The Saints of the Cross (4 page)

“Oh my God! You’re engaged!” She slaps her hand over her mouth as disbelief crosses her face. She drops her hand and a curious expression takes over her mocha colored features. “Wait, you’re engaged? You’re too young!”

“No, it’s not an engagement ring. It’s a promise ring.”

“I’ve never seen a two-carat promise ring before,” she says, tugging my hand up for a closer inspection. “Yep, that’s an engagement ring.”

“Cora, he did
not
ask me to marry him.” I jerk my hand away from her.

“Okay, whatever.” She plops down on the bed next to me.

“Getting the tattoo done was the only way I could show him how much I love him.” I add with a sigh, “I realize it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do now, but it was all I had. He wouldn’t let me, you know, give myself to him, so—”

“Hold it right there! You offered to do the dirty deed, and he didn’t want to?” She sounds skeptical. “He
is
straight, right? I mean, what guy says no to a hot chick? That’s just
weird
.”

I shrug. “He’s just that way, Cora. He’s a gentleman.”

“Yeah, right. He’s probably one of those guys who will only marry a virgin.” Her eyes widen. “That’s what it is! He wants to keep you pure so he can marry a virgin!”

“Okay,” I respond, summoning all the patience I have left in my sleep-deprived body, “first of all, stop talking about marriage. That was not discussed.”

Really, I just want her to shut up about marriage, so I can deny to myself that it’s what
I
want for us. I need to banish that thought from my mind completely—for now anyway.

“Second of all,” I say, “I’m underage, so—”

“Oh right, that makes more sense.” She slowly nods her head, as if it’s all finally coming together for her. “What are you going to do about Javier now that you have to move back to the States?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do with him?”

“Well, let me spell it out for you: six-foot tall, black hair, black eyes, eight-pack abs, sharp cheekbones, and a killer smile. You must know that other girls are gonna be all over him.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “You don’t really think that a tattoo of some girl’s initial is going to keep them off him, do you?”

I can’t say anything for a few minutes. Instead, I sit facing her, jaw slacked, eyes wide. She’s knocked the wind out of me with that question. No, I hadn’t thought about that. What
am
I going to do?

“I don’t know what to say to that, Cora,” I finally answer with a little more bite in my voice than what I wanted to convey. I want her to think I’m completely confident in Javier; but the truth is, she’s right. Girls can’t help but find him irresistible, and with me out of the picture, two thousand miles away and probably out of mind, why couldn’t something, or
someone
, come between us? “I guess I’m just going to have to trust him,” I conclude, as if saying the words aloud would somehow make him trustworthy.

“Wow,” she says, shaking her head and giving me a “you’re pathetic” face. She’s infamous for making people feel two-feet tall with that face.

“That’s the best I can do.” I shrug, but I’m not feeling convinced —at all. “We’re going to talk often, and he said he’ll come visit me in DC as much as he can.”

“You know what I think, Evie?”

“Well, no; and I don’t think I really care what you think, Cora. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to hear it anyway.”

“Well, you’re right about that. I think you should just break up with him. Just make a clean break.” She makes a ridiculous karate-chop motion with her hands for emphasis.

“What? Why?” I am stunned. Where is she going with this absurdity?

“So you don’t get hurt, Evie. I don’t want you to get hurt. I have a really bad feeling about all this, and you know we Filipinos are psychic, for the most part.”

“I know you Filipinos are superstitious!” I say. Cora nods and shrugs with a
you got me there
expression. “Jesus Christ, Cora, you’re not making me feel any better about moving, and I am
not
breaking up with Javier. Nothing you say could ever make me think that breaking up is the answer to what is happening to us.” My voice cracks with the emotion I’m failing to hide.
Dammit
.

“Okay, okay!” she sighs, swiping her hands over her face in a display of exasperation that I often see from her mother after she receives Cora’s grades. “Sorry. I guess I’ll just have to be your eyes and ears here in Spain. I’ll keep you updated on what’s going on with him.”

I give her my
no way in hell
look.

“Yes, I insist, Evangeline Sweeney!” Her voice is uncharacteristically authoritative, and I know I’ll not win this argument.

“Fine,” I concede, mostly out of self-preservation. My ears cannot take much more of her screeching. “But there’s a condition: absolutely no spying on him or stalking him. If you happen to see him out and about, then fine. But I don’t want you following him around and actively trying to dig up incriminating stuff on him. Got it?”

“Why do you have to be such a buzz-kill?” she frowns. “I have very few talents in this life. One of them is singing, as you well know. The other is snooping, as you may or may not know. You are denying me the basic human right to express my God-given gifts, which I’m sure is some form of Cardinal Sin when you consider how amazing said gifts are.”

