Chapter 36
A/N: Hello there! Apologies for the long gap in updating. End of the school year and summer vacation have kept things hopping for me.
Things heat up for Bruno and Lucía in more ways than one.
CW: First scene involves a nightmare Bruno has that's weird and involves spiders.
Later, there is a make-out scene in this chapter, edited down from the T version on ao3. I did my best to keep it G-rated and family friendly here to keep in line with the K+ rating. I've marked it with asterisks l*** before and after so that you can skip it if you want.
Bruno had always had a tenuous relationship with his dreams.
In other words, he held them at arm's length, regarded them with suspicion, and rarely took any form of enjoyment out of them.
His sisters had always willingly shared any strange or silly dreams they'd had around the breakfast table, which often elicited giggles from the other two triplets and at least a smile from their madre.
As a child, he'd joined in, but that ended the summer he was seven when he'd announced he'd had a weird dream about the mountains around the Encanto growing taller and taller before turning into piles of dust, like anthills. Big butt ants crawled over the sandy hills to invade. It hadn't been a scary dream, more weird and fun – but his madre's face had gone pinched with thinly veiled concern. She interrogated him about the details of it for so long, attempting to be subtle and failing, that he vowed not to share any strange dreams ever again.
(It was then that he began to worry that his dreams weren't just dreams.)
His dreams occasionally became tinged with the green of his visions, afterward – as though when something in his dreams triggered a worry about the future, he subconsciously began to look into it. It became hard to determine what was actually the future and what was just his brain inventing impossible scenarios, worrying about what was to come.
If he even remembered the dream when he woke up.
Some dreams – usually nightmares – he remembered in detail, usually because they were just so vivid. They were easier to sift through because he remembered them so well –no one in town would turn into a giant spider and eat him, so despite the greenish hue of the dream, that one certainly wasn't a vision of the future. The greenish dream of withering crops that rotted the very ground beneath him and swallowed him whole? That one lead to an actual vision of an invasive blight in the wheat fields.
The more pleasant dreams generally left him with only a sense of confusion and a few disjointed images. The worst – even worse than the nightmares – were the semi-realistic ones that left him with a nebulous sense of impending doom – things he might be able to prevent, if only he could remember what he'd seen or what to look for.
His dreams the night Mariano proposed to Dolores were of the last sort.
He dreams of Mariano whispering across the town square, and Dolores running to him, yes on her lips. Mariano whisks her into his arms and they begin to dance a salsa, floating up into the clouds, the weather – and the seasons – changing around them.
It's moving too fast. Everything is moving too fast. Bruno asks Dolores to slow down – or maybe he asks her for a dance – but she shakes her head and steps back, disappearing into the shadows – into the walls of Casita.
"Wait - " he cries. "Dolores - "
" – is getting married soon, isn't it wonderful?" Pepa takes his hands and spins him around the courtyard. "You're next, hermanito. You're next."
"No, it's my turn, next!" Antonio and one of his friends appear, arguing as they play with some sort of toy that changes shape as they toss it back and forth.
A capybara sits in a wedding veil, looking very nonplussed.
Now Dolores is in the wedding veil, and she and Mariano exchange vows, Pepa sprouting rainbows as she watches. Itziar is the priest. The light streaming in through the stained glass in the church tints the horse green.
(Bruno knew this was a dream. It was just a dream.)
A bird flying, a snake in the grass, a horse rearing.
Lucía and himself before the altar; Lucía leaning forward to kiss his cheek.
Josefina crying into his shoulder.
"It's okay," he soothes. "It's okay to cry. We'll find her."
"Do you promise?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
"...what?!"
Knock knock knock knock knock, knock on wood.
Woods.
Trees.
He's in the jungle again, in the forest, and he knows somehow that he is looking for someone who's lost. Josefina?
He hears someone crying. Or wailing. It's hard to tell.
"Josefina?" He calls. "Josefina?"
He stumbles through the woods, branches plucking at his ruana and his hair with stick-thin fingers, and the light coming through the leaves is green, green – green everywhere.
(He doesn't like green in his dreams.)
He pushes past the leaf of a large fern and he thinks it's Lucía; of course it's Lucía, of course he's looking for her, and the relief he feels in his chest is sharp and clearly defined.
