Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists.
21. Lisbon: Till death do us part
Mariana was neither a café nor a restaurant. Once upon a time, it had been a tavern and although it had swapped the wine caskets for draft beer fonts, it had never fully morphed into one of those snackbars that sprouted everywhere in Lisbon's streets, sutffed with cakes and pastry of all flavours and selling a wide variety of strong coffees which Portuguese people drank as if it had no punch at all.
Creed didn't exactly dislike the place: quiet and discret, it had no illusions of grandeur and catered solely for the neighbourhood. It was also two minutes from the tiny flat he had rented.
One of its greatest faults was not actually being a restaurant. Portuguese snackbars served meals but, unlike restaurants, their menu was somewhat limited. Mariana, however, had restricted its menu to a plate of steak with chips, rice, salad and a fried egg. Sure, there was always a different type of soup, and you could actually choose between chocolate mousse and rice pudding for dessert most of the days. At least at lunch time you could. But that was it. Snacks were more plentiful, whether it was meat pastries or codfish and meat rolls, and some of the older people seemed to enjoy a large bowl of soup and a couple of those rolls for dinner rather than a proper meal.
A minor fault was its music. Apparently – Isabel had gotten the whole story from the current owner, Dona Lúcia, on their first visit – Mariana had been opened over eighty years before under the name Lopes. But then Lopes's wife had died and he'd renamed the place after her. Anyway, this Lopes guy had been a guitar player and plenty of his friends had either played or sung or both. Fado, obviously. No famous singer or player had ever surfaced there, but the tradition had stuck and, to this day, minor would-be fado players and singers graced the place with their so-called music. They were mostly old men who performed for the fun of it and for a few free drinks, and they weren't exactly bad. A couple of the guitar players were actually good. But have you heard Fado? It's the most depressing thing in the world, in lyrics, melody and sorrowful sighs. Seriously, it gave him headaches.
The only reason Creed counted it as minor was because Isabel raved over the place. One of her grandparents had apparently been part of a group of guitar players and they had spent most of their days in an actual tavern, playing and drinking much like the performers at Mariana's. And she loved listening to Fado, although Creed couldn't fathom why.
The thing was, the moment she had visited the place, she had stopped nagging him about spending the evenings somewhere else in Lisbon. Socialising, she said, having fun. No Portuguese person stays home after dinner and, if they had to blend in for their cover, then they simply had to spend the night hopping around. Didn't she realise that, being pregnant, she should avoid staying up late at night, especially in the middle of crowds? No, obviously not. It made no difference that she was only nine weeks along and the pregnancy wasn't yet visible. It made no difference it was still not certain whether she could take the pregnancy full term. Suppose she did! The first three months are crucial to a baby's development. She should exercise lightly, avoid making big efforts, eat and sleep well, and make sure she wasn't going to catch a cold or something. Sure, Portuguese temperatures were much milder than Canadian ones – that was one of the reasons he'd accepted to bring her to the country, since she was so averse to the northern climate – but that did not mean she could go out every night and face the cool, humid nights. However, coming over to Mariana's for a non-alcoholic drink after dinner and for a couple of songs meant he could easily get her back in the house, safe and early.
For that reason alone, Mariana had become Creed's official favourite place in Lisbon, and Isabel, naturally, was ecstatic that he always chose the place for their evening stroll.
"Isn't it beautiful?"
Creed looked over the rooftops towards the wide river estuary. The afternoon was sunny but not hot, and the flowering bushes that grew all over the trellis of the scenic overlook gave a nice shade.
"Not bad." Isabel sat on a bench and smiled at the view. Creed gave in. "It looks peaceful."
It did. For a capital city, Lisbon was the least busy place he'd ever been to, tourists aside. At least the historical centre. The fact that the scenic overview was deserted in the early afternoon just added to the peacefulness. The woman nodded in agreement and sighed. After a moment she got up and leaned on one of the trellis posts, next to him.
"So, what have you decided? Do you want to buy me the ring or shall I do it?"
"I already have it," Creed said, and he got the little box out of the pocket. "There was a jewelery near the Citizen House and I figured why delay the thing."
Isabel chuckled.
"That's what I like about you. You naver leave for tomorrow what can be done today."
She opened the box and giggled at the slim gold band with some light engraving and a small stone.
"It's beautiful! Everyone will think we're engaged with this."
"Everyone will know we're engaged," Creed said, closing the box before she could take it out, which had her frowning.
"You'll have to try it on because I didn't know the size of your finger, so it'll probably have to be changed for another or adjusted or something."
"Well, then… I can try it on now and we'll go to the shop if it doesn't fit."
But Creed shook his head.
"I'll be giving it to you, tonight, over dinner at Mariana's." Isabel's smile died a bit. "I'm going to propose, publicly, so the whole neighbourhood will know about it tomorrow."
With all the gossiping that went on in the area, everyone would know by midnight. Isabel didn't react though. She just stood there staring at him.
"All you have to do is look real happy and say yes."
The woman's face remained a blank.
"But… propose like… like… we'll say we're getting married somewhere else?"
