Once Again with Feeling

"I like him the same as I've always done."

"Which is to say, not very much?"

"Well, I don't dislike him. If I did, I wouldn't even consider going through with the wedding. He's charming and well-bred, and he's good with business. But he's a little too smooth for me. Everything he does and says is performed too well. He's not the man I would have chosen if I could."

Don Cipriano gave a philosophical shrug. "Perhaps not. But as things are, he's the best choice for you. For us."

Esperanza frowned, the breeze swinging her long braid over her shoulder. "Tell me honestly, Papa--is the vineyard truly in danger? Is my marrying Florentin San Roman the only way?"

"It's the most reliable way. As Florentin's wife, you'd be within your rights to ask him for a cash bailout if things get dire."

"And you think they will?"

"I can't say." Don Cipriano sighed. "Nowadays I just can't predict what could happen. You're too young to know, but everyday life was much better before Franco. There was none of this rationing, and people weren't leaving Andalucía like rats from a sinking ship. At this rate I don't know how we're going to find enough seasonal workers for this summer's harvest."

"We're still making profit, aren't we?"

"Yes, but only God knows for how long. Our margin was much wider 10 years ago, and it's been getting narrower since then. If a time comes when we're only making ends meet, we'll need ready cash to keep afloat until things improve."

Esperanza sighed to herself.

Don Cipriano continued after a beat. "And don't forget the most important thing--this estate becomes your husband's property as soon as you inherit it. I know the San Roman family. I trust them. When I'm gone and all this passes to you, Don Luis and Florentin will let you keep control. They won't interfere with your running of things, much less try to sell anything without your consent. Don Luis has signed a notarized document to that effect."

Esperanza nodded her understanding.

The inheritance was a huge consideration. This land had remained Torrejón property because until her generation, there'd always been one male heir. She was the first sole heiress, which put the land at risk of falling into the control of other hands if they weren't careful in her choice of husband. As soon as the estate passed to her from Don Cipriano, its survival was at the whim of her husband, whoever he might be. He could close the winery. Or seize the land. Sell it. Split it into plots. Anything he liked.

As for the economic aspect, Franco's policies could lead things into even worse ruin than now. Meaning that they could also lose the land unless they had a cash insurance.

This vineyard was her heritage. Hers. It should--and damn well would--be her sole responsibility to manage one day. She just needed to be wise enough to secure that future.

Esperanza walked on, traversing this soil of her ancestral land. If marrying Florentin San Roman--the fiancé she didn't love--was the duty she owed this land, she would perform that duty. For herself, for her fathers before her, and for her children to come.

Tradition, pride, and unbroken circles.

"It wouldn't be the first time we almost lost everything," Don Cipriano added. "That damned plague could have ended everything as soon as it began."

Ah, yes. That damned plague. She'd heard the story many times.

The great grape plague was a phylloxera infestation during the 1890s that had decimated half the grapevines in all Europe. Millions of hectares had been affected. Vines had shriveled up and died, wine production had drastically fallen, and winemakers had gone hungry.

The plague had been very bad here in Andalucía. And here on this estate, it had struck at a terrible time--only 1 year after her great-grandfather turned the land into a vineyard.

All had nearly been lost, but Don José-Miguel had been smart. Instead of cross-breeding the vines with a phylloxera-resistant variety that would have ruined the taste of the wine, he grafted with resistant rootstock. That way, their vines had become resistant without spoiling the noble taste of the Palomino grape.

This was why, since 1896, they'd been producing barrels of their same fine amontillado.

Esperanza would make sure that this never changed. A marriage to Florentin San Roman was a small price to pay.

The sun was just rising. Together, she and her father left the fields and crossed into the stone path up to the cortijo. They didn't walk straight on inside; they stopped on the gallery beside a baluster column, looking over their land.

This was when, from their vantage point, Esperanza saw a band of men and horses turning in from the main road. The workers were here to restart their duties.

The horsemen momentarily disappeared as the track curved and narrowed. Then they reappeared closer, hooves pounding the earth as they turned southwest, following the track to the stables.

It was difficult to make out any faces at this distance, but Esperanza knew Ezequiel Galindo must be among the horsemen.