The woman turns to him from the shadows and it's Tatiana Valencia.
As a spider.
She stands and she is a giant spider, too-long, too-many spindly legs unfolding to tower above him and her wide, grinning mouth snapping at his face and he's trying to scream but –
"Ahhhhhh!" Bruno sat straight up in bed, his cry muffled and breathy with sleep. He blinked himself awake, the scream in his dreams still echoing in his chest, having never made it fully out of his mouth.
He sat for a moment, breathing hard, and rubbed his hand across his face. Then he half-rolled, half-fell out of bed, still aware of his dream and attempting to get as far away from it as possible. He stumbled to the window, throwing it open and taking deep gulps of the cool, humid night air. He felt his heart rate slow as the familiar weight of his rats clambered up his legs and arms and nuzzled into his shoulders beneath his hair.
"Thanks," Bruno whispered, holding out his hand for Lorenzo and stroking him softly and gently until his fingers were no longer shaking. "That one took a turn."
He stayed up the rest of the night making notes on how Hernando and Jorge might interpret and improvise the other fairytales and legends in Alejandro's book. Despite the general feeling of wrongness clinging to him like dust, the only thing he truly remembered about the dream by morning was Tatiana as a giant spider, attempting to eat him alive.
The world turned and the sun rose and set and rose again. Dolores and Mariano's engagement was celebrated and wedding planning began; Dolores' birthday came and went, and so did the harvest. Bruno's life was so full that he felt like he'd miss something if he didn't slow down.
Pleasant mornings sipping coffee with his madre and sisters bled into busy days helping Lorenzo with the fences or helping Lucía at her shop or seeking visions. Loud, rowdy lunches blurred into restful siestas, Antonio cuddled up in the hammock beside him while Parce curled up protectively in the rafters above them. Hectic afternoons listening to his sobrinos discuss their wedding, their plans, their pranks, and their interests gave way to soft, warm evenings with Lucía and Josefina – and he appreciated them all.
He treasured evenings spent with Lucía, wherever they happened to be. They successfully went on several dates without any crying: Coffee at the café. Dinner at the one fancy little restaurant in town on the one month anniversary of the day they began courting – the restaurant where Mariano had attempted his first proposal to Dolores. They took Josefina for a picnic by the lake and swam and built sand castles and stayed until sunset.
After some cajoling by Pepa and Félix, they went to the bar one night to dance. Ana and Sofia and Pepa and Julieta came with their husbands. Raquel came to sit at the bar and made dry, witty comments that made everyone laugh (and made Bruno blush on more than one occasion) – but she danced with anyone that asked her, and they all asked.
A vision he'd had of a meteor shower twenty-four years ago finally came true and they all went to the hilly meadow to watch it one night, the townspeople gradually trickling out of their houses as the word spread. Neighbors brought blankets and booze and cocoa until nearly the entire town sat together on the hill, their quiet, appreciative murmurs adding to the symphony of the cool night breeze and the shooting stars.
He took Lucía to a spot in the trees behind Casita that he used to disappear to when he was younger, and it was every bit as special and intimate as Lucía's place in the cornfield. They'd already checked just about every dating spot in the Encanto off of the list, but Bruno didn't mind.
He'd just start them all over again.
He slowly let himself hope – let himself accept– how nice it would be to have a future like this. To not just enjoy it while it lasted – but to know and accept that it would last. To know he always had someone willing to meet him for coffee; that he always had a dance partner, a date for dinner, a smile to share and a hand to hold and arms to hold him, when he needed it.
Lucía put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the work before her. She hadn't even bothered to unlock the shop door this morning and the sign remained flipped to the 'closed' side.
The shelves in the shop, arranged along two walls in the shape of overlapping 'E's branching out into the room, left space for a small table and chairs near the end of one of the shelves as well as the soft chair and rug she used for story time. The books were rapidly encroaching into the printing press's territory. With all the books the village had recently acquired from the outside world, both the school's library and their little makeshift library in the print shop were nearly bursting at the seams. It was a good problem to have, but Lucía knew that sooner than not - they would have to build a real library in the Encanto.