"What? No! Propose as in getting married as soon as possible."
Isabel shook her head.
"Marry as in… actually marry? For real?"
Creed growled. A group of tourists walked up the street and pointed at the overlook but carried on.
"Remember when I told you we needed a cover story so your identity could be as airtight as possible?" She nodded. "Marrying, for real, with official documents, gives our cover story a perfect touch."
The woman swallowed and looked about her.
"But… really marry? I mean… I didn't think you… I always thought…"
A couple entered the scenic outlook area and Creed grabbed the woman by an arm and pulled her to its farthest end, lowering his voice.
"What the hell's wrong with ya?" He slipped from Spanish to English. "Ya ain't dumb. Ya understand the logic of what I'm sayin', don't ya?"
"Marriage is something serious," she whispered back in Portuguese, fiercely for once. "There's a reason most men don't like talking about getting married."
Huh? Did that mean she was just shocked at his ease over the idea of getting married?
"Don't be stupid, woman. I ain't turnin' into no monogamic ass. It's just fer our cover story."
"But it's for life!"
Creed rolled his eyes and held back his answer until the couple had walked away.
" 'Course it's fer life! What did ya think? That I was gonna say ya're my woman fer five years an' cut ya free? Ya're mine fer life, marriage or no marriage."
She looked away from him and shook her head. What was wrong with her?
"Thought ya said ya loved me and all that. Don't ya love me enough ta marry me, is that it?"
She glared at him immediately and he grinned. He seldom got glares from her these days. Sometimes he fancied he missed that brazen side of hers.
"Ah, wait! Are ya gettin' commitment issues again? 'Cause I thought ya was only afraid o' fallin' in love. Had no idea ya was against marriage too."
The mockery pricked her out of the uncertainty with a pissed "Fine! We marry. Happy?"
Creed embraced her waist and pulled her to him, kissed her angry lips.
"So don't ferget ta act all surprised tonight, and oh so happy ta say yes."
Isabel shrugged.
"Whatever. I'll go to the Office Registry and ask them what we need to get married."
Registry?
"Ya mean church. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is a catholic country, it won't look right if we don't marry in the church. We need ta blend in."
"You can't have a religious wedding because you're not a catholic," she shot immediately.
Really?
"How the hell d'ya know I ain't a catholic? I could have been raised as one."
Isabel sneered and switched to English.
"You know dat you have meetings wid de priest before you marry, right? He sees immediately you don't know de catolic dotrine."
Meetings, huh? Well, why the hell not!
"Then I'll convert. That'll just make the cover better."
And it was true. The further his Creed-Kredall persona was from his real identity, the better. The woman got incensed though.
"One should marry religiously only when the vows are meaningful before God," she spit in a low, savage voice, back in Portuguese.
Creed had forgotten she was religious. He shook his head.
"Quit naggin', woman. Ya can make yer vows as meaningful as ya want, what's stoppin' ya? 'Sides, ain't religious weddings all about 'till death do us part'? I'm gonna be takin' that way more seriously than any groom these days! 'Cause there's only one way ya'll ever get away from me, and that's dyin'."
That cooled her anger, but she still shook her head, teeth crossly clenched.
"A wedding in church… you have to have family, friends…you can't just…"
Oh, he hadn't thought about it. But it made no difference. In fact, it actually helped his whole plan.
"Well, haven't ya been naggin' me 'bout makin' acquaintances wi' the neighbours? So go ahead an' make friends. Get friendly with every old woman in the area and have 'em all come t'the weddin'. The more, the better! It'll just make the cover story that more solid."
The woman did not seem convinced but she had no more arguments against it. He got the slight impression she might have a hard time pretending to be happy when he proposed so he grabbed a strand of hair and swirled it around his finger.
"Tell ya what: let's go shoppin' so ya can look extra classy tonight, huh? When those old hags start waggin' their tongues about, I want 'em ta say ya looked stunnin'."
She sighed. Then she closed her eyes, groaned and dropped her head against his chest. Now what?
"Hey, don't ya wanna buy a new dress?"
Because she had no evening dresses. Not a single one.
"I hate shopping," she grumbled in English.
That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Except…
"Ya ain't got no evenin' dresses," he reminded her.
Her body relaxed then, giving up the struggle, and she embraced his waist, her thumbs hooking themselves on his belt, in the back.
"I don't want know."
"I don't care," he corrected, "and shouldn't ya be speakin' in Portuguese? I've told ya before, no English! People have t' connect me ta Spain, not America."
She lifted her face to him and offered a slightly aggravated smile.
"I don't care of de dresses," she repeated. "And you're speaking English too."
"Yeah, well, I got good reasons fer it. And ya do need a dress. I've told ya, I want ya ta impress the whole place."
She let out a hollow laugh and slipped back to Portuguese.
"Don't worry, my love. I'll impress them. I'll impress them so much, even you will be impressed."
Creed frowned and her smile grew wider. Not cheerfully, as she usually did, but with teasing determination. Devilishly.
"I'll make them all envy you. They'll look at you and say you're the luckiest man ever. I promise you."
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