Despite herself, her heart tripped in her chest. Her body warmed with memories of all the nights he sneaked into the courtyard to meet her once her family had gone to bed. Those nights of the kind of pleasure she hadn't known she could feel. And it was with Ezequiel, the son of a jornalero. A person she shouldn't even be on a first-name basis with, much less sharing her body with. As a woman--and a member of the Torrejón family--their meetings were riskier for her than for him.

Yet it was difficult to say no to future nights, or regret those that had already passed. No, she definitely couldn't bring herself to regret those moments of such intense sensation where only the threat of discovery stopped her from crying out her pleasure.

Now that her mind was made up about Florentin, her nights with Ezequiel were numbered. He was an exciting dalliance, but it couldn't continue while she was the wife of Florentin San Roman. She would break things off with Ezequiel. It was the right thing.

Not yet, though. Not until the day before her wedding. Until that day, she and Ezequiel Galindo could continue to enjoy each other's hands, lips and bodies.

Don Cipriano's voice broke into her thoughts. "Are you asking these questions because you've changed your mind about Florentin?"

Esperanza turned her head, looking into her father's eyes. "I only wanted to have all the facts before I committed to a decision."

Don Cipriano held her gaze with the steadiness she had inherited from him. "And?"

"I'll marry him."

Her father smiled. "Good girl." They both said nothing for a beat. "But you do realize I wouldn't force this on you if you didn't choose it? If you feel you'd be really unhappy with Florentin, I'd permit you to call off the engagement."

"I know," she replied. "I'm choosing this. I agree he's the suitor that makes sense for us."

"It also makes sense for his family. They have funds from banking and manufacturing, but not much in the way of stable possessions or an old name. We'll be giving as much honor as we're getting. Don't forget that."

"Of course." Esperanza smiled drily. "Florentin is too wise to want me if that weren't the case."

Don Cipriano grinned back. "Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake somewhere along the line in raising you, Esperanza. You're too young to be so cynical."

She laughed. "If it's a mistake, I don't want it unmade. I'd rather learn to be cynical from your lessons than from the lessons of the rest of the world." She removed her hat, holding onto it with its strings. "What time frame did you have in mind for the wedding?"

"Before this year is out, certainly. I'd rather have one less worry on my mind after the harvest is over."

"Then the wedding should be in July. That way I'd be home for the harvest, even factoring in a honeymoon. I've never missed a harvest, even for school. I wouldn't want to miss this one."

"It would certainly be good to have you around for it. The more you learn, the better you'll manage things when it's your turn."

She nodded. "I'll write to Florentin today. I'll tell him my mind is made up and that I'm ready for the wedding as soon as everything can be settled. Let's hope for July at the latest." Then something occurred to her. "I wonder how much time he'll expect me to spend in Madrid with him."

"As much as you can spare from being here, I should think."

"And maybe more. I'll have to let him know from the start that I'm not prepared to spend more than half my time away from here. I certainly can't be away during the harvest periods. He can remain in Madrid alone whenever he feels he must."

Don Cipriano was silent awhile. "Esperanza, I wouldn't be doing my duty as your father if I didn't warn you not to be too stubborn with Florentin. It's a necessary quality in a landowner, but it's not attractive in a wife. Know where every limit lies. You shouldn't go into marriage expecting to battle your husband. If Florentin sometimes needs you in Madrid more than you'd like to be there, make that sacrifice. This may not be a love match--at least not to you--but it's still no reason for you two to be miserable or on opposing sides."

"Perhaps. But don't you think it would be too much to ask me to secure insurance for the vineyard and not be here to enjoy living on it?" She arched a cool brow at him. "I don't intend to be in Madrid any more than I am here. At any rate, I'll be here until the wedding. We can worry about the rest later."

Here, the sound of footsteps interrupted them.

As one, Esperanza and Don Cipriano looked down the steps as two men approached the gallery. Both were dressed in the cotton shirts and tough slacks all the jornaleros wore. One was of middle age. He was Laureano Galindo, one of the senior bodega staff. And the other... the other was Ezequiel.

Their eyes locked.

Ezequiel's eyes darted over her body in that way of his. Then he dipped his head and looked down, his dark waves falling over his face. His hair was a little too long for a male, but he wore it well. His shirt was unbuttoned at the chest.