“I mean it, Cora!” I try to be severe, but it’s a difficult task with her. She looks like an Asian cherub with her baby-soft face and round belly, but then she opens her mouth and destroys all illusions. “If you’re going to stalk Javier, then I won’t take your calls. It’s as simple as that.”

“What? You’d do that?”

“Yes, you better believe I would.”

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Fine, I won’t spy on him or do any snooping. Okay? Satisfied?” she says, sticking out her lower lip in a bratty pout that only shows itself when she’s feeling particularly put-upon.

“Yes, thank you,” I smile and wrap an arm around her. “We should be planning out the last month we have to spend together instead of fighting.”

“I’m probably going to have to share you with the Spaniard, right?” she asks with an even more pronounced scowl.

“Stop with the pout, Cora. It only works on your parents and love-struck underclassmen. Okay?” I laugh.

“True that,” Cora shrugs, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She does have her fair share of freshmen admirers.

“Besides, we have the rest of the week to spend together. Javi’s in Italy visiting his mother.”

“For how long?” She gives me one of those expressions that she typically reserves for the algebraic linear equations Mr. Smelts likes to spring on us at eight a.m. I know I’m in for it.

“Until next Monday. Why?” I ask, guarded.

“It’s odd, is all,” Cora says, but I can see the wheels turning in her perplexed little head.

“Why?”

“Because he knows he only has a few short weeks left with you. Instead of spending every minute possible together, he jets off to Italy to vacay with his mother?” She furrows her brow. “There’s just something
wrong
with that. I mean, he can visit her anytime he wants.”

“He was planning to visit when we met last fall, but kept putting it off to spend time with me. I don’t think it’s a big deal, Cora.” But I lie. I’m more than a little hurt by his decision. I mean, why does he just
have
to visit his mom now? He’s been putting it off for months—what are a few more weeks?

Suddenly, there’s a rattling noise at the door as Cora’s mother, Ludi, attempts to enter the room.

“Cor-wah-lee! Eee-bee! Wha yew do derh? Yew whan da loom-pee-ah?” she screeches in her pixie voice from the other side of the door. Cora and I look at each other and snicker under our breath at Ludi’s thick accent. There’s no doubt in my mind where Cora gets her nails-on-a-chalkboard voice.

“Mom, we’ll be right there!” Cora hollers back, although I think she could’ve used her normal voice and been heard just fine through the hollow door. She turns back to me and says, “Let’s go, I’m starving. We can talk about this later.” She swings her legs over the bed.

“There’s nothing left to discuss, other than what we’re going to be doing over the next four weeks,” I say, cutting off any further dissection of my love life. It’s really starting to become uncomfortable because I feel as though I’m betraying Javier’s trust.

“Whatever you say, Evie.” Cora’s weak smile indicates that she’s simply placating me. She adds, inhaling a deep breath, “Banana lumpia is calling me, anyway.”

I follow her out the door into the wafting aroma of fried bananas, which is enticing enough to make me forget my troubles—for the moment, anyway.

***

After the longest week in the history of weeks, I’m finally getting to see Javier. We meet at Las Flores Café, and immediately I notice something different about him. His hair is cropped down close to his scalp in the traditional jar-head Marine cut. He’s still handsome as ever . . . he just looks so darn grown up and
official
.

“I thought I’d never see you again, stranger,” I say, giving him a peck on the cheek as I take a seat at our usual table by the café window.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, Corazón.” He takes my hand and rubs my palm with his, an act I find incredibly intimate. “I was busy dealing with family business there. My grandfather is not doing well. He is very sick and on dialysis in the hospital.”

Gulp
. Do I ever feel like a selfish jerk.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Javi.” I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I’m quite sure my mortification at being such a self-centered brat shows right through to my face. “Don’t worry, Coralea kept me busy and entertained, so much so that I almost forgot you were gone.”

“Really?” he asks, tilting his head, an expression of disbelief on his face.

“Nah, just kidding. Of course I knew you were gone!” I laugh.

“I see you’re still wearing the ring.” Javi nods toward the diamond on my right hand.

“Of course. I’m never taking it off. Ever,” I say, placing my left hand protectively over it. “And you can’t have it back, either!” I’m trying to joke with him, but for some reason it comes out of my mouth sounding a little too fierce.

“I don’t want it back, Eva,” he says, his tone solemn. “I told you that you have my heart forever, and I meant it. If you find that you no longer want the ring, then I want you to throw it into the ocean, because I’d no longer want it, either.”