Today was a day to clean, organize, and assess, and she worked from the top down, standing on a stepladder to clean the higher shelves and working her way to the bottom ones. She took a break for lunch with her padre and hija. When Josefina returned to school and José went to discuss possible building plans for a new library with Señor Martínez (though Lucía knew it was probably more for a rematch in their ongoing tejo competition), Lucía returned to cleaning. The bottom two rows of shelves were the only ones remaining to dust because they were the most annoying to clean.
Lucía sighed as she knelt down to dust the lower shelves. She carefully moved a few books at a time, wiping the shelf off and then wiping the books off and returning them to their place, reading the spines and titles to be sure they were in the right order. After one shelf, she shifted from her aching knees and sat cross-legged to do the rest. She moved slowly around the room and made it through the first section of the shelves.
Halfway through the next line of books, nestled in the back corner where two shelves came together, some small, shiny thing fell out of the book in her hand and rolled under the shelf. Lucía pursed her lips and pressed herself flat on her stomach in order to reach under the shelf to get it, and the dust made her sneeze. She scrunched her nose and sniffed as she rolled over onto her back and used her dusting cloth to clean it off. It appeared as though someone had been using a small coin as a bookmark.
She held it up to the light and smiled. It reminded her of the myriad of things Bruno used as bookmarks. He had a small collection of books that had been salvaged from the ruins of the original Casita and regularly borrowed more from the shop.
But though Bruno regularly borrowed books and always returned them in a timely manner, he never seemed to be able to just sit down and read one straight through. The woven bookmarks Mirabel made him weren't enough to keep his place or mark all the pages he wanted to refer to when he was reading five books at a time, and threads, scraps of paper, and pencil stubs became bookmarks in their place - she'd even found his comb left in one on an end table in the sitting room the other day.
With an incredulous glance, she'd begun teasing him about both the state of his hair and the state of his poor books. That quickly took a detour into a discussion on the book in question - the copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that she'd leant him a couple of weeks prior. She was surprised he was only halfway through, but he sheepishly corrected her. He was actually reading through it a second time, marking passages he wanted to discuss with her.
They spent the next hour debating their favorite scenes, their favorite characters, the lines Dantes crossed and whether he was justified in his revenge, and how - when Lucía was young - she always wished for Edmund and Mercédès to reconcile and be together again.
"What?!" Bruno had cried, actually leaping out of his seat to pace before her. "But that would - that would completely negate the character growth both of them experienced in the novel! Was it bittersweet, yeah - I mean - she tells him he was the man she'd always loved, and he tells her he can basically die happy because he's seen her again and she's as great as he remembers her, but - but - but - "
She'd laughed out loud as he ranted and gestured and sputtered in protest.
When he was done, she'd leaned forward with a smirk. "And if you'd read this when you were nineteen, mmm? What would you have thought then?" He'd stopped and squinted at her, and with every tap of her finger on the cover of the book, she'd hammered in the final nail on the coffin of their friendly argument. "How did your first telenovela end, mmmm?"
He'd narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Lucía had grinned at him. "I'm talking about a certain storyline involving a rat named Bernardo who reunites with - "
Bruno's mouth had dropped open. "They did not tell you about that. They did not - Pepa! Juli! What else have you told her - "
Lucía snorted as she thought about Bruno, remembering more of their time together the past few weeks.
She thought of the indignant way he lifted his chin and glared at his sisters when they teased him. She thought of the way he listened attentively to Josefina and Antonio and to the children at story time; the way he dramatized the characters in the stories and the way he nervously laughed off any unpleasant questions or comments they parroted from their parents.
She thought of how nervous he was the first time he'd assisted her at story time. He offered his stories to the village children like he was some nervous, awkward, kindly beast offering crumbs to little birds, afraid of scaring them away. He'd pretended to be Jorge and Hernando and El Hombre Rata for them for months – but being just Bruno Madrigal – himself, reading them all a story - it seemed to make him feel more vulnerable, somehow.
She thought of how quickly the children had warmed and flocked to him, and how disappointed they were, now, on those days when Bruno didn't come because he was busy elsewhere. She thought of the few children who didn't come to story time at all anymore now that Bruno was a regular guest, and she clutched the coin tighter in her hand, the edges biting into her palm.
She'd be lying if she said it didn't bother her. Of course it bothered her that some people – people who'd trusted her with their children for years – thought she was no longer worthy of that trust because of the man she loved and invited into her life.