Esperanza's heart gave another little trip. But with her father beside her, she made sure to appear nonchalant.

Laureano and Ezequiel both removed their sombreros, but Ezequiel didn't speak. It was his father Laureano who said: "Good day to you, Don Cipriano. And to you, Señorita Torrejón."

In the same way, Esperanza didn't reply. Her father spoke on their behalf. "Good morning, Laureano. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Señor. Nothing is amiss in the bodegas that I've been made aware of. I approached to ask for a few minutes to speak with you in private about another matter."

Esperanza knew that her father would refuse this request for a hearing right now; they hadn't finished their discussion, nor had they eaten breakfast.

"Very well," Don Cipriano replied. "I've no time now, but you can return later in the afternoon and ask to be shown into my salon."

"Of course," Laureano replied, but with slight disappointment in his voice.

Esperanza let her gaze wander to Ezequiel again.

He was looking at her, an unusual intensity in his eyes. He smiled. She couldn't help herself--she returned the smile. He tilted his head, asking a silent question she fully understood. She considered for half a second. There was no reason for her parents to retire to bed later than usual tonight, so there should be nothing stopping him from sneaking into the courtyard if he could. She would leave the gate open for him as she always did.

She gave him the most subtle nod she could. He looked away. The message had been sent and received.

He and his father put their sombreros on and turned back down the steps.

Don Cipriano took her arm. "Let's go inside. We'll finish our talk at breakfast. I have letters to write before this afternoon."

Esperanza cast a last look at Ezequiel over her shoulder, then walked arm-in-arm with her father through the main door.

Inside was a cool vestibule. Like the exterior, the inside of the cortijo was all stone and columns. The floors were mosaic. Beaten iron lanterns were worked into the wall. Ahead, another colonnade separated the vestibule from the main hallway. They went through it, then turned left into a smaller corridor flanked on both sides by doors. The second door on the right, was the breakfast salon.

There, breakfast was laid out, with a maid waiting to serve.

Esperanza ate with her father, picking up their interrupted conversation about the wedding, then talking over some estate tasks that needed doing later in the afternoon. Her mother didn't join them; Angela-Maria always took breakfast in her bedroom.

When breakfast was over, Don Cipriano went to his salon to write his letters. Esperanza went upstairs to tell her mother about her decision on Florentin.

She started up the main staircase, with its ornate balustrades. Oil paintings dotted the wall. A stained-glass window was above the stairwell, admitting the sunlight that flooded over the steps. At the upper landing, she detoured into her mother's bedroom and gave the news of her decision about Florentin.

Now it was time to tell Florentin himself.

In her bedroom, Esperanza sat at her writing desk, prepared her materials, and penned a short note addressed to Florentin San Roman, telling him she consented to the proposed arrangement. This note would be sent today, along with her father's letters.

Esperanza indulged in a moment of regret as she sealed the note. But it was for only a moment--what needed to be done, simply needed to be done.

She sent the note down to the manservant, then whiled away the rest of the morning with a novel. After eating lunch with her mother early in the afternoon, she joined her father for the estate tasks. They returned to the cortijo at 7:00pm., so she had plenty of time to dress for dinner at 9 o'clock. It was the only meal of the day she shared with both parents. Soon after 11:00, they said goodnight and retired to their rooms.

But Esperanza didn't go to bed.

After she changed into a loose nightgown, she sat up for an hour to be sure her parents were asleep. Then, a little after midnight, she left her room. She moved like a silent shadow, never faltering or mis-stepping in the pitch darkness.

Flying down the main staircase, she followed the central hallway to where it terminated at the courtyard gate. She had unlocked it and oiled the hinges after the servants had locked it for the night, so she only had to gently push.

It opened noiselessly.

This courtyard had a staircase leading to the upper terrace and a door outside to the oak grove. She'd left both doors open, too--depending on how Ezequiel sneaked into the cortijo, he might need either route to reach this courtyard. She had also left a soft mat on the floor because this courtyard had no place to lie comfortably on. It had a fountain pool and ornamental plants, but no furniture.

Esperanza stepped into the courtyard.

There was no moon tonight, but her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. She scanned the space. "Ezequiel?"

He stepped out from the shadow of an archway. "Esperanza."

