“Right,” Santi agreed, touching the back of the seat. He’d never had a place before. He was used to sitting wherever was available, depending on who Vito felt was supposed to be on the receiving end of a long sermon. It was comforting, to have a place to sit.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look almostexactlylike the Grim Reaper from—”
“I want my new Tito to sit next to me!” Cassie came out of the kitchen, placing a basket of the just-warmed Spanish bread in the middle of the table. Santi swallowed a lump that had suddenly lodged in his throat. “Tita Kira said he knows how to makebread. How do youmakebread?”
“Wow, talaga? Is there anything your new Tito Santican’tdo?” Kiko asked, walking back into the dining room, holding boxes of D’Three Sisters Bibingka, his brow raised suspiciously at Santi. How strange that he was now under Kiko’s thumb, when Kiko was almost always at the Villa for restoration and repair work.
Cassie was looking at him expectantly, as if he was supposed to pull a rabbit out of a hat, and Santi cleared his throat. He also realized he was just wearing his pajama sweatpants and his sando. Not exactly his best look, but it would have to do. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“I can’t juggle?” he said hesitantly.
“See!” Cassie said to Kiko like it proved anything. Santi sighed and looked up just in time to catch Kira standing in the kitchen, smiling at him. He smiled back, a quiet little exchange of affection. Suddenly, he knew what he was feeling.
It was happiness. Pure and simple happiness, the kind he never thought he could achieve.
It felt good.
Several hours later, it was nearly lunch, and Santi was still a bit full. He didn’t mind so much, though. Kira was coming over before they headed to his place, where she would be teaching him the fine art of samgyupsal. And if that wasn’t enough, he also had a bar of Gemini’s 60% dark milk chocolate in his front pocket. In case of emergencies. Kira had slipped it to him before he left her house. She looked happy too, her cheeks never quite losing a happy little flush that she’d carried from the start to the end of breakfast.
It felt so...normal. And so nice. He quite liked it.
“Don’t miss me,” she told him, kissing his cheek (yes her parents were fully aware of their relationship status, but Kira didn’t seem to want to push her luck).
“We have a very serious meeting later,” Santi reminded her. “There will be math.”
“I’m very excited for all the math,” Kira said, nodding seriously. Then she sighed and pressed a hand to his cheek for a second. “I’m so happy you’re here, Santi. Oh, I have baon for you, teka...”
He had to admit, it was a different kind of luxury, going through his day with the assurance that there was somebody out there who was thinking about you, who cared enough about you to slip a bar of chocolate she happened to have on hand before sending you off back to your house to get ready for the day.
It was enough to make him smile.
But his smiles were short-lived, it seemed, whenever he thought about staying in Lipa. Because eventually, the shadow of his grandfather’s threats would loom, encompassing everything else.
Nobody from the family had called since his great hospital escape from New Year. And maybe Santi was just a pessimist, but he wasn’t optimistic about it. It wasn’t in a Santillan’s nature to leave something well enough alone.
He shook the thought away as he stood up from his desk. Kira was coming to the hotel. Santi wanted it to be completely professional, so he might as well head to the lobby lounge and make sure they had snacks. Brain food was essential for a situation like this, right? Gabriel had recently used Gemini chocolate to recreate the Bruce Bogtrotter cake from Matilda with caramel sauce and Kira’s chocolate. It was a huge hit, and Santi was excited to have Kira try it.
And he’d never believed in manifestations, he was too practical for that, but he was halfway to the kitchen when the universe decided to conspire against him.
“Sir? I think your family is in the lobby to see you.”
“My family?” he asked. Santi did a double take, only to see Libby, who was doing her OJT at the front desk, fidgeting. He wasn’t sure what else she could have said, because nobody knew that he wasactuallya Villa (because he was a Manila boy, and that was all they needed to know) so nobody would refer to any of the Villas to him as family. Which meant only one thing.
“Yes po,” Libby said with a nod. “I recognized your grandfather from the Carlton Group website. He’s there, as well as a man I don’t recognize.”
He thanked Libby, and asked her to lead him to where they were. Sure enough, Vito and Victor Santillan stood in the middle of the lobby, shivering from the cool January breeze and the sudden rains, and glaring down the entire hotel. It was as bad an omen as anything.
Despite Villa being a part of the Carlton Group, Santi’s grandfather had never once set foot in the Hotel Villa. None of the family (this side of the family, anyway) had even attended the hotel blessing three years ago, and Santi had personally sent each of them an invitation. But apparently, all it took for Vito to show up was one argument, because here he was, scrutinizing the capiz chandelier that hung between the narra staircases, both originals of the Hotel Villa.
“Mukang cheap,” Vito said. “Always has been. Don’t you think, Victor?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Victor Santillan, Santi’s father, didn’t have much say in his own life, much less his sons’. He was looking around the hotel too, unable to hide his own awe. Santi wondered what he saw. Did he see how different Villa’s classic Filipino style was from the Carlton’s more sleek marble and brass? Did he think this was an improvement from the twenty-plus years ago that he worked here as a manager?
“Is that Lally’s Manansala?” Victor asked, frowning at the painting taking pride of place behind the check-in desk.
“Lolo, Father.” Anton approached them, because this was his space, damn it, and he wasn’t going to be worried just because they showed up. At the very least, they were able to see what he’d been working on for the last three years, see what he’d managed to do. At least they could pretend to be proud of him. “You’re here.”
