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Today is a big day - the big day.
Martín has worked restlessly for the past few weeks, has made sure everything is perfect. He will accept nothing less than flawless perfection, for that is the only way. People will talk about this evening's ceremony for days, whether is a flop or a success, so he better give them something worth talking about, something that will bring pride to the Hernández family.
It is all about reputation and looks, after all. That is what life is in the higher richer circles of society; it is all about facades and masks, about the rumour that has or will spread around whether is true or not. It is a game, a dance, and one wrong step, one slight miscalculation, can ruin everything.
That is exactly how Martín has found himself in this situation - though if he has to be honest with himself, it feels as if he has been dancing to a whole different song all together. He has been mingling with the crowd, deaf to the music the dancers follow, blending in by blindly anticipating their lead, by keeping a low profile and adapting however he can hoping no one will notice. But the song in his heart has always been different - something off beat, something that made him gravitate the wrong way, turn his head the wrong direction.
It was a matter of time for him to mess up.
And he has messed up - he has messed up big time.
But the show must go on, and if there is one thing Martín has always been good at is puffing his chest out and putting on a brave face. He forces out a wide confident grin - hides all his fears, his insecurities, his pain, all of that he pushes into his chest, into his heart - and he presses forward.
He makes a quick rerun of today’s preparation in the morning, making sure everything is in place one last time for today’s big event. He asks questions and makes demands to the service employees, but at this point it is pointless. It is already too late to change anything - and anyways everything is perfect, as it should be.
Back home, Daniel had tried to calm him, has tried to eased his crisped nerves - with no work at hand, Martín had been restless and twitchy like a jackrabbit for the last few hours. His brother had offered him some food, some wine, had told him to sit down or maybe go for a walk - even a ride. Daniel had stopped when it became more than clear that Martín was ignoring him, too caught up in his head to pay him any attention.
Martín checks his looks in the mirror one last time. He smooths his suit, arranges the peaked lapels and cuffs of his jacket. He checks his hair, perfectly combed back, and when he has nothing left to do with his hands, he pulls out his pocket watch.
It is finally time.
He heads out of his room, walks down the corridor and stops when he reaches a closed door. He can clear quiet chattering inside as he knocks.
“Come in!” calls a voice inside.
So Martín does. He slips into the room, mockingly covering his eyes with a hand.
“Are you decent, Tia?” he asks.
“Of course I am, you,” Tiana answers and Martín can very much picture the roll of her eyes.
Martín uncovers his eyes, and can’t help but to smile at the sight of his little sister.
Tiana stands in front of a mirror, surrounded by three servant girls working on her dress and hairdo. When she catches Martín on the reflection, her eyes light up, and she gently tells the servant to leave. Their job is done anyways; Tiana looks beyond magnificent in her gown. She looks like a princess. The white of her dress seems to have a light of its own as it glimmers like fine pearls. Her golden hair is braided up, and crowning her head is a sparkling silver tiara. His little sister has always been beautiful, Martín had always known that. It had been quite a headache merely some months ago, as he had found himself shooing away the countless suitors she attracted very much like honey to bees, to Martín’s annoyance.
Call Martín a hopeless romantic, but there is a special glow in a bride on her wedding day.
“You’re the prettiest bride the world has ever seen,” he takes her hands and squeezes them, for he means it.
Tiana smiles, and a pleased blush colors her cheeks.
“Good looks run in the family,” she says.
“That was never under discussion,” Martín agrees, and lets Tiana smooth his suit for him.
She makes sure there is not a hair out of place on him, as if he hadn’t already done that a hundred times. He doesn’t take it to heart. Tiana has always been a perfectionist, and just like her older brother she struggles a little to keep her hands idle. She tries to comb back the unruly curl that keeps escaping his hair and falling over his forehead, and frowns at him when it doesn’t stay in place.
Martín takes her hand, and lowers it, silently requesting her attention. She meets his eyes, and sighs.
“Is it time already?” she asks knowing the answer.
They have always been very good at communication without words. The three of them, Daniel, Tiana and Martín - but particularly Martín and Tiana. His little sister had always been very close to him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. And now, she’s getting married, leaving home…
Martín tries not to think about it. He will have time to brood later - plenty of time.
He takes Tiana’s hand, and together they head outside, where a carriage and Daniel are already waiting for them.
