Many years later…
Isabella sat on the edge of her bed and straightened her wedding gown again. She looked worried, afraid all her plans would have been for nothing.
Then there was a gentle rapping on the window. She burst into a broad smile and ran to the window, tossing back the curtain. A bald man in a tuxedo crouched on the six-inch wide ledge.
She threw the window open wide and let him in. Once inside, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely.
“I was afraid you weren’t coming,” she said in Spanish.
“And miss my little flower’s wedding?” He replied in the same language. “I am giving you away after all.”
She took his hand and led him to the side of the bed. “I’m so glad you approve of Alphonso.”
“So long as he approves of me.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”
She shook her head. “I know he’ll treat me well.”
“He damn well better.”
She remembered an example of his anger unchecked. When her father had been brutally murdered by the gang called the Sabbat, he went on an utter rampage. Men, women, sometimes children were staked on poles throughout the city. From metal electric transformer platforms to wooden telephone poles, on stone walls and tile roofs, bodies were staked down at night, but at morning’s light there was nothing there but ash.
He had destroyed the Sabbat gang there. No one challenged his command of the night in Barcelona. That had been merely a year ago.
He was looking at her thick neck, watching the vein pulse. She tilted her head and exposed her neck to him. “Can I have a Kiss, Tio?”
He put his arms around her and drew her to him. He kissed her neck and then sunk his fangs into her. They both closed their eyes, enjoying that very intimate moment, which brought the greatest pleasure to them both.
He released her with a sigh. “I’ll miss that,” he said wistfully.
She half-smiled at him, still caught up in the feeling of the Kiss. “I’ll be married, not locked away.”
He leaned back from her and smiled a little. “What about when Alphonso comes after me with a shotgun when he sees me kissing your neck?”
She caressed his face. “I’ll protect you.”
He lost his smile and looked down. He got up from the bed. “I’ll meet you at the church.”
“Tio?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He went back to the window, and slipped out into the night. She went there to see if she could see him, but the darkness swallowed him up.
————-
Isabella Angelita Gloria Castillo, soon to be Valongerra, stepped out of the limosine after her bridesmaids had gathered at the front door of the church. Her maid of honor was in peach, while the rest of them were in darker hues of that same color.
She saw Cristan chatting it up with Lucilla, one of Alphonso’s cousins. Matteo stood aloof in the corner, studying his nails, bored. Her half-brother Miquel stood nearby, and her half-sister Joana was acting like her usual ditzy self among the bridesmaids.
They chattered like schoolgirls, then quieted down suddenly. Her uncle had come around the corner of the entranceway to join the crowd at the foyer. As he often did when entering a room, all eyes went to him, and the foyer fell silent, except for the sound of his boots hitting the wooden floor.
He stopped before Isabella, and smiled down at her. “Ready for this?” He offered her his arm.
She could only nod and took his arm. The music began, and the group started forward, the flower girl throwing down real flower petals as they walked.
Her uncle had spared no expense for this wedding. She had announced her engagement a mere two months before her father’s murder, and it had already been discussed by her father that she would have the most lavish wedding money could buy – on the condition that it would take place at 9 pm in the evening.
“You’re gonna leave bruises,” her uncle said in English with a chuckle.
She didn’t realize she was clutching his arm so tightly. Then it was their turn to move. For a moment, she felt rooted in place. Then he tugged her very gently, and she started to go. The aisle seemed miles long, and they walked slowly. She was able to see some faces in the crowd that she knew, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, both her side and Alphonso’s.
Finally, she made it to the altar. Standing there, stunningly handsome in his tux, was her fiance Alphonso – “Alfie”. Her uncle kissed her cheeks, continental style, and then put a hand on her elbow, guiding her to Alphonso. She saw the look he gave Alphonso, a look that spoke volumes of threats if he didn’t take care of her.
Then, she was touched by her fiance and Tio let her go. At that moment, she was no longer her father’s daughter, but her husband’s wife.
—————-
She gasped when she walked into the foyer of the Ritz-Carlton. Peach, red, and white roses were everywhere. The lights were accented by candles floating in every available pool of water. There was a running fountain of wine. Everyone was finely dressed – even the kids running around underfoot.
“I can’t believe this,” Alphonso said in wonder. “Your uncle planned all this?”
“And my father,” she added, still staring all around her. She didn’t want to imagine the expense Tio had gone to for this.
The crowd saw she had come back from the pictures, which were taken at an indoor garden that stayed open late for them. Some people came up to her, giving her kisses, shaking Alphonso’s hand or kissing him as well. Then she headed to the much-needed bathroom.
She had to fight her way out of it, through a throng of well-wishers. She got out to the foyer, and for a moment, was finally alone. Someone touched her shoulder gently and she jumped, turning around sharply. “Tio.” She relaxed.
He smiled and stepped out from behind her. “How do you like your wedding day so far?”
She threw her arms around his neck. “It’s wonderful!” He beamed at her.
Cristan also approached. Her uncle had his arm around her shoulders, then he hugged Cristan with a manly thump on his back. “Where is Matteo?”
Cristan snorted. “Sulking, probably. You know how he likes to be the center of attention.”
“Too bad for him,” said her uncle. “This is your day.” He kissed Isabella on the cheek.
Alphonso came over to them. “Are, there you are. They’re setting up the recption line.”
Tio asked, “Am I standing next to Vanesa or Guillermo?”
Isabella knew there was no love between her mother and her uncle, though it was mostly instigated by her uncle. Her mother had tried to make it amicable, but that was the one thing that her uncle refused to budge on. It wasn’t quite hate, but the tension between them was thick. Guillermo, he tolerated.
“I don’t know.”
“It’ll only be for a short time, Tio,” said Cristan.
