Chapter Eighteen

Lexie tapped her foot impatiently, waiting as the queue of locals and tourists edged forward, painfully slowly. It was warm and sunny in Madrid, and even though it was only May, Lexie could feel the heat of the sun on her shoulders, thanks to the strappy dress she'd worn. She craned her neck to see how far they still had to go—it felt like they'd been standing in the queue for literal hours. And for what? The small building—San Isidro's "hermitage"—did not look all that impressive, and she couldn't even see the fountain they were all trying to get to.

"I just don't think this should be part of the schedule." She'd already said it, but waiting around was making her cranky enough to repeat herself. "People will get bored waiting."

Theo frowned. "It's part of the tradition."

"The big heads were better." Earlier they'd seen the parade of weird giant-headed figures being marched through the main streets in the center of the city—which had been bizarre, but cool.

"We can't just miss this bit. It is literally the whole point of the festival—the patron saint, his magical healing properties."

"It's the water that has healing properties."

"Right, so where's your water bottle?" Indeed, a fair number of people had their water bottles ready, waiting to fill them up. "Thought you would have been into magical water, what with your wishes and all."

"Thanks, but I'm all good and healed at the moment." It wasn't too hot in the city at this time of year, but it was far too hot in the queue, everyone bunched together like this. "I just think it's a bit of a waste of—"

"Let's see, OK?" His voice was a bit too sharp, almost a snap.

"Jeez, what is up with you? Back to the sniping phase of our on-again, off-again hatred?"

He looked like he might smile, then shook his head. "I'm just a little…worried. It's…Look, things are looking a bit tight at the moment. Budget-wise. I mean, we're doing OK compared to the last couple of years, but travel is still bouncing back and…"

"We're not on track to turn a profit?"

He said nothing, confirming it.

"Why didn't you tell me!" Should she have known? She'd looked at the numbers, but they had confused her. "What happened to our truce? And working together?"

They edged forward, the group in front of them surreptitiously looking back at them at her outburst.

"It'll be fine," he insisted, though the way his fingers tapped nervously against his leg suggested otherwise. "It's just…your dad used to do all this stuff and I know you're learning the ropes, but this is something I'm still learning too, OK? As Mike was quick to point out." He dragged a hand through his hair. She couldn't quite see his eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses, and didn't like that she couldn't fully read his expression as a result.

"We could have figured it out together." Not that she was necessarily qualified. But still.

"Look, the new Christmas holiday is already looking good—we've had lots of early bookings already. The margins are small, but with another trip on our books, I think we'll be OK."

"Iceland?"

"No, not Iceland. That will have to be next year, if we go for it—with a recce this year."

She felt somewhat relieved by that, though she didn't voice it out loud. "Where, then?"

"Vienna."

"Oh. Yeah." She'd actually been part of that conversation.

"How far behind budget?" she asked.

"Like I said, if this new trip comes off we should be fine." That wasn't an answer, and she opened her mouth to point that out, but he jumped in. "Why don't we sit down when we're back—when we have everything in front of us? And then, if you have any suggestions, we can go through them."

She blew out a breath. "OK. Fine."

He gave her a wry look. "Way to muster enthusiasm."

She returned that same look, then remembered something. "What about your investment idea? For the local businesses?"

He shook his head. "That all becomes irrelevant if we don't have the profit to invest back in."

She conceded with a nod—it was true. So at least they were on the same page about that. Though if they sold the company, would whoever took it on pick up Theo's idea and run with it? Or would they change the company into a more standard travel firm, focus less on the values it worked so hard to support right now? Not your problem, Lexie. She tried to believe that voice—but it was getting harder each time she thought about the future of the business.

When they finally reached the fountain, Lexie couldn't help but feel slightly underwhelmed. It seemed small, up against a cream-colored wall, with a plaque behind it, in Spanish. They had to bend down to wet their hands with the water, and the whole thing felt rushed, due to the pressure of the queue behind them.

They left the little building behind and headed toward San Isidro's meadow, or "la Pradera de San Isidro"—which was basically a beautiful green park, as far as she could tell.

"Go and find us a spot, will you?" Theo asked. "I'll catch up."

Lexie headed onto the grass, finding a space under one of the big leafy trees. The atmosphere was brilliant, she'd give it that. The whole park was buzzing, people all around having picnics, the sound of laughter filling the air. Still, her annoyance was getting the better of her, and she sat down with more force than necessary, regretting it when it sent a twang along her coccyx.

She couldn't see any sign of Theo. Maybe he'd gotten fed up with her and decided to leave her here. Well, that was fine, she knew the way back to the apartment. She blew out a breath and pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head before closing her eyes and tilting her head back to warm her face in the sun. She wasn't even sure why she was so annoyed. Because Theo had seen something about the profit margins that she hadn't? He was better at the business side of things, she knew that. Her dad must have known it, too, she thought. Was that why he'd paired them together? To even out each other's gaps and continue the legacy of the company he'd created? Because he'd cared about the company, she knew that. More than he'd cared about either of his families, perhaps? And maybe that was why she was so annoyed.