She'd told Bruno, weeks ago, that Tatiana had tried to hurt her and failed. While she believed those words then, the truth of it now was that it did hurt. Tatiana's words spread through town like a ripple in a pond and their influence hurt her. And while Tatiana was experiencing a retribution of sorts in the way the town was avoiding her, the victory felt small and hollow. The fact that people were judging and shunning Tatiana didn't lessen the sting of the truth that to a lesser extent, some were also judging and shunning her - and Josefina, and Bruno.
Bruno was worth it. She could handle ignoring the empty spaces on the rug at story time. She could handle helping Josefina focus on the friends she had that proved to be true. She could handle it. She just didn't want him to know – she didn't want to add any more pain or weight to his already overburdened heart.
If only people truly understood just how good his heart truly was, maybe they'd give him more of a chance.
She loved him so much; she wanted everyone else to love him, too.
Or if not love him - at least to respect him.
She snorted slightly at herself. She knew better than to think she could convince everyone to share her good opinion of Bruno Madrigal. But it didn't stop her from wishing things were a little different; that the people she knew and lived beside responded with just a little bit more kindness.
It was so different – her experience courting Alejandro and her experience courting Bruno. Alejandro had been – if not popular - then at least admired, in the way all dreamy, artistic young men seemed to be. People liked him, people respected him, and a few of her former classmates had been jealous when she caught his eye.
People expected them to act like young lovers – stealing kisses and sneaking away and being publicly affectionate with each other. People would tease and wink and shake their heads with a smile if they were out too late. It had been easy to be with Alejandro in the social sense because their story was something people approved of and smiled at. It was all very – by the book.
Being with Bruno was different. He was still navigating his return, his place in his family, his place in town, and the place of his gift in both as well. Bruno Madrigal was polarizing. There weren't many people in town now that held a truly neutral view of him. People had opinions about him, and they had opinions about her relationship with him.
Both of their families accepted, approved of, and celebrated their relationship, and that was wonderful. But outside of their families and Lucía's small group of friends, the list of people who would smile and tease them if they were anything short of proper in public was shockingly small. Sure – people congratulated them politely for their courtship, but to actually see the evidence of it?
They seemed to accept their relationship readily enough, but it seemed like most of the villagers had a hard time believing she could actually be attracted to him.
Her only worries about boundaries and propriety when courting Alejandro had been her faith, her conscience, and what she and Alejandro were personally comfortable with.
Now, she had Bruno's reputation, her own reputation, and Josefina to add to the list. She wasn't sure if the mild censure she felt directed toward them whenever she kissed Bruno in public was because of who he was, or if it was because she was older and a widow with a child, and the rules about how she could behave while courting were different now.
But her desires at forty-one were still so similar to the desires she had at twenty. She still wanted to be held, and cherished, and loved - fully and completely. Maybe she didn't have a desire for grand gestures and endless adventures, but she still appreciated the thrill of being romanced – of loving someone and knowing she was loved in return.
And then her mind wandered and she thought of the way Bruno's hands felt on her waist on those nights when they danced, and the way his pulse felt on her lips when she kissed his neck, and she felt warmth spread from her heart outward, covering her like a blanket of sunlight, slowly rising over the mountains. It was as though all her yearning for him had sprung roots and wrapped around her heart before burrowing into the ground beneath her. She felt heavy, tethered, solid and immovable - and she suddenly wanted him so badly it brought tears to her eyes.
Bruno frowned as he tried the door to the print shop and found it was locked. He knew Lucía was cleaning today but thought she might be close to done by now. He'd intended to surprise her by coming to help her, but had gotten pulled away with a vision request and helping Mirabel sort something out for the town council. In other words, he listened as she fretfully monologued. When she got too frantic, he interrupted to remind her that if she could save the family, rebuild Casita, and restore the magic, then she could handle advocating for the new library.
The 'Closed' sign in the window blocked some of his view, but he put his hand to the glass to shield his eyes from the glare and peered in.
He didn't see anyone, but –
Was that Lucía's shoe? On the ground, there, behind a shelf –
Was that Lucía on the ground, there behind a shelf?
He squinted and shifted along the window but he still couldn't make it out clearly. His heart started pounding and his mind started racing at all the myriad reasons she might be lying on the ground alone in the shop.
