Page 29 of Broken Butterfly
Fallon had his jet meet us this morning at the Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport where we boarded and flew to Barcelona. Once we landed, a limousine was waiting for us. After what seemed like a long drive from the airport through gorgeous, scenic countryside, we finally came to our final destination—a grand and majestic countryside estate. Fallon told me on the plane that we were staying at his sister and her husband’s home, just one of several homes they owned throughout Spain and Europe.
“I have to warn you,” Fallon says as he gentlemanly helps me out of the limousine, “my sister married very young. She’s eighteen now and her husband is twenty years her senior. But he treats her like a queen, so I have no problem with him. Yet,” he adds.
I pull my sunglasses down to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight and look around. The temperature is mild, around the mid-sixties, and feels wonderful. The beauty of my surroundings is breathtaking. You can clearly see the attention to detail in the design of the property’s landscaping and the colorful design of the home with its stained-glass windows and mosaic tiles. Ivy tendrils climb up along the sides of the house giving it an old-world feel. The roof is made of red and brown terracotta tiles and the outside stucco is a muted tan color.
“What style of architecture is this? I don’t recognize it?”
“Catalan Modernism,” a woman’s accented voice replies. This must be Tatiána. She is absolutely stunning. Her hair is jet black and straight, but I can see the purple and gold-foil strands interspersed throughout her shiny locks. I’ll have to ask her what she used in her hair because it looks cool. Her eyes are as crystal blue as Fallon’s, and the contrast between her dark hair and her light eyes is mesmerizing. She smiles sweetly at me and I instantly like her.
Fallon breaks away from me and moves toward his sister; the grin that lights up her face is one of pure joy. Before he can get to her, she runs over to him and throws her arms around his neck, kissing him very enthusiastically on both cheeks. Fallon lifts her up, causing her yellow dress to blossom out and flow around them as he twirls her around in a circle. They speak to each other in what I think is Spanish, but many of the words I don’t recognize. Once he lets Tatiána go, she looks over at me and pokes Fallon in the ribs.
“You are right, brother. She is very pretty.”
I blush at her compliment. “It is so nice to meet you,” I greet her, walking over to hold out my hand. I know it’s an American custom, but it’s one I’m used to. “Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home.”
Tatiána ignores my hand and embraces me in a hug instead. She leans back and kisses me on each cheek, then takes my arm and starts walking me toward the house. “Fallon, be a good boy and make sure her bags are taken to the Rosa room.”
We hear him respond with a few choice words, which makes us both laugh. I look back over my shoulder and wiggle my fingers at him, then I blow him a kiss.
“He seems happy,” Tatiána comments as two grand twelve-foot doors gracefully swing open for us like magic. I get my first glimpse at the interior of her home and it’s as gorgeous on the inside as it is on the outside. A woman carrying a tray of drinks approaches us and gives a small curtsy. Tatiána takes two flutes of bubbling liquid off the tray and hands one to me.
“Are these real flowers?” I ask when I notice the purple and white blossoms floating in my glass. I sniff the drink and it smells divine.
“Yes. I use fresh, edible flowers in most things. The flowers come from a world-renowned grower in Barcelona.”
I take a sip of the drink and the bubbles pop on my tongue. I was expecting champagne, but this is more like a floral-infused sparkling water. It’s light and delicious.
“Your home is lovely.”
“Once you settle in, I will give you a tour. My Eduardo is out of town on business until tomorrow so it will be just the three of us tonight.” Her accent is so charming and lyrical. I was raised in the South, so I have a slight Southern twang when I talk. Spending over a year in Seattle muted it down a lot and I barely hear it anymore except when I get angry or passionate about something.
“I would very much like that. Thank you,” I tell her.
“You are very pretty, Elizabeth. I can see why Fallon is so taken with you.”
I blush again. “We’re just good friends. He’s helping me with something.”
“Ahh,” she says, the look she’s giving me tells me she’s not convinced. “Regardless, I’m happy he has a friend. It’s not often I get to see him, so your visit is a nice surprise.”
As she walks me through different rooms, a Steinway grand piano catches my eye. Tatiána notices me staring. “Do you play, Elizabeth?”
“I do, yes.” My fingers start to twitch, and I think I drool a little over the Steinway.
“Please, be my guest. I play a little, but I am not good.”
I walk over to the grand piano and lovingly glide my fingers across the black and white keys. “Are you sure?” I ask her.
Tatiána is already sitting down across from the piano waiting for me to start playing. “Music is the sound of the soul. It would be my honor to listen to your soul, Elizabeth.”
“Would you like for me to play something classical, Baroque, romantic, contemporary?” I take my seat on the piano bench and place my feet on top of the pedals, my fingers hovering over the keys.
“I would like to hear you play something from the heart,” she replies.
I warm up my fingers by playing a few scales.
“There you both are. This house is a fucking maze to navigate,” Fallon complains as he walks into the room.
“Come, brother. Elizabeth is about to play for us.” Fallon takes a seat beside his sister and she takes his hand in hers. It’s clear how much she loves him and how much he adores her. I wish he could have this type of sibling relationship with Trevor. When we go back home, I’m going to try my best to make that happen, or at least open Fallon up to the possibility of letting Trevor in.