"Here." She opened her eyes to see Theo standing above her, holding a big plastic cup of something out to her. "It's limonada . It's the traditional—"

"—drink made with wine, lemon, sugar, and chopped fruits." She reached up to take it. "I know—I did the research too, remember?" But now she was just being snippy, taking it out on him for no reason. "I mean, thank you," she said, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

She took a sip—it really was delicious, like a brilliant wine cocktail that shouldn't work but totally did. He sat next to her on the grass and leaned back on his elbows, shifting so that his legs stretched out in front of him. Maybe it was just the taste of citrus that was reminding her of what had happened in that hotel corridor in France, but she was suddenly aware of how little space was separating their thighs.

"Oh, I bought us some of these, too." He reached behind his head for a paper bag full of little doughnuts. Rosquillas, Lexie remembered. There were different types, but these ones had powdered sugar. She took one, bit into it. It didn't taste like any doughnut she'd tried before—it wasn't quite as sweet, and it had a hint of anise, with a perfectly fluffy middle. It was great, actually, and she took another, then licked the sugar off her fingers.

She leaned back on her hands, feeling the tickle of grass on her palms. She could imagine bringing a group of people here, talking about the history of the festival, drinking limonada and eating a picnic made from local food, and giving everyone a chance to chat and bond. She felt sure this part of the itinerary, unlike the fountain, would be a winner.

"Maybe we could give people the option," she said out loud. "Separate the group into those who want to go to the fountain and those who don't. And we—or whoever—" she added, remembering it wouldn't be her on these trips in the future, "can fill people in on the tradition and the history behind it regardless—and then all meet up here in the park."

Theo grunted in what she thought might be agreement.

Lexie looked around. There were some people—locals, maybe—dressed in the proper traditional garb as they ate lunch. The chulapos and chulapas —she'd committed it all to memory. Apparently they'd initially been working-class people who were proud of where they came from and wanted to celebrate it with an elaborate style. The men were in trousers, a cap, shirt, and waistcoat—understated, she thought. But the women looked glamorous in their long skirts and shawls, with little bonnet-type things she couldn't remember the name of on their heads. She'd seen some of the traditional outfits for sale as they'd wandered through the streets earlier and had been tempted by a pale blue one—but she knew she'd never wear it.

"This is in my wish jar," she admitted into the quiet between them. "Coming here."

Theo tilted his head to look at her. "To San Isidro?"

"No, not specifically. But to Madrid. My dad took his other family." She frowned at how that sounded. "Rachel and her mum, I mean. He took them to Madrid on holiday. Or they went. Whatever. He said he'd take me too, but he didn't—got cold feet about us all being together, I suppose."

Theo's eyes were still hidden, but she saw the way his brow was furrowed.

"What?" she asked, feeling a little self-conscious.

"Nothing. I just…It's weird. The Richard I knew…I'm sort of figuring out he wasn't just that Richard. He used to talk about you a lot."

Lexie said nothing—though a part of her wanted to know.

"And he would mention memories, of a trip you guys had all taken. He talked about Rachel, too—and I saw him and Rachel together, so that never felt like it was in question. But the way he spoke about you—like he missed you, like he had all these great memories of you…"

Lexie pressed her lips together before speaking slowly. "That version of him…That's not the version of him I knew. Not for the last fifteen-plus years, anyway. And I know you think it's my fault, for not being around—"

"I'm sorry." He sat up straight. "I never should have implied that. I was still reeling from losing him and I…" He gave a shrug that looked a little self-conscious. "I missed him. And I'd only seen Richard's side of it and…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "But regardless. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Richard, he used to talk about you—and I knew he wanted to talk to you. I didn't know he was going to leave you half the company."

She raised her eyebrows at that, not really believing him. He'd disliked her from the moment he'd first seen her, after all.

He plowed on, ignoring her reaction. "But it sounded like he thought highly of you, and I guess I just let myself believe that he was a father trying to reach out and you'd always been too busy." He paused for a long moment. "You didn't even know he was sick?" he said quietly.

She risked a quick glance at him, but his face gave nothing away. "No, I didn't."

"Sorry, I don't mean…I mean that I assumed you had known."

She pursed her lips. "You assumed he'd told me he was dying and I hadn't come home to say goodbye?"

He grimaced. "God, that sounds awful, doesn't it? But yeah. Something like that."

Lexie blew out a breath. "Doesn't paint me in a very good light, does it?"

"I figured it out. After you were around more, I realized I'd been wrong. And I had to…recalibrate. Which is totally my fault, not yours." He sighed. "I don't really have an apology that's big enough, but in the aftermath, I was so mad and, I don't know…" He waved a hand in the air. "Lost, I guess. He was the first person who seemed to give a shit about me—the me I actually am, I mean—and then he died, and he hadn't told anyone how bad it was, not until the last moment. He'd kept it hidden. But despite that, I thought you would have known."

She nodded slowly, trying to process that. An explanation, for how he'd been with her at the beginning.

"And then I saw you leaving the wake early and I…"

"You thought I didn't care?" Lexie guessed.