They ride to church, and neither three says much. They sit together, sharing guarded smiles; Tiana has both of her hands occupied as she holds Daniel’s in one and Martín’s in the other. It is just the three of them. It has been just the three of them against the world.
Daniel is the first to climb down off the carriage once they reach the church. He helps Tiana down, and kisses her cheek with a giddy “Good luck, little sis” before he rushes inside. Martín and Tiana stand side by side by the wide tall twin doors.
There is no turning back after this. It is the beginning of the end of life as the three know it.
Martín offers his arm, and Tiana silently wraps hers around it. She has pursed lips and a light frown, and Martín can’t help but give her a guarded smile.
“Nervous?” he teases.
Tiana huffs grumpily, but doesn’t bite back like she would normally do.
“A little,” she relents quietly.
Tiana is usually very reserved, very proud. Much like Martín, she would rather put on a brave face than show weakness, and his little sister’s admision makes Martín’s heart soften.
“Don’t be,” he says. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”
She has never liked his overprotective brother act - not since she became a lady and she let go of the hem of his jacket. But today she smiles up at him, comforted, and squeezes his arm. He smiles back at her, and together they step inside the church as the organ starts playing and the choir starts singing.
Martín is a hopeless romantic and has poured everything of himself in this wedding. Tiana had never been one to care much about this sort of things, so he had taken it upon himself to make it perfect. Lushful white roses flank their path, fresh and perfumed. Multicolor light pours down from the sky, the golden sunlight of the evening dyed by the window’s stained glass. The choir’s voices echo all around them, a heavenly song that seems to be everywhere at the same time. As Martín and Tiana walk down the aisle with their arms locked together and their chins proudly held up a dozens of beaming faces and glinting gazes follow their unhurried march.
It all makes Martín’s heart swell, ache with a deep painful longing he has ever felt before. It looks like the wedding of his deepest dreams - the wedding he knows he will never get to have. It is perfect, in every way. The guests, the music, the flowers...
And Luciano, the Duke of Vera Cruz; the most important part of Martín’s fantasy, waiting at the end of the aisle.
It is indeed the wedding of Martín’s dreams - how ironic it is that it is only a nightmare in disguise, for it is his little sister who is marrying the man Martín loves most fervently and he is the one giving her away.
As handsome as Martín has ever seen him, Luciano stands tall and proud - his brow furrowed and lips pressed with firm decision. Pointedly and painfully ignoring Martín in favour of his sister; in favour of his bride.
Martín and Tiana reach the altar, and Martín’s gaze is torn from Luciano’s face as if out of a daze when the priest demands his attention.
“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the old father asks.
“I do,” Martín answers loud and firm, with a conviction he does not feel in any fiber of his feeble being.
Tiana unfolds her arm from his. Martín can’t help but smile down at his little sister, trying to hide his bitterness from her - how could he not, when he loves her so and she looks so bright and beautiful on her wedding day? He gently cups her face to press a kiss on her forehead.
Luciano has stepped down from the altar, waiting to take his bride, and their eyes meet for the first time since Martín stepped into the church.
Martín feels pinned down by the look of those beautiful brown eyes. He holds his breath, frozen, and looks down when Luciano extends his hand, as if taken aback by the gesture. He lets out a trembling sigh, and shakes his hand stiffly. Luciano’s hand is warm and wide, rougher than a Duke’s ought to be. The touch of it sends electricity down Martín’s back and leaves him breathless, as if the air has been knocked right out of his lungs.
It is Luciano who lets go. It feels wrong, leaves Martín aching to reach back for him. But he controls the wild crazy urge, and steps back, falls into his place. He joins Daniel at the front row and watches with longing eyes as Luciano and Tiana climb back up to the altar where they stand side by side as they listen to the priest.
Martín doesn’t hear a word the old man says. He simply watches the ceremony helplessly, hopelessly. When the time comes, the priest hands the groom and the bride their wedding rings. Luciano takes Tiana’s hand and carefully slips her white satin glove off to slide the ring on. She takes his ring and does the same for him.
“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy wedlock,” the priest announces loudly for everyone in the mass to hear. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
It feels like a taunt.‘Forever’ is a painful sentence, a heavy burden. This is the cross Martín has chosen to carry, and thus he does just that; he keeps his eyes down and remains in silent.
“By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest declares and that is it. The deed is done, there truly is no turning back. “You may kiss the bride.”
