Page 61 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
“Not really.” He adds, fingers hooking onto the elastic of my flowery skirt and pulling it down smoothly. His mouth spreads kisses from my calves to my inner thighs, breath hot against my skin, pulse points growing wicked at the sight of him. With a bite to his full bottom lip, he says: “Let me see what I’ve missed, sunshine.”
I close my eyes, tugging at his hair. “Yes, please.”
?EPILOGUE
VERONICA
ONE YEAR LATER.
OPAL’S GRAY FUR ALLOWS FOR A PENDANT TO GET LOST IN ITS CONFINES, ONLY THE GLIMMER OF TWO DIAMOND RINGS PEEKING THROUGH.Eyes wary of her surroundings, she clings to Alessia’s arm as if it was a second skin. At least, someone’s skin crawls with nervousness as much as mine does. Or...that’s just me comparing myself to Nathan’s cat, probably.
Antique cream walls swirl with stone-like textures in the chapel that I had chosen with Nathan many months ago. He wanted something that showcased the core of the place that united us, my dear and beloved Cuba. I can only imagine, as I stand behind the wooden and crooked entrance door, with clammy hands and a racing heart, that the decorations that Alessia and Renna had worked on were down-right perfect. From the images that Nathan and I wanted, an ode to the art of our favorite painters, to the simplicity of our union.
Shit, I’m getting married.
Ifinallyam the one with the white dress.
While Alessia works on making sure that Opal follows her duties as the ring-bearer, the calloused hands of the man that brought Aseré up from its confines alongside Mom spread on my face. Dad’s smile curls elegantly, eyes brimming with a layer of glassed-undertones, as if he is on the verge of breaking down but fights it with all his might. More wrinkles have made a home out of the crevices on his face, I have realized, and I can imagine that I might seem older in his gaze, as well.
Thirty-one and getting married to the love of my life.
“Who would have said that my little girl would finally go down the aisle?” His hands trail down my arms. A bell-sleeved, flowy white dress rests on my figure. Never had I felt this gorgeous, and the thought settles in my head when Dad’s lips pucker on my forehead.
“You’d never believe it, right?” I joke, half-laughing, before a lonesome tear runs down my eye. Alessia is the first one to notice, even before I do, as I rub at the makeup that she had so-effortlessly worked on.
“Not a single tear! The foundation might be high coverage, but the cameras’ flashes don’t forgive anybody, babe.”
“Sorry.” I say, grinning at her antics and fanning at my face instead. “It’s the first time I’m getting married; allow me to make some mistakes, Al.”
Alessia chuckles, though my attention diverted towards the motion of Dad’s hands. His fingers fidget with a paper that he had taken out of his suit’s pocket. A rasp leaves his mouth, unfolding my fisted hands before planting the letter on my hold.
“I know that you two haven’t talked in years...and she has hurt you far too much, but Esperanza wanted me to give this to you.”
“Dad—” I’m about to give the letter back to him, its weight and folded nature about to make me vomit. Year after year, Christmas rolls around and I’m not in Aseré. I’ve always hoped she’d finally be ready to let me in by then, but forgiveness just hasn’t happened yet between us.
“Please, just read it. I’m not asking you to forgive her, but read what she has to say.”