She got sick - she got conked in the head with a book and was currently unconscious - she fell - she sprained her ankle and couldn't get up –
He was already through the courtyard gate before he thought to call for Dolores or Julieta, but his throat was dry and the lump in his throat kept the words from coming out.
He didn't see José anywhere.
He fumbled with the door from the courtyard to the print shop, which was mercifully unlocked, and stumbled through it. He was to the shelves where she was laying in seconds.
"Lucía?" He called, his voice hesitant with fear at what he might find. "Lu - "
He tripped over the rug.
He tripped and went sprawling and Lucía was on the ground - very much alive, very much awake, and very much surprised to see him sailing toward her.
In that moment – far too late to be of any help - he remembered the vision he'd shared with her weeks and weeks ago.
Himself – Bruno – on top of Lucía's prone form, their noses almost touching, his arms locked straight, his palms flat on the ground beside her, his eyes wide and panicked and a bemused, half-lidded smirk on her face.
Well, fat lot of good remembering now did him when he was in the process of fulfilling it.
His palms hit the ground with a loud smack, as did one of his knees, his legs tangling together with hers. Pain shot up his arms as he locked them in place, determined not to land on her or hurt her.
He tensed and winced and braced himself, and when he realized he hadn't crushed her, he slowly opened one eye and then the other. She was looking up at him with that bemused, half-lidded expression of affection on her face. She shifted slightly, and he was suddenly very aware of their positioning.
He hovered over her and swallowed uncertainly. He'd never – he'd never been like this, before.
Over her.
Horizontal.
"Lo siento!" He gasped once he cleared his throat and found his voice again. "I'm so sorry – are you – did you – did I hurt you - ?"
"Bruno!" She laughed, a small, surprisingly wet sound – had she been crying? - and her eyes darted to the side, embarrassed. "I'm fine! I was already on the floor. Just cleaning the shelves, see?"
She gestured to the dusting cloth on the shelf with a tilt of her head. "Just taking a little break. And I thought it would be easier to just lay here instead of getting up and then getting back down to finish. I'm not as young as I used to be. Are you okay?" Her arms were awkwardly pinned by her sides, Bruno's hands on either side of her shoulders.
He stared at her, at her slightly wet lashes – she did have tears in her eyes, at least a moment ago – and at the way her eyes moved, meeting his for a split second and then looking away and to the right.
After a moment she seemed to realize he was watching her too intently to respond, and she relaxed and chuckled. The little laugh lines he adored appeared around her mouth and eyes. Santo cielo, she was beautiful.
l***
She looked up at him and whatever she saw in his face made her stop laughing.
Her lashes fluttered and her eyes grew dark and her amused smirk changed to something he – he couldn't quite place.
She wiggled just enough to free her arm, and one hand reached up, stroking his jaw, his neck. Goosebumps broke out on his skin, trailing her fingertips, spreading over his scalp and down his back, but it wasn't at all unpleasant. It felt – amazing. Tingly.
She reached up and curled her other hand around his neck and lifted her head from the floor, pulling him down toward her to meet her halfway.
She kissed him, slowly and tenderly. When she pulled back, her eyes met his - both searching for and giving permission. She smiled – a small, subtle thing - and he allowed himself to fall to his elbows, kissing her full on the mouth.
When they came up for air a few moments later, panting, he slid an arm beneath her back and pulled her closer. His other hand cradled her head, and he was suddenly very aware of the warm weight of her in his hands - the trust she had in him to let him hold her like this, pinned between him and the floor. He paused for a moment and pulled away just enough to search her face, and he held her as though she was the most precious thing in the world.
She looked back at him, breathless and willing, her eyes reflecting the same want that consumed him. His heart was so warm from the wanting that if it were visible it would be glowing more brilliantly than any magic he'd ever witnessed. He'd never felt so present, before – alive and aware and in the moment.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before she caught his mouth with hers again and he knew he was lost, forever, to this woman with dark eyes and the lightest, most brilliant of souls.
l***
The soft squeak of the opening courtyard gate made both of their eyes widen in alarm. Bruno scrambled off of her and she propped herself up on her elbows and sighed. Bruno moved back and sat cross-legged on the ground and she sat up beside him. He frantically sorted himself out, smoothing his shirtfront and arranging his collar, and reached over to grab his discarded ruana and pulled it over himself. She arranged herself as well, smoothing her skirt and straightening herself out.