Luciano and Tiana take each other's hands and seal the deal by pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. The church erupts in claps and cheers, and Martín forces himself to smile back at Tiana when her eyes look for her brothers’, searching support, searching approval.
The way from the church to the Duke of Vera Cruz’s mansion is a long one, and a convoy of luxurious carriages follow the newlywed couple out of town. In the golden orange light of twilight, the Duke’s mansion looks magnificent. It is the true testament to Luciano’s wealth, to his ancient distinguished lineage.
“This way, please,” a servant bows in front of Martín and Daniel as soon as they step out of their carriage, and guides them inside.
The mansion is as impressive on the inside as it is on the outside; marble floors merge with intricately carved pillars, beautiful ceiling frescos give way to dangling glass chandeliers, and endless paintings of proud men and women look down with harsh stern gazes from the portraits hanging on the wall. The man guides them and the guest who arrived across the mansion, until they step outside again, into the mansion’s gorgeous gardens. Wide endless green stretches before Martín’s eyes, crowned by an elegant dancing fountain. Perfectly trimmed bushes frame the gravel paths and flowerbeds draw perfect and alluring shapes in the distance. Garlands brimming with white flowers and candlelights have been webbed over their heads, and white tables with big flower arrangements have been arranged for the occasion. There is also a wide shiny dancefloor made of smooth wooden pallets close by the platform in which a band in perfect suit already plays a sweet quiet song. Countless servants perfectly dressed waltz around carrying silver platters with food and drinks, which they kindly offer with bright smiles to the guests as they arrive.
It all looks grand. And expensive .
Martín knows just how expensive.
Normally, the wedding expenses run on the bride's family - that is to say, on Martín. But Luciano had insisted any expenses related to the wedding be on him.
“I might not be a Duke, but I can pay for my sister’s wedding, thank you,” Martín had hissed venomously with offended pride.
The Hernández family had no titles or estates, no dukedoms to claim to their own, but they did own a very profitable company that placed them among the wealthiest families in town. Unlike Luciano, Martín had to work for his money, but that didn’t mean he was short on it.
“I’m most certain you can,” Luciano had nodded his head with uncharacteristic tameness. “But allow me, please.”
Luciano had insisted and Martín had relented out of pettiness. Back then he had decided that if the Duke wanted to marry his sister, he would make him pay for it. He had made sure to make Luciano’s pocket hurt, to give his little sister only the best of the best. He had wanted to punish Luciano just so Luciano would fight back, would call him out, would buttheads with him like they had always done back in college, back when Luciano only had eyes for him and…
And Luciano hadn’t. Luciano hadn’t argued with Martín about the ridiculous bulk of money he had wasted not even once. He had nodded his head, keeping his gaze down like a kicked puppy, and had agreed to his every demand.
It had been childish of Martín, but he had been so angry. He wishes he still were. It hadn’t hurt when he was - he hadn’t noticed how much it hurt, consumed by burning rage.
But now Martín has run out of fire, and all that’s left of him is withered and crooked.
The newly wed couple arrives when all the guests are seated at their places, and they are welcomed with a warm round of applause. Luciano and Tiana take a seat at the heart of the party, on a table just for two; for the groom and the bride. Husband and wife.
Martín and Daniel sit at a close-by table. They are the only two on the table, the bride’s only family. No father, no mother, no grandparents or aunts or uncles. Just two brothers. It would be a little sad, but Martín and Daniel are twice the people sitting on the groom’s side. Only a woman sits on the table, proud and unbothered by her solicitude. A family friend, if Martín remembers correctly. She has dark skin and bright clever dark eyes which study Luciano with an apprehensive frown. She crosses gazes with Martín only once, and he quickly looks away when he finds pity in them - as if she knew.
They make up the lack of family with guests; the Duke’s garden brims with loud happy attendees.
Soon after the couple’s arrival, the food and drinks start to come in copious amounts. It is exquisite, from the creamy and savory shrimp soup that they serve as an appetizer, the smoky and oh so tender roasted lamb with baked vegetables covered in a rich and aromatic gravy as main course, to the spongy sweet cake they have for dessert. Martin has made sure Luciano didn’t spare on expenses, and it shows with the meal alone.
Once everyone has their stomachs filled, the waiters bring glasses of sparkling wine to every table, and Martín knows what is expected of him. He takes a moment, just a very brief moment in which he takes a deep breath and gathers all the strength left in him to put on a smile and get on his feet.
