“I’m not that smart,” Anton said, crossing his arms over his chest. Conclusion: it was a bad idea to come to the wedding. Areallybad idea.
“Yes you are.” His mother sighed like she was just as tired of this argument as he was. “You know it, I know it, everyone does. There was a reason you were asked to leave the Carlton and suffer in Lipa these last three years. But if you loved me even a little bit, you would have thought of me first. What about my needs, anak?”
“Just like you thought of me, while I was supposedly suffering in Lipa?” he asked.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Anton said, resigned but not apologetic. It would do very little to apologize, and at least he still had his pride. “What’s done is done, Mom.”
Joyce Santillan huffed and said something else about once again having to fix everything, before she flounced out of the ballroom in a storm of diamonds and tulle. Santi heard himself sigh when she left, felt his entire upper body relax and drop. Then he slowly turned around and found himself standing inside a canopy of flowers and chandeliers, with soft yellow lighting that gave the place a dreamy feel.
He had to admit, it was nice. Almost worth having a wedding in December for. Could even picture his future, definitely-not-happening-anytime-soon wedding happening right here. Santi was never one to indulge in fantasy, but the setting was right. He was wearing a barong, a really nice one, too. All he had to do was picture a bride. One waiting in the ballroom, walking across the canopy of flowers, skin glowing under the light of the chandeliers. Maybe “Moon River” could play; he’d always liked that song.
He walked across the dance floor, still observing. He was humming the song too, giving himself just a second to picture a moment that seemed too far away, too impossible for him to comprehend. But here he was, picturing a wedding. His.
“Santi?” a voice said behind him, making him turn and blink in surprise. Kira Luz was, quite suddenly, standing in front of him in a soft pink ball gown of tulle, her long dark locks curled under a flower crown, her impossibly warm brown eyes made even more impossibly warm by the lighting. She looked like she’d emerged from a fairy tale, speaking to the mere mortal who dared interrupt her slumber. Almost like he’d summoned her.
We should promise to be there for each other when we need it.
Santi shook off his cloudy vision. “Kira,” he managed to say. “You didn’t hear any of that, did you?”
“Well, I wasn’t listening, if that’s what you’re asking. And hi,” she said. That little smile of hers could have melted hearts, if Santi wasn’t too busy being disoriented as hell. “Did I know you were going to be at this wedding?”
“I didn’t know you would be here either, so—”
“Wow. It’s almost like destiny,” Kira noted thoughtfully. He wanted to disagree, point out that destiny was merely a string of coincidences, but decided against it. Who was he to question what she believed in? She held up an open box, foil sticking out at the top. A chocolate bar. “Eat this.”
He’d known she was part of the wedding, but not until the ceremony actually started. He’d seen her walking down the aisle as a bridesmaid, tucked under Miro’s arm. What was she doing in the ballroom already? Why was she looking at him like that? How much of his conversation with his mother had she heard?
There was a reason you were asked to leave the Carlton and suffer in Lipa these last three years.
See the thing was, it hadn’t exactly felt like suffering, these last three years. He missed Manila, missed the feeling of being there, but Lipa hadn’t been awful at all.
He wondered what Kira made of that, if she’d heard. Not that he’d ever explained any more to her than he had that night three years ago in Osaka.
In those three years, he and Kira had developed a...not quite friendship, not quite relationship. He’d managed to keep his distance from her, from everyone in general. Lipeños were never quite sure of what to make of someone who came back, and it suited him just fine. This was supposed to be a temporary exile, even if he still didn’t know what to do to stop it. Approaching her was never the plan, because staying wasn’t the plan. And if there was anyone who could potentially make Santi want to root his life to Lipa, it was the fairy queen standing in front of him, handing him chocolate.
“Is it poisoned?” Santi asked, and Kira rolled her eyes.
“It’s fifty percent milk chocolate, jerk,” Kira explained with a little chuckle, lifting a bar of foil before she broke it with her fingers. The chocolate made a satisfyingsnapsound, and she opened her hands for Santi to take the piece of chocolate. Santi picked up the square and gave Kira a look. “Just eat it, okay.”
Santi took a bite of the chocolate. It was fruity. Almost tart, and dried his mouth in a good way. It was hard to believe that something that tasted so complex had only 50% cacao. Santi swallowed, then took another bite. And just like that, he was out of chocolate.
“Can I have—”
“Here,” Kira said, snapping off another piece, slightly smaller.
“So generous,” he said sarcastically.
“I figured you could use something soothing,” Kira pointed out, and he heard that little catch in her voice, that hesitation of her wondering if she should say it out loud, then letting the dice roll, bahala na what Santi’s reaction could be. “Okay, I wasn’t listening, but it was hard not to hear. It was a bit loud.”
“Great.” Santi wished the earth could just swallow him whole now, even if he greatly appreciated the chocolate. Thank god it was a little dark; he prayed she didn’t notice that his cheeks were probably red, because they felt hot. She wordlessly passed him the rest of the bar, and he popped another square into his mouth. “So this is ano, paawa chocolate?”
“Of course,” Kira said, but the way she said it made him feel like it wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, to get pity chocolate. Especially not one that Kira had very obviously made herself. Gemini Chocolates was on its own tier of chocolate greatness to Santi, and he had to admit, it did help somewhat. “Also, I’m in here because I was checking on the wedding favors. I can’t tell you how much of a strugglebus tempering was. But the chocolate is fine, and you looked like you needed it, so...you’re welcome.”
“Strugglebus? What does that even...wait. Youstolethis,” Santi realized, looking at the packaging in his hand, where sure enough, Kit and Clara’s names were embossed in gold, and the same motif from the invitation was all over the packaging. “You’ve turned me into an accomplice.”
“Oh relax, Grim Reaper-nim, I always bring extras for my wedding clients.” Kira smirked, taking back the chocolate.