Esperanza grinned. She flew across to him, and him to her. In mere seconds, she was enclosed in sinewy arms; pressed to a body hardened from labor in the bodegas. His hot lips descended on hers with the taste of sun, wine and shadows. His eager, callused hands ran down her spine and closed around her ass over her nightgown, pressing her firmer into his muscular frame.

Now, her heart didn't trip; it hammered.

Her blood fired. It was always like this with him.

She opened for him, their lips and tongues melting together. The longer they did this, the shorter it took for his body to awaken hers. His skin and scent were imprinted on her. Memories of past pleasures were written in her skin like the words of an incantation. The markings of a talisman.

Her fingers shot between their molded bodies to untie the knot of his shirt.

Ezequiel broke the kiss. He moved her heavy braid over her shoulder, his lips descending to her neck. "Esperanza," he muttered against her throat. "Before... Before we... I have something very important to tell you. To--to ask you."

"Ask me later." She undid his shirt knot in a flash, fingers racing over the buttons below. "I can't wait." She ran her palms over his naked chest. "Just touch me now."

She didn't need to repeat the order. Ezequiel kissed her throat again. Those callused hands moved to her shoulders, brushing the sleeves of her nightgown down. The loose fabric whispered down her arms to her waist, baring her breasts. He cupped them, his mouth going to her chest. His breath fanned over one stiffening nipple, then his mouth closed over it.

The pleasure echoed between her legs. There, a familiar heat ignited. Her lubrication started; a slippery pooling between her legs. Her body wanted him inside her.

Taking him with her, Esperanza backed towards the soft mat beside the fountain pool. As they went, her nightgown slipped the rest of the way down her body to her ankles.

They lowered onto the mat. Esperanza sighed. Yes. Beneath her back was the cushion of the mat. Beside her was the gentle rushing of the water in the fountain pool. Above her was Ezequiel Galindo's muscular weight.

His hand was at her hip now. Moving lower down her body, he pulled her nightgown clear of her ankles. He lingered there for a moment, pressing a kiss of homage to her inner ankle. He placed kisses up to her calf, then her knee, then her inner thigh. Moving ever closer to the apex of her thighs.

Esperanza stayed very still, her heart thudding with anticipation.

When his mouth made contact with her slippery folds, her hips shot up from the mat. She muffled a cry. He just continued, his tongue tracing a pattern across her opening, then dipping inside it. Her body bowed again. She moaned, arching her hips towards his mouth.

It felt even better as his mouth went to her clit, tongue moving over the tiny peak. She saw red behind her eyes. The water rushed in her ears. When his tongue moved over her nub again, her legs wrapped themselves over his shoulders. Her hands slid themselves into his lion's mane of black waves.

His mouth stayed where it was. The flames behind her eyes grew redder. Esperanza pressed her cheek into the mat. Only a matter of seconds now. Only a matter of seconds before her body succumbed to the talisman's power.

He gave an insistent suck on her nub, and she boiled over. Her orgasm was heavy. It wasn't an explosion. It was slow-moving and narcotic, spilling from her core through her body.

She sighed while it lasted. Then it died as smoothly as it was born, fading to little tremors. She sank against the mat. Her hands slipped to her sides. Her legs slipped off his shoulders.

Ezequiel moved back up, pulling her body into his again. His lips touched hers. She returned the kiss, relishing their mingled flavors. His hands ran down her back and cupped her ass again.

So close to him, there was no mistaking the prominent tent in his calico work-slacks. She moved her palm over it, cupped the bulge. He moaned very softly, grinding against her hand. Esperanza dug her fingers into the hook fastening of the work-slacks. Undoing it, she pulled it over his erection and down his narrow hips.

"Esperanza," he moaned, deeper in his throat this time, pressing his erection against her mound. He shifted just a little lower, the bulbous head of his shaft finding her entrance between wet folds.

"Yes," she moaned in reply, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her heart began to drum again. She arched up, raising high to meet him, and anchoring her legs around the middle of his back.

His hips pushed down into hers, the tip of his swollen shaft sinking into her. Esperanza tightened her legs around his ribs, drawing him in as a few more inches filled her. Sweet, torturous seconds passed as he slid into her body.