“I would like to make a toast,” he announces loudly, and everyone grows quiet.
He turns around and faces the groom and the bride’s table. Tiana smiles at him, but Luciano’s eyes widen with alarm. Martín almost feels like laughing at the sight of him, but he knows that is just him not being in his right mind.
“A toast to the groom,” he says, and raises his glass to Luciano - handsome Luciano, who looks as if he is about to witness something horrible. “To the Duke of Vera Cruz, who wed a girl with no title whatsoever and yet managed to overmarry.”
The guests laugh and raise their glasses and echo with a quiet yet enthusiastic ‘To the groom!’.
“To the bride,” Martín carries on, and for a moment his smile is sincere as he looks eyes with his little sister. “Who I am profoundly proud to say has grown to become the strongest smartest woman I know. Best wishes to the Duchess of Vera Cruz from your brother, who is and will always be at your side.”
The crowd answers back with a ‘To the bride!’, louder and merrier than before.
“To your union,” Martín continues, tilting his chin up with a smile that feels tense and crooked on his face, that makes him feel sick in the stomach. “To the newlywed Duke and the Duchess of Vera Cruz.”
The crowd screams ‘To the Duke and the Duchess!’ and breaks into cheering as they take their glasses to their lips and drink in the couple’s honor.
Martín lowers his glass, struggling to keep his smile in place.
“May you always be satisfied,” he whispers into his glass before he takes one long drink.
The meal is officially over with the toast, and the band picks up the music as they start playing a waltz, inviting the guests to join them in the dancefloor.
Martín watches as Luciano raises to his feet and gallantly pushes Tiana's chair back to help her up. He takes his wife’s hand and elegantly guides her to the center of the dancefloor, takes her hand in his and places the other on the small of her back. As if in queue, in perfect unison, Luciano and Tiana start dancing, twirling around the dancefloor to the music.
They make a perfect couple, the love of his life and his little sister. It hurts to look at it, so Martín takes another glass of wine and downs it in one go.
Midway through the dance, Tiana lets go of Luciano and rushes straight to her brothers’ table. She smiles at Martín, bright and radiant, and takes his hands to drag him to the dancefloor despite his weak protests.
He dances with his sister, and it is surprisingly easy to do so. He has done this before a hundred of times - back when Tiana was too young to do it right and they simply spinned around giggling together, or when she had to practice for her debut and he patiently taught him every move and every step. It is easy to find shelter in those memories and forget for a moment where he is.
Tiana lets him go too soon, with a mischievous smile, and goes for Daniel, who is far more reluctant and embarrassed to be dragged to the dancefloor than Martín was.
Free from the bride’s attention, Martín tries to sneak out of the dancefloor, but he is caught by a young girl with freckled cheeks who beams at him and drags him back in. He has no escape, as he falls into rhythm with the rest of the couples who had joined in. The dancers keep changing partners, circling and swirling, and Martín has lost count of how many girls have taken his hand and smiled up at him. He follows their lead mindlessly, letting the current take his tired body, until he bumps into a dance partner that knocks the air out of him.
Luciano looks as surprised of bumping into him, dark eyes wide and unblinking. They stare into each other, standing completely still as couples swirl around them to the beat of the music. Time seems to slow as they hold their gazes, seems to stop all together. The world disappears around Martín, for the only thing that matters is Luciano - handsome Luciano, looking up at him with his gorgeous brown eyes.
It makes Martín’s heart crack further, deeper. It hurts, new pain over old pain, and Martín feels new blood pour out of his beaten heart.
The world seems to catch up with them. Martín’s senses take everything in, and it seems too much, too overwhelming. He can breathe again, and yet it seems as if his lungs have forgotten how. He lets out a choked breath, and stomps off the dancefloor.
He needs air. He needs space, needs quiet. He walks past the guests, past the tables, past the waiters. He makes it to a dark little corner, hides behind a tall bush and closes his eyes as he tries to catch his breath, tries to stop the crack deeping in his heart. There is not enough air in the world, and he feels dizzy as panic takes hold of his mind.
He needs to remain calm - he can’t do this right now, right here. It is his sister's wedding, he made sure everything is perfect, he cannot embarrass her by having a breakdown. He needs to get his act together and go back before anyone notices...
“Martín?”
