setting, so different from the loud, kinetic dance clubs that she loved. She only wished that he could find a way to enjoy himself in her favorite setting too.
The guitarist said he was going to take a short break, and the bar erupted into soft conversation.
She scooted closer to him, resting her hand on his thigh as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
Soren turned to Angela with happy eyes. “I love this place. I wish I had known it was here the past two years.”
She smiled back at him with her lips, but the light didn’t reach her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and looked away. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
He cocked his head at her. “Angela?”
She turned back to him and sighed. “I just had a random thought, that’s all.”
“What was it?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want to hear it.”
He frowned. “Yes I do.”
She pursed her lips. “I just thought that if I moved to London, we could come back to Barcelona whenever we wanted.”
Soren’s heart started beating faster. Was this it? Was this the moment he’d been waiting for? “Do you mean—”
She cupped his chin with her hand and shook her head. “No, I don’t. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything,” she said, her voice gentle.
He swallowed hard, turning his eyes back to the guitarist. He didn’t want to push Angela, but the lack of enthusiasm she showed for his offer to move her to London was crushing. It had been over five months since he asked. He was starting to wonder if she would ever make a decision. He’d never known Angela to be indecisive.
When she called him a month ago to tell him that Kieran and Dalia would be accompanying her to Barcelona, he had felt the strangest combination of numb and livid that he’d ever experienced.
The logical side of him was numb; after all, what could he say? Kieran was her publisher, he had every right to come, and in some ways, it would be helpful for Kieran to see Soren and Angela as a couple, to solidify his claim.
However, the emotional side of him was livid. How dare Kieran come to Barcelona. Who the hell did he think he was?
And all of these emotions were compounded by the fact that Angela still hadn’t given Soren an answer about London. If he knew she would be in London with him soon, it would make the time apart bearable.
But that wasn’t the case.
When he called Jameson to cancel his surveillance of Angela, he could hear the relief in the older man’s voice.
“You’re doing the right thing Soren,” Jameson said, his tone professional but with the slightest flavor of relief.
“Am I? My father would say that I should be gathering as much information as I could,” his voice hard.
Jameson sighed. “Soren, not everything is a business deal. This isn’t one of your mergers or acquisitions.”
Soren exhaled sharply.
If it had been an acquisition, Jameson would have been on the first plane to Los Angeles, but this—the one thing he most wanted in the world—was being left to the whim of emotions.
It didn’t feel right leaving the thing he wanted most in the world to chance.
He hated the uncertainty of it all.
