Marcos is very strict; he’s set a lot of rules, and they’ve gotten used to them. She smiled. It was a normal smile, but it seemed rehearsed. It’s better that they’re calm, not like us, who were real whirlwinds when we were little. The atmosphere only truly relaxed when we started reminiscing about our childhood. We talked about the times I defended her in school fights and how she helped me write love letters. We laughed heartily. The children glanced at us curiously from time to time, as if they’d never seen their mother laugh like that.
Time flew by amidst memories. At dusk, the sound of a key in the lock was heard. Lucía jumped up from the sofa. Her smile faltered, transforming into a more polite and formal expression, and she walked quickly to the door. “It’s Marcos. He’s back.” I got up too. The door opened and a tall European man entered, with dark brown hair, gray eyes, strong features, and a tailored suit. He must have been a little over 40.
He looked handsome and had a distinguished air about him. That was Marcos, the man Lucía had married. “Darling, you’re home now,” Lucía said, picking up her briefcase and coat in a voice so soft it seemed to drip honey. “This is my best friend, Sofía, the one I’ve told you so much about.” Marcos’s gaze fell on me, and a smile of impeccable courtesy appeared on his face. “Welcome, Miss Joe,” he said in English with a slight Spanish accent, but perfectly understandable.
Lucía often speaks of you. What a surprise your visit. He extended his hand, and I shook it. His hand was large and firm, and the strength and duration of the grip were perfect, that of a gentleman. “Forgive me for intruding, Marcos. Please call me Sofía,” I said, smiling. “It’s no trouble at all. Lucía’s friends are our friends,” he replied, still smiling. His gaze swept around the room and paused for a moment on the children, who immediately straightened up in their seats.
Then he looked at Lucía. His smile didn’t change, but his tone took on an almost imperceptible nuance. “How’s dinner coming along? Sofía has come from very far away. We should prepare something special for her.” “It’s almost ready,” Lucía said quickly. “I bought fresh salmon and made some soup.” “Very good,” Marcos agreed. He turned to me. “Sofía, please make yourself at home. I’m going to change.” He walked upstairs with a purposeful stride. Lucía let out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief.
And smiling at me, she went to the kitchen. Dinner was plentiful and the presentation exquisite. Marco sat at the head of the table. His manners were elegant and his conversation pleasant. He asked me a few questions about China and my trip, showing very polite interest, but for some reason I felt his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Behind that courtesy was a cold distance and scrutiny. During dinner, the four children ate in silence, almost without making a sound.
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