… of course. Of course, of all people, Luciano is the one to come for him.
He manages to put his mask back on as Luciano appears into sight. His face is framed by the light that reaches them, half of it hidden by darkness. Yet Martín doesn’t miss the worried look he gives him.
“Are you ok?” he asks.
“Grand,” Martín answers, and it doesn’t sound right even to his own ears. “Explendid, really. My sister is the Duchess of Vera Cruz, I could not have hoped for a better prospect for her. I just needed some air after all that spinning. It is a little hot tonight, don’t you agree?”
It is not.
Luciano frowns and purses his lips, as he always did when he believed Martín was being particularly difficult. He doesn’t believe him, but he is clever enough not to press on him. It is unwise to poke an injured wild animal.
He lets out a long sigh - tired, almost as tired as Martín - and tries to give him a smile. It is as convincing as Martín’s.
“Thank you for your kind words during the toast,” Luciano says, nodding his head humbly. “I must say I wasn’t expecting them.”
Martín bets he wasn’t.
“You thought I would embarrass you, didn’t you?”
Luciano looks away with guilt, for that is exactly what he thought.
Martín could have destroyed him in front of the crowd, right there, right then. He knows of Luciano’s past affairs. He could have given a dozen names of the Duke’s conquests and that wouldn’t even be half of the people Luciano has slept with throughout his life. Of all the ladies and gentlemen he had fucked, from high society to the lowest circles.
Martín had been one of those conquest, so many years ago. He had fallen for Luciano’s charms, had let him take him to his bed, and had made the terrible mistake of falling in love with him just to let Luciano break his heart the following morning.
He had hated him for it - had hated him so long. For the pain, for the humiliation. Had hated him when Luciano reapared into his life a couple of months ago, claiming to have interest in his little sister. Had hated him when he started courting her, had hated him like he had never hated anyone when he arrived late home to find Luciano and Tiana drunk and alone and unchaperoned in his home’s guest room. Had hated him when he challenged him to a duel for his little sister’s broken honor, and would have shot him if Tiana hadn’t interrupted them announcing their engagement.
But he had been lying to himself. The wild maddening feeling in his chest had been a burning flame born from heartache, deeply rooted in love. But Martín’s hate had withered, dried and died with the news of their union.
With no anger left in him, all that was left was something old he thought forgotten, raw and untainted by remorse or pain. Love.
Only after Martín lost the man he loved to his sister he realised how much of a fool he had been.
“I would have had it coming,” Luciano says, quietly. He looks up and meets Martín’s eyes, holding his eyes with deep remorse. “You are right, Martín. I was a coward and an asshole. I lied, you weren’t just another night. I was scared and I thought that was what you wanted to hear, what you came to tell me that morning all these years ago. So I got ahead of you, for it was easier to say it than to hear it," he takes a deep shuddering brath and carrios on. "I deserve your scorn, your anger. I know you hate me and you are right to. You are right about everything.”
“Luciano…” he tries to stop him, but Luciano doesn’t let him.
“You were right about me not being good enough for Tiana,” he says. “You were right about me only courting her to provoke your bad temper. You were right about all the things you’ve called me. I am selfish. I am irresponsible. I am a tramp.”
Martín grimaces. He had called Luciano all those things, and more. It is just another stake in his mauled heart.
A firm glint takes over Luciano’s eyes, and he frowns and tilts his chin up proudly.
“But that changes starting tonight,” he says. “Tiana is my best friend and I love her. I intend to honor and protect her. I know you opposed our courtship and you were right to, but I need you to know I will take care of her. She will be safe and happy and respected, I’ll make sure of that.”
Martín had thought he couldn’t love Luciano any harder than he already did, and he was surprised to be proven wrong yet again. Luciano has proven to be strong and honorable and trustworthy and gorgeous, and Martín has never felt stronger for him. There is only yearning in him, pure and raw and unreserved. He aches for him, with every fiber in him. Luciano looks at him with a will of stealth in his brown eyes, handsome as ever, right within reach.
Martín could kiss him. He looks perfect to be kissed, more than ever. It hurts to keep his hands to himself, to silence his confession. But Martín can’t do this to his little sister. He promised to always look after her, he can’t go back on that oath.
“I-Thank you,” Martín nods his head. “That’s all I could ask for.”
Luciano nods his head back at him and the firmness of his eyes dissolves as quickly as it appeared.
