8: The Beds

The urgency made them forget how much they had missed each other.
What was clear to both of them was that their bodies had missed each other desperately — in an almost visceral way.
They fell onto the bed together, not bothering to undress fully, though their hands managed it with ease, as though they had a life of their own.
Between gasps and broken breaths, a light laughter slipped through — as though their bodies recognised each other without ever having known each other before.
Mario carefully moved her hair aside to kiss her neck. The earrings caught his attention.
"They're cold. Aren't they heavy?"
"They're hiding a secret." Marta smiled with an unusually charged mischief. "A secret that's just ours."
Mario lifted them and found the mark. A flash of masculine pride mingled with the innocence of not quite understanding.
"Does it hurt?"
"The love bite?" Marta planted one kiss after another, enjoying herself. "Not at all. I did have to hide it from my children, mind you."
"Have I become your secret?" Mario looked at her, serious.
"And what do you think you'd call whatever this is between us?" Marta held his face, slightly put out by his expression.
"I don't like hiding. I have nothing to hide."
"Yes you do, Mario — me."
"No." He frowned. "Something as beautiful as you should be shown to the world."
"They'd call you a grave robber, Mario."
"Here we go with the age thing again! I want to be with you, Marta — your age means nothing to me."
"And I believe you — God, I believe you when you say it!" Marta pressed her forehead to his. "But I can't help feeling guilty that my body wants you, while I have a commitment to honour with my company."
"Were you planning to hire me?" Mario smiled. "I work in the family business — I can't leave my job if I'm going to inherit the company."
"I appreciate that," Marta closed her eyes and exhaled, "but I was talking about mine."
"I'm not sleeping with your company — I'm sleeping with you." Mario answered by kissing her. "And if I have to be your secret, then that's what I'll be."
They kissed again, and no doubt was strong enough to stop them feeling each other as though they were one and the same.
It was not lust — it was more sentimental than that.
It was not desire — it was more necessary than that.
It was not love — not yet. Or perhaps they were simply too afraid to admit it.
They tangled the sheets with the rhythm of their bodies, and even managed to pull the blanket over their legs by accident.
Deep into the night, when their breathing had fallen into step and their hearts beat in unison, they drifted off to sleep, wrapped around each other.
The bed held them like a wonderful secret.
A phone alarm woke them from Marta's jacket, somewhere on the floor.
"Eight in the morning?" Mario checked his watch over Marta's head.
She got up and silenced it.
"I love your figure." Mario smiled, rolling onto his side to face her. "Your beauty is intoxicating."
She bent down to wrap herself in the satin robe.
"I want to show you something." Marta bit her lip, her eyes drifting towards the door.
"What is it?" Mario shuffled to the edge of the mattress and sat up, curious and expectant.
Marta slipped out of the room with a quiet laugh, skipping lightly down the hallway.
Mario got up from the bed — completely naked — and followed her.
"Marta?"
He ran straight into her. She had her fist closed.
"I was going to show you without you getting up, you know."
Mario put his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead.
"What did you want to show me?"
Marta opened her hand to reveal a set of old-fashioned barrel keys.
"I bought myself a little place in the mountains, about an hour's drive from here." Marta was smiling like a child with new shoes. "I was going to do it up to my taste gradually, until I retire — though that's still more than fifteen years away."
"How rustic — I love it!" Mario studied the keys with a trace of puzzlement. "But why are you showing me?"
"Let's go there!" Marta's eyes went wide, her smile at full beam. "A romantic getaway!"
"I love that idea." Mario swept her up off the ground and spun her around, laughing. "Today?"
"Right now."
They took each other's hand and ran back to the bedroom. The idea was so spontaneous that even Marta surprised herself — but there was nothing she wanted more than to share that little place with him.
They did not think about breakfast. They left the flat without even remembering it.
Marta in her ash-grey Mercedes and Mario in his dark gold one, they wound through the streets of Madrid out to the main road, one behind the other.
An hour later they arrived in La Cabrera, the small mountain village outside Madrid where Marta's little house stood. Parking two such conspicuous cars proved something of a challenge, but neither of them cared — they had arrived.
Marta got out first. The moment Mario closed his car, he stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her.
He buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in.
"I'm hungry." A click of his tongue. "I fancy something with pineapple." He laughed. "I wonder why."
"Oh, how lovely!" Marta tripped over a laugh. "Have you got any chocolate hidden away?" She glanced at her wrist. "It's already twelve."
"Are there any supplies in the house?"
Marta laughed like a fifteen-year-old with a crush, and Mario joined in, both of them swallowed up by the same laughter.
"Supplies?" She wiped away a small tear when she calmed down. "I mean, there'll be something to snack on, for sure — but you make it sound like we're going to war."
They went inside and Mario found a warm, homely little house with classic furniture that managed to feel uncluttered.
"Did you buy it looking this lovely?"
"I've only added a few pieces here and there." She shrugged — and nearly made Mario bite his own tongue.
In response, he kissed her neck, working his way up to her ear.
Marta closed the door and turned around. In one movement she jumped up, wrapped her legs around Mario and kissed him deeply. They went straight to the bedroom, to release everything they had been holding back since Madrid.
Marta had surrendered — completely — to what Mario gave her: unconditional love.