He was raised to think that money was a good thing. It was essential to living a good life. He learned that businesses made money, and that none of those things—money, business and a “good life”—could ever be found in the provinces. Manila was supposed to be good,theplace to live. But experience had told him that Manila had her horrors. Manila could be the Most Terrible and Expensive Place in the World To Live In, even with all its conveniences.
Eventually he realized that the analogy was false. There were more than enough families in the country making good money from businesses born outside the capital. He’d learned that a “good life” wasn’t always a sprawling house in Loyola Grand Villas. He learned that money was important, but so was family. So were good relationships with people around you.
Everything about his family was supposed to be good. They had money, they ran a good business, they were all healthy. But Santi had still spent Christmas alone, wishing he was brave enough to just drive back to Lipa, until today.
“You make it sound so easy,” he said with a sigh.
“My mercury is in Aquarius eh.” Kira shrugged, waving a hand to brush off the statement. “I am very good at coming to a logical conclusion.”
“No, you...” Santi coughed, almost sayingno, it’s not that, it’s that you’re beautiful, and you are so happy with where you are that things become easier. It’s because you’re so loved. But he didn’t say things like that. “It’s you, Kira. You just have this way of making things make sense. Which is how I got convinced to try Royal when we were kids, and my life has been better with it.”
She laughed, and it was good to know she seemed to remember it, too.
“I guess this means you just have to trust me,” she said, tapping her rose against his nose.
Sitting there on the gallinera today, the lights soft against Kira’s face, ylang ylang and rosal in the air, and he knew that he did. It was maybe the easiest thing he could admit to her right now. He trusted her, completely. He always had. He took a bite of the tartufo. Memories of Rome came rushing back to him, but he couldn’t help but be excited for what a tartufo with Gemini chocolates would taste like, too.
He didn’t know if it was the sugar, but Santi’s mind slowly started to wander. He could picture walking hand in hand with Kira on the cobblestone streets of Rome. Could see them walking to the Piazza Navona at twilight, where the summer sky in Rome was an incredible pink and purple hue. Could picture taking her to the restaurant that served the illusive tartufo, and listening to her talk about how wonderful it was. She would probably like it.
He shook himself quickly away from the fantasy, because dreams like that were for other people. He was an exiled grandson who was just trying to get his family to love him. She didn’t need to have his mess on her lap. Selling him her chocolate was more than enough for him. It should be more than enough for him.
“So is that a yes?” Santi asked. “Are you going to help me by selling your chocolate?”
“I’ll need to test out the tartufo thing myself, figure out which chocolate would work best,” she said thoughtfully, waggling her eyebrows because she had the upper hand against him. He liked to think that she always had. “But full disclosure, if I help you, I would actually be helping myself out a lot.”
“Why?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“No, just...money things.” Kira wrinkled her nose. “More specifically Gemini and money things. In that she doesn’t have much.”
“I’m good at money things,” Santi offered. “In case it wasn’t obvious.”
“Ah, weh?” Kira asked sarcastically, looking up at the lights above their heads, at the restaurant nearby, at the fountain not too far away. “Hindi nga. We don’t have to talk about everything today, but I could use your insight, too.”
And for the first time that holiday, things seemed right. He knew how special the holidays could be because he’d spent them in Lipa as a child—one of his titos would dress up as Santa and leave presents for him and his cousins at midnight, if they sang their Christmas carols loud enough to wake the dead. His Lally would play an old Christmas album (usually a Basil Valdez, because, tradition) and the adults (even his parents, back then) would dance while the kids busied themselves with presents. That kind of magic was long gone, but it only meant that Santi wanted nothing more than to have it back.
He suddenly remembered that he was taking her away from her family, who were probably well into their own desserts inside.
“I should let you go back,” he said. “Were you and your family celebrating something? You seemed very happy.”
“Not celebrating per se.” Kira wrinkled her nose, and Santi wondered what had happened before he showed up. “Just being together. We do that a lot.”
“Lucky you.” Santi didn’t mean to sound bitter, but oh well.
“Is that why you asked me to come out here? Because you were jealous?” Kira asked, tilting her head, curious. “Was this tartufo a ruse?”
“Oh no. I really was worried about it. It’s been bothering me for the longest time, and I realized you were the right person to talk to when I saw you with your family. And I admit I did feel a bit of jealousy,” Santi admitted, but he was used to that pain in his chest whenever he saw other happy families in his restaurant. “But more than that, I was happy to see you in the restaurant. And I realized you were the only person in the world outside of the Santillans who knows about what happened, with me and Lolo.”
He’d thought of it on the drive to Lipa. Who had he told? How had he processed any of it? He didn’t know anymore. Because he’d told Kira, he realized how freeing it was, to be able to talk about what happened out loud. He’d just needed someone else to know. Someone else to understand.
“You can talk to me about it anytime,” Kira assured him, and reached out for his hand. He knew it was meant to be a comforting gesture, but he didn’t need comfort. Not right now. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“That’s the problem,” Santi said slowly. “We’re not just friends. Are we?”
He made it sound like a complication, and it was. Add it to the long list of complications he was already carrying around. Because he would have wanted to stay in the garden for the next three days and talk to Kira about how he wished he could have more with her. How they weren’t just friends. Why he’d kissed her that day at the hotel (because she was lovely, and she made him feel like he could be happy).
But Santi already had too many complications that he was carrying. And he couldn’t afford to drop her, because he wanted her to still be in his life. It was selfish, but it was better than nothing. It was him confirming something they both knew perfectly well, that nothing about any of this was happening in the right order. They’d kissed the first night they met again, then they didn’t really speak to each other, only to go to where every couple seemed to start—talking, being friends, smiling and holding hands in romantic gardens.
“Santi,” Kira said gently. “We’re going into business together.”