Now that all has been said - at least from Luciano’s side, Martín thinks - there is a quiet, awkward beat between them.
“I should probably go back,” Luciano says. He doesn’t seem to want to, rooted in place, looking up to Martín’s eager eyes. “I mean, I’m the groom, right?”
He tries to smile, but Martín doesn’t smile back.
“Yes,” he agrees, somberly. “You should.”
It doesn’t seem to be the answer Luciano was waiting for. But he keeps his smile in place, nods his head again, and is off.
Martín tries not to think of Luciano’s words echoing inside his brain - you weren’t just another night, I know you hate me, you are right about everything, Tiana is my best friend and I love her, I will take care of her -, so he joins back the party and takes the first glass of alcohol that crosses his face. And the next, and the following, and so on.
Martín is young, has always enjoyed parties and dancing and talking. Tonight, however, he turns down with a polite smile all invitations to the dancefloor, and instead stays with the older gentlemen, smoking and drinking and pretending he is not miserably drowning his sorrows in alcohol.
The party is a success and the music and dancing extends into the wee hours of the night. The food and drink don’t stop coming and the guests only stop dancing and eating when their feet and stomachs can’t hold it anymore.
Once the party is over, the Duke and the Dutchess of Vera Cruz greet their guests goodnight as they leave one by one. As the bride’s brothers, Martín and Daniel are the last to leave.
Tiana hugs them - she curls her arms around them and hugs them like she has never hugged them before.
“I’ll miss you two,” she confesses. “Promise you’ll visit often?”
“Everyday,” Daniel nods his head, too drunk to keep his tears at bay.
“You’ll get sick of us,” Martín promises.
Tiana smiles. She takes Daniel’s face between her hands, and cleans his tears with her thumbs before she kisses his forehead. He hugs her again, burying his face on her neck and pressing her tightly to his chest. They part and Luciano extends his hand with a polite smile, but Daniel hugs him too, just as tightly. Luciano blinks in surprise, but a warm smile creeps up his face and he curls his arms around Daniel as he smoothes a hand on his back.
Daniel sniffs and heads for the carriage waiting for them with his head hanging low.
Tiana watches him clumsily climb inside the carriage with worry.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay for the night?” she asks. She gestures back to the impressive mansion behind her. “There is plenty of room, that is sure.”
“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Martín shakes his head with a polite tense smile.
He couldn’t bear any second of this torture, if he is being honest.
Tiana nods her head, failing to hide her disappointment. There is a faint flush on her cheeks, but unlike the rest of the attendees she is mostly sober. At her side, Luciano looks nothing but stone cold sober. Martín doesn’t remember watching him take a drink to his lips the whole night - and he had been watching him closely.
“Make sure Dani makes it to bed,” she says.
“Will do,” Martín promises. He gives her a smirk, and raises his eyebrows in mock confusion. “No hug for your poor ol’ brother?”
Tiana frowns at him, but the smile tugging at the corner of her lips betrays her. She gets on her tiptoes and curls her arms around Martín’s shoulders to bring him down for a tight hug. He curls his arms around her, and reluctantly steps back when Tiana pulls away.
Luciano looks at him unsure after Daniel’s effusive display. Martín hesitates as well, but eventually extends a hand in an uncharacteristic act of cold politeness. They shake hands, and just as it happened with Tiana’s hug, they take a little too long to let go.
Letting go seems like an effort, as if Martín’s articulations had turned into stiff rusty hinges. As if he would rather not let go, ever. He flexes his fingers, opens and closes his hand obsessively - the warmth of Luciano’s palm lingers on his.
“See you around, Luciano,” Martín nods his head.
Luciano nods back with a smile that does not reach his eyes.
“You too, Martín,” he says. He hesitates, and his smile falters. He takes a shuddering breath, and hastily adds: “You are most welcomed to visit as often as you like. From now on, this is your home as well now.”
There is a pleading glint in his eyes. It seems as if he fears Martín might disappear into the night and never be back.
Martín nods his head and looks away, unable to hold Luciano’s beautiful honest eyes.
“Thank you,” he says with a clipped voice. “I shall be going, then. We’ll see each other soon.”
“Yes,” Luciano answers in a breathless whisper. “We’ll see again soon.”
Martín climbs into the carriage, and a servant closes the door of the carriage after him, and the slam on his back feels like a dead sentence.