They held their breath, listening, and could hear the strands of conversation coming from Josefina and her Abuelo.
"Mamá!" Josefina shouted from the courtyard. "We're home! Where are you?"
"Just - " Lucía's voice was all wrong and she knew it. Bruno gave her a wide-eyed look, his eyes terrified but his mouth smug or disbelieving or some other mixed emotion that he was sure made him look a bit wild. He felt wild – and alive and full of adrenaline and heat and - oh great, now he was feeling a little guilty, too.
How had he gone from worried his novia was hurt to…that?
As though she could read his thoughts, a nervous giggle escaped Lucía and she pushed lightly on his shoulder, cleared her throat, and tried again.
"Just in the shop, mi amor! I'll be out in a minute!"
"Do you need help?"
"No!" Lucía said, and her voice was strained. Bruno wasn't sure whether she was trying not to laugh or trying not to panic. "No, fresita! I'm just dusting, almost done! No need! Go – ah – go ask Pa – Papá – Abuelo if you can have a snack, okay? I'll come see you in just a minute!"
They waited and heard her cheerful acquiescence as she bounded away from the door and back through the courtyard.
Lucìa sighed and drew her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on her knees. Her eyes were wide and sparkling and her cheeks were dark and after a moment of Bruno shifting uncomfortably, she turned her head to the side and looked at him.
"Well," she said. "That was - " she bit her lip as she smiled. "That was - "
He ducked his head guiltily. "Did I hurt you?"
She stared at him. "No, Bruno. You did not hurt me."
He cleared his throat and looked away, his face still feeling as though flames were dancing across it. "Good. That's – good. Lo – lo siento, though. For – for - "
"Don't - " Lucía said, her face serious as she shifted and caught his eye. "Don't apologize, Bruno." The small smile that spread across her lips was fond and tender but there was something still smoldering in her eyes. She cupped his chin with her hand and brushed her thumb across his lower lip. "I thoroughly enjoyed it."
"Oh?" He said, and the pitch of his voice rose embarrassingly high, a little thrill zipping up inside at the thought that she wasn't – she wasn't judging him. She liked it as much as he did. "Oh. Ah – me - me too."
"And I'm thoroughly thankful that we did not arrive five minutes earlier," a calm voice said from the shelves closest to the door to the courtyard. Bruno hadn't heard the door open but he heard it shut and the distinctive cadence of measured footsteps approached them. He could see José Hernandez' pressed pant legs through the gaps in the books on the shelves.
"Ah!" Lucía startled, but turned to Bruno and mouthed 'act natural'. She cleared her throat and stood, brushing out her skirt and then using her fingers to brush out her hair before working the strands back into a plait. "I mean – Pa! We – were just finishing dusting the shelves. Cleaning. Bruno just – dropped by."
"Ha!" Bruno's laugh was short and Lucía narrowed her eyes at him. He was petrified, frozen to the ground. He threw both hands in the air as though he were being held up in some sort of robbery, even though José couldn't even see them at the moment.
"Nothing happened!" He cried, slinking closer to the books and wishing he could disappear entirely within them.
José Hernandez's legs stopped. "Really."
Lucía and Bruno looked at each other and then Lucía burst out laughing. She held out her hand to Bruno, who stared between her and her hand before taking it. She helped him up and the two of them finished straightening themselves out. "Really, Pa," she said, still laughing lightly, "we're not teenagers. It was just – just a little kissing."
"And you haven't called me 'Pa' since you were a teenager and I walked in on you…kissing."
"Papá," she rectified quickly, her cheeks dark with embarrassment but her eyes laughing as she looked at Bruno.
"Lying is a sin, child," José said with mock sternness as he came around the corner. "And," he said with slow, patient amusement, "You know what they say. First Corinthians chapter seven, verse nine."
"Don't ask - " Lucía hissed through her smile just as Bruno asked "What - what's that?"
José touched his finger to the side of his nose and smirked at the both of them. "It is better to marry than to burn with passion."
Bruno's embarrassed laughter brought Josefina into the shop, licking the fresh mango juice off her fingers. "Huh? Did somebody say they got a burn? Do you need to see Doña Julieta?"