He grimaced. "I jumped to conclusions I shouldn't have. I should have known that families are always more complicated than they seem—that you may have been processing things differently or had your own reasons for leaving."

"Yeah," she murmured quietly. "Maybe you should have." But it helped, to understand why he'd disliked her so much at the beginning. To realize it hadn't really been about her, but some perception of her—the idea that she didn't love her father, the way she was starting to realize Theo must have loved him. Maybe she should have allowed for that a little more than she had done. She probably hadn't helped all that much by snapping back all the time.

She hesitated, then said, "I think he tried to tell me. That he was ill. But I wouldn't let him."

"Yeah, maybe. Doesn't put you in the wrong, though."

"Maybe I should have tried harder to be around." She felt like she could say it now, out loud.

Theo opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head. "Look, I don't know the ins and outs. But I do know what it's like to have a complicated relationship with your parents. And if he wasn't around for you, at the time when you needed him the most, if you didn't think you could rely on him…That's a lot. I don't think you can be expected to just turn around and magically move on from that. And looking back, I don't think he expected that, either. He used to hammer home to me that we couldn't change our past—but we could try to do better in the future. I thought he was talking about me, because I'd never stuck with anything before I found the company, but I reckon now he must have been thinking about you. I think in the end, he was just sad, and he knew time was up, and he was full of regret."

To her alarm, Lexie found herself blinking back tears. At the thought of her dad, knowing he was going to die. At the thought of him sitting in the office—the office she now worked in—regretting the past, and feeling sad and alone, because he wouldn't fully confide in anyone. He'd made her feel sad and alone a fair amount over the years, even if her mum had always been there to pick up the pieces. But still, it hurt to think about.

"Shit," Theo said, shifting, and raising a hand like he wanted to touch her but wasn't sure where. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said all that. Crap. Please don't cry."

She'd thought she was doing a good job of hiding that, what with her eyes behind her sunglasses, but apparently not good enough.

"It's just…" Lexie's voice was thick. "He's gone. He's…He's dead." She said the word out loud, and her chest cracked. "And it feels like…He hasn't been my dad properly, in so many ways, since he left. I've been so mad about it. But I still remember stuff from before—and stuff from after he left, when he'd show up and he'd be my dad again, you know? And I'm still sad, about losing that dad."

She took a shuddering breath. "When I was twenty-one, I had this big party planned. I felt weird about it for some reason—turning twenty-one. Like I should be this adult, but I didn't really feel it, you know?"

Theo just nodded, staying quiet so she could talk.

"Anyway, I'd invited him along. And he'd seemed so happy. I was renting a room at the local pub, and he said he'd bring the cake along—he wanted a job. He was going to pick me and my friend up from my house on the way—my mum had wanted to go early to decorate, and I let her because I thought she might feel weird, being in the same car. It felt like that sometimes, like I had to limit her exposure to him, even if she never said anything. A divorced parents thing, I think. Anyway, he didn't show. I waited thirty minutes after we were supposed to leave and then called Mum. He messaged to apologize the next day but…well."

She hugged her knees to her chest. "It's silly," she continued quietly. "We made the party. We didn't have cake, but we made the party. But I was late and flustered, and I ended up crying in the bathroom with Fran that night. And I just decided enough was enough." She looked down at the grass because it was easier than looking at Theo. "But now, I think I'm realizing that I always assumed there would be another chance. Even though that was years ago, I thought maybe there would be a day when I was ready, and then maybe I'd be able to talk to him without feeling angry. So I miss the person he was to me, before he left, before he let me down—but I also…" She swallowed, and it was painful. "I also feel guilty, for not letting him tell me he was ill, for not giving him a chance— us a chance, to…" But she didn't know how to finish that sentence. And her voice, which had been steady the whole time, was now breaking.

"He could have tried harder to tell you," Theo said gently. "If you didn't know, that's not on you. It's because he didn't really want you to know."

The tears were still coming despite her best efforts, silently streaking down her face.

She felt Theo shift, then his arm came around her, a heavy, comforting weight.

"Why are you being nice to me?" she mumbled, her voice hitching on a sob. She felt his arm tighten briefly around her.

"Because there was never a reason not to be. It just took me far too long to realize that."

For some reason, that was enough to break the last hold on herself. She let out another sob and he pulled her toward him, so that she was pressed against his side. She let her head drop onto his shoulder, let his sandalwood scent wrap around her. There were people all around her, enjoying the festivities, and still she could not stop crying.

"I'm sorry," she said between sobs. "I don't know how to…"

"You don't have to." His voice was calm, and his hand ran up her side and back down again, soothing.

And there, with Theo's arm around her, Lexie let herself cry for the first time since her dad's funeral. She cried for the man she'd known as a kid, for the loss of that man when he'd left. And she cried for the man who had died in December, for the man she'd now never get the chance to know.

Theo didn't offer any words of comfort—like he knew, somehow, that there would be no right thing to say. Instead he sat there with his arm around her, letting her sob it all out—no judgment, just the offer of silent companionship.