They set up the reception line. Her mother and step father were directly in front of her, her uncle just beyond them, standing alone. Seeing that brought tears to her eyes, as she remembered that her father was supposed to do the things her uncle was doing. Alphonso patted her arm reassuringly.
They entered the room with fanfare and applause, and she let the tears come down.
Many people were amazed at the large bald man standing next to her, seemingly protective yet friendly at the same time. More than one woman looked at him appreciatively; he encouraged it, turning on some sort of charm to make them into blushing virgins, no matter what the age. Isabella had seen him do this often before. She knew why.
Her oldest aunt hobbled up to them, bent over almost nearly in half, and struggling with a cane. She spoke unaltered Catalan, which Isabella spoke but her uncle did not. He had just learned conversational Spanish five years ago.
“Aunt Camilla,” Isabella cried, and hugged her fiercely. “I’m so glad you came!”
“And miss my sister’s youngest son’s daughter’s wedding? I was always surprised by you, Isabella. I never thought I’d see his line continued.”
Isabella loved her aunt, for the simple reason that she pulled no punches. She introduced her uncle. “This is my uncle Bruce, from America.” She translated for him.
Camilla looked up and up at him. He actually bent down to her level. “So this was your father’s boyfriend?”
All the color rushed from Isabella’s face and her cousin who was assisting her aunt looked up at him in shock. Tio noticed and asked in English, “What did she say?”
Isabella translated, and looked at her uncle. He was prone to rages over nearly anything, and she saw his eyes flash in anger. “She’s 92 years old, Tio, she speaks without thinking.” She put a hand on his chest and looked at him imploringly.
The woman shuffled by, seemingly oblivious to the tension she caused. “Why are such handsome men queers?” she muttered. Isabella didn’t translate. However her cousin kept looking back at him. She’d caught his fury too.
He calmed down, and returned his attention to the line. Guillermo glanced at him. “Bruce?”
He took a breath. “I’m fine.”
That ended, and the dancing began. Husband and wife had the first dance, of course. She looked to her uncle. Guillermo patted the man’s back. “Go on, Bruce.”
Vanessa frowned, but Isabella didn’t care. Bruce took her in his arms and danced with her, his eyes entirely focused on her.
“I know why papa loved you,” she said quietly in English.
“Why’s that?”
“Your eyes are like the ocean. Someone can drown in them.”
He smiled, though it was sad. “I loved your papa, too. He protected me.”
She blinked at that revelation. She’d always thought it was the other way around.
He bent his head to her ear. “I’ll need to probably escort a lady outside after this, do you mind?”
“No, I don’t mind. Just no one I know, please?”
“Of course, sweets. That reception line was for me to pick from.”
She slapped his arm playfully and he laughed lightly. The dance ended, and he kissed her chastely on the cheek.
Her uncle did disappear for a short time with a girl she didn’t know. When they returned, she was a little more pale, but with a dreamy look that was a remnant of the Kiss.
The night went on. The children passed out on linked-together chairs, the wine kept on flowing. Her uncle had left his lobster relatively untouched, passing it on to Guillermo and Vanesa. His excuse to anyone who asked was that he was on a special diet. Only she and Cristan knew what that special diet was. Mateo suspected, but he wasn’t privy to the secret. She herself would tell no one.
Finally, it was near two in the morning, and the party was winding down. She figured it was time to close it up, and Alphonso agreed. They both had the honeymoon suite upstairs. Their honeymoon – paid for by themselves and his family – was going to be in Morocco.
Tio Bruce was the only person sober or awake in the room, other than the bride and groom. Alphonso stepped away for a minute, and then Isabella went to retrieve her purse.
“Nice ass!” came a voice, and she turned around to see a drunk man – a cousin, a friend, she didn’t know – lurching her way. He suddenly grabbed her from behind, and bent her over the table, his hands cupping both of her breasts.
Then, he was off her, and she heard a thud of something hitting the far wall. The man slumped to the floor, and her uncle was advancing on him, fists clenched.
She remembered seeing him like this once, and her father trying to stop him. He tossed him aside like a rag doll. She knew better than to try and stop him.
A couple of people – suddenly sober – advanced, and Isabella yelled, “NO!” at them. But they didn’t listen, and tried to tackle him. He threw them off as if they were flies, and continued to his quarry. Now he was furious.
He grabbed the man by the neck and picked him up, slamming him again and again into the wall. Soon, a spot of blood appeared on the wall and got bigger and bigger.
Isabella screamed, “Get out, get out!” People listened. They gathered their children and started almost running out. Hopefully they wouldn’t look back, they wouldn’t see her uncle rip out the throat of the man he had thrown into the wall.
Alphonso stood in the doorway, confused at first, and then looked up to see what she was running from. Alphonso rushed in and nearly picked her up to get her out the door.
“Close the door!” she cried, and started pulling it closed. The last thing she saw was her uncle’s bloodied face, raised in triumph. The doors slammed shut. There was a moment of silence. Then came the crashes, the sounds of what could be a pitched battle as chairs, and probably tables, were thrown around the room.
Isabella put her head in her hands and started to cry. She knew this was the real man who loved her like a daughter, who would do everything to protect her and Cristan for now and for eternity.
El Tio. El Vampiro.
Words: 2283 (!!)
Inspiration: Isabella and Cristan, Lorenco’s NPC children
Music: None
Comments: I wrote most of this on my iPod while waiting for different things (doctor visits, dinner orders). I had gotten up to the aunt’s conversation – last written about 2 weeks ago – before I decided to sit down and finish it. I knew there had to be blood in it somewhere. Bomber is extremely territorial, and having anyone manhandle his territory (Lorenco and his family, his herd, even his things) sends him into frenzy about 40% of the time.