She harrumphed in annoyance when the three adults burst into stilted laughter at her question.
He couldn't stop thinking about her. His cheeks still felt warm as he cut another mango for Josefina, watching Lucía as she prepared coffee, laughing at the faces Josefina made as she told stories about her afternoon and her plans for the evening.
She caught him staring at her as they all sat down for afternoon coffee and flushed and looked away for a moment. She looked back and he was still looking, and she smiled at him – that same small, subtle smile he'd seen on her earlier – and it was an entirely new category of smile.
I see you, it said. I know what you're thinking about and I'm thinking about it too.
They shared something now – and it was silly, wasn't it? It was – people did this all the time. Teenagers did this all the time. Like Lucía told her padre – it was – it was just kissing. Mostly. It shouldn't be this big of a deal, right?
And yet – it felt like something significant had happened. He actually looked down at his chest at some point, because he felt the weight of their connection so intensely that surely - he should able to see it, too?
Later that evening - after a friendly afternoon coffee – Bruno helped Lucía finish cleaning the shelves in the library with Josefina's 'assistance'. (She probably hindered them more than helped, but Bruno had to appreciate her drive to get it done). After a reluctant good-bye that left Bruno feeling like there was still something between him and Lucía that needed to be addressed - or maybe, someday soon, repeated - Bruno slept fitfully.
His sleep was plagued with the dreams he hated most – dreams of people he loved disappearing into shadows and of faceless warnings; things that made him uneasy but nothing that pushed the dream into distinctly 'nightmare' territory.
And then –
Hands – his hands, holding Lucía's, her gown lacy and veil framing her round face. She smiles adoringly at him, tears in her eyes.
She leans forward and hugs him tightly, kissing him on the cheek, and turns toward the altar – toward another, faceless, indecipherable person.
That person is bathed in the green light streaming in through the stained glass window.
(It's the priest. It's definitely the priest. It's a weird reaction from Lucía when they're standing at the altar, right? – but then – this a dream – this is a dream and not a vision. Not the vision.
It's a dream.
Right?)
But as soon as he thinks it – something shifts, and everything is very green and very clear and not vague at all.
Someone – him – in the jungle. Searching. For…someone? Someone is lost. Someone is lost, and he is trying to find them.
He pushes a fern out of the way and there is a woman lying on the ground, her wavy hair spread out on the ground around her like a feathery halo.
The road to the Encanto, clear one moment and covered with foliage the next, as though a road had never been there in the first place.
Tatiana Valencia, clutching her stomach, her face lined with deep, soul-crushing pain.
A bird, dropping the husk of the mango it's eating.
A snake, slithering through the grass.
A horse, rearing.
Bruno sat straight up in bed, gasping as the green glow faded from his eyes.
There was nothing ambiguous about that one.
That was no dream.
That was a vision.
A/N: Welp, folks. That little rendezvous in the print shop is as intense/detailed as it will ever get in this story. It will be a fade to black or implied situation as their relationship progresses/after they're married.
"Cross my heart and hope to die." – this American phrase became popular at the end of the 1800s. I figure Bruno's seen it in a vision somewhere and it freaks people out when he says it.
Santo cielo – Good God
In the interest of full disclosure, I won't be posting another chapter until the kids go back to school in the fall. We're soaking up all the summer fun. I'll still be around here or there reading and commenting, but I'm on a lil bit of a hiatus until fall comes around. Sorry to leave you on a sort of cliffhanger. XD
Some info to hopefully tide you over until then:
1. I have the outline for the rest of this story. It'll have roughly 18 more chapters (realistically, by the time the word count balloons, more like 25, but hey, that's the outline.)
2. Sadly just because I have the outline done does not mean I have the time I desire for writing it. This story will take at least another year to complete.
3. In upcoming chapters, get ready for: more trips to San Cristóbal, a run in with Tatiana, increasingly concerning visions, the triplets' birthday celebration, The Day of Remembrance Festival, shenanigans, Lucía's birthday, Christmas, a wedding, and a misunderstanding of epic proportions.
4. I always want to talk about this story. Ask me anything, seriously.
Thank you so much for reading and for your support. God bless you and have a great weekend!