Beatrice's best friend in the world already knew Portuguese when they first met. Maybe that's why they became friends so quickly.
Lemony, Beatrice's first boyfriend, taught himself Portuguese just for her. It was no big deal for him, he learned quickly and easily.
Bertrand wanted to ask her if she wanted him to learn her language too. He knew a few words only. He remembered before R had to go back to Winnipeg, how she and Beatrice would chat and laugh for hours, while he felt his face blushing now and again, afraid they were making fun of him. It was all in good fun. It made Beatrice happy.
Back when they were dating, Beatrice and Lemony didn't go out together in public a lot. But Bertrand supposed it was nice to love someone who spoke your mother language, the language of your soul.
It was probably the language of Beatrice's thoughts, of the mental conversations she would have with their children during pregnancy. The language of her memories, of her dreams.
He couldn't ask, but he mentioned something. Beatrice laughed. Wasn't her English flawless, she pouted, laughed again. She did tame the English language like any master in her poems. Her structure and grammar were flawless. But here and there he could still hear bits of the accent she swore she had grown out of. She shouldn't, really. The first time she said his name, the emphasis on the 'd', that had sounded a bit weird, yeah, but it replayed on his head over and over for years. How he wished his name was said like that, every letter delicately spoken.
For the first time, he wondered if they all hadn't been saying her name wrong all along. What did she think of it? Did she like how loud their 'r' were? Or did she miss how it sounded when her mother called her?
"Don't be so worried." She said, looking at the line on his forehead. Her 'r' were still quiet when compared to the loudness the English language imposed.
What were the odds they would end up there, living together, in this City far from where each of them was born?
How beautiful it was that they lived in a world like this, where people from different countries could learn and communicate and eventually say their wedding vows in the same language, plan their future in the same language and love.
Love had no language.
"Eu te amo." He whispered in her ear, earning a kiss. It was far from perfect, he knew, but it was a start.