“Why are you saying that?” He seems worried, and for some reason, it scares me. What is going on with him?

He moves his chair next to mine and places along, lean arm around me, snuggling his face into my neck. “I never want to lose you, Corazón. I want to be with you forever,” he says, kissing the bare skin on my shoulder. “Being away from you last week killed me.”

“Then come with me to DC,” I whisper, kissing his forehead. “You could go to college there and rent a condo close to me. My dad can’t say anything if you’re going to school.” I try to reason with him, to make him see things my way. Over the last week, I’ve daydreamed of a hundred different scenarios, all of which involve Javier moving to DC to be close to me.

“Trust me, Eva, I want that more than anything, but I can’t.” One look in his tormented eyes confirms that he’s telling me the truth. I let out a long sigh.

“I know. A girl can’t help but dream,” I say, trying to smile and failing miserably. The more I think about it, the more I realize that he’s right. It just isn’t the time for us, but acknowledging that fact doesn’t make it any easier to accept. “Guess I’m just selfish.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, biting his lip. “I think you’re a girl in love.”

It’s more of a question than a statement. But how could he question my love for him? Most of our time together is spent with me confessing my affection for him—and showing him in more ways than one.

“I think you’re right,” I murmur, leaning into him. Our lips touch lightly for a moment, and I feel his mouth turn up in a smile beneath mine, which sends a maddening rush of heat through me. I pull him closer by the back of the neck and kiss him with more urgency.

He nuzzles his nose against my hair, kissing my earlobe. “I want you so badly, Corazón,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear, and I don’t know how much more of this longing I can stand.

“Let’s go,” I plead, looking into his eyes and placing a firm hand on his knee. He’d have to be an idiot not to get the message, and my Javier is no idiot.

“Eva,” he whispers with a wistful smile, shaking his head
no
.

“I’m serious, Javi.” I try to stare him down, but I don’t feel like the dominant one in the relationship—he has all the power, and he knows it. Why must he insist on torturing me so? Doesn’t he recognize the desire in my eyes? Can’t he feel it in my touch?

“I don’t want you doing anything you’re going to regret a few months from now, Corazón.” He brushes a curl off my cheek and replaces it with a gentle kiss.

“Javi, I would never regret being with you. I want to be with you, more than anything.” How could I prove my devotion to him? Maybe he’s the one worried about having regrets. “I thought you wanted me, too,” I say, and I feel increasingly desperate for him.

“You’ll see that I’m right. It might take awhile, but you will.” He hugs me against his chest, and I inhale his sweet scent. “One day we will be together again, and the time will be right, I promise you, Corazón.”

“Hey, why don’t you two get a freakin’ room? I’m about to puke over here.” We follow the voice to Lane Bradley, a senior at the American School, who is sitting a few tables over with some freshmen girls. Lane is the son of a Rear Admiral, which he never lets anyone forget, but he’s really just a big, dumb redneck from Kentucky. The corners of his mouth are turned up in a smart-ass smirk as he glares at Javier, taunting him into a confrontation. The girls seated with him are snickering and whispering to each other, obviously enjoying the show.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Javier growls, but his dark eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning.

“You gonna make me, pretty boy?” Lane scoffs. Javier’s eyes narrow, and a muscle in his neck twitches, but he remains silent. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Lane turns to the girls and adds for good measure, “Who knew Evie Sweeney was such a ’ho? I always thought she was a prude.”

Javier slams his palms flat on the café table and in one swift motion, stands up and pushes the chair out from beneath him with the back of his legs, which causes an unnerving screeching of metal against the tiled floor. I jump about a foot off my chair at the sound, and everyone in the busy café turns with wide eyes to gawk at us. Javier maneuvers around me and toward Lane. I’m almost too shocked to react at first, but as he brushes past me, I grab his right arm and hold on.

“What are you
doing
?” I hiss at him under my breath.

“I’m going to teach that little punk some manners, Eva. Stay here,” he says with a calmness that’s frightening. He shrugs loose of my grip and strides across the room toward Lane. He’s about to assault an underage American. Every drunken US sailor in Rota with revenge on his mind will be out looking for him tomorrow night. I jump up from my seat and slam my own hands down on the table as hard as I can.
Ouch
.

“Javier, stop!” I shout. “I’m leaving right now, and you’re going to be sorry if you don’t come with me.” Although my voice was cracking, I’m hoping against hope that I sounded harsh enough that he’ll take my threat seriously.

Javier stops about halfway to the idiotically smirking Lane Bradley—man, is he asking for it—and turns back toward me. His icy-hard expression melts away, and his eyes become soft again as they search my face.