Tiana and Luciano wave them goodbye - the former far more energetically than the later -, and their carriage is off. Martín gives one last look back through the small glass window, but the happy couple is gone from the front of the mansion.
Daniel is snoring quietly with his cheek pressed on the glass window and a thin thread of saliva trailing down his chin. Martín sighs, and sits by his side, makes sure his little brother’s head rests on his thigh. It is going to be a long trip back home, he might as well make sure he is comfortable.
Daniel doesn’t wake up, he barely stirs: he lets out a content sigh as Martín sinks his finger in his messy brown curls and combs them the way he used to do when they were children and Daniel would crawl into his bed awakened by thunder or a nightmare.
Martín doesn’t mind the quiet ride back home. It is for the best; he is so very tired of keeping up his mask.
They arrive home close to sunrise. Daniel goes straight to his room dragging his feet, but Martín heads for his study - he is exhausted, in body and mind, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep so he spares himself the torture of tossing around in bed. He pours himself a drink, thinks better of it and instead takes the whole bottle. He drops his tired body on an armchair, and takes a long uninterrupted swing.
It is quiet at home. So very quiet, he thinks. Daylight is only a faint orange shadow on the horizon, still the weak promise of a new day. The world is still sleeping, and Martín feels more alone and miserable than ever.
Tonight, Martín’s home is a little more empty than before, and he feels Tiana’s absence deep in his tired bones. The hollowed silence of her absence feels crushing, a missing piece in his heart. It is the first time his little sister doesn’t spend the night home, under Martín’s guarding wing. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say last night was her last night under Martín’s care, since she is not coming back home ever again.
But she has a new life, one in which she doesn’t need her big brother anymore. She has a husband now. She has Luciano.
Another kind of pain takes over him. If Tiana’s absence was quiet and dull like a heavy rock, this one is sharp and stinging like a sharp poisoned blade.
Tonight not only is Tiana’s first night outside home. It also is her first night with Luciano, her first night as his wife. Tonight is their wedding night.
Martín remembers soft lush lips. Remembers strong thick thighs around his hips, a strong body rutting against him. Smooth warm skin, dark and glistening like caramel. Brown eyes, clouded with pleasure, boring down at him - mocking him, taunting him, drowning him. Remembers a husky breathless moan as Luciano came around Martín calling his name.
He takes a deep shuddering breath. That is no way to be thinking of his little sister’s husband.
His little sister’s husband.
A sob breaks through him, no matter how hard he tries to keep it down. He stands abruptly, unable to breath, struck down in pain as if by lighting, and drops the empty bottle. The whole world swirls around him, and he has to hold onto the fireplace’s mantel shelf to keep from going down onto the grown. He closes a hand over his chest, clings to his coat as if he were about to rip it open, gasping for head, dizzy with the alcohol still running in his veins and the lack of air. He can’t breathe, can’t seem to push air into his lungs - he’s dying, he’s dying and by God he is glad because he can’t handle the violents sobs that break through his body shaking him from head to toe.
He takes deep shuddering breaths, like a wounded animal - and just like one, he flees.
Martín flees home during break of dawn. He walks mindlessly like a ghost making his way through empty streets, but his feet know exactly where to take him.
He reaches a small narrow house by the port, where it smells like alcohol and urine and the fish sailors bring from the sea. This is no place for a gentleman like Martín - this is a place of hookers and drunktards and lowlifes, people without a penny to their name.
Martín stumbles against a familiar door and has to rest his weight on it, unable to stay on his feet any longer - he is too drunk, too tired, too hurt. He slams his fist over the old wood, once, twice. He doesn’t have any strength left to knock a third time, but it is not necessary; Manuela opens the door with a frown and a curse on the tip of her tongue, but Martín falls into her arms reduced into a pathetic sobbing mess before she can even get started.
“Oh, you,” she says in a quiet whisper. She is small and petite, and holds him up by the mere strength of her temper as he drenches her nightgown with his tears, sobbing against her breast like a lost child. “Come inside, you fool.”
Martín lets Manuela guide him inside, lets her undress him and tuck him into the couch of her living room he has claimed as his second bed long ago. He cries until his throat is raw, until he can’t make another sound, and Manuela stays by his side, patiently combing his hair until he passes out out of sheer exhaustion.
Martín has messed up big time - he is in love with his sister’s husband.