‘What do you mean, how? Load-shedding, remember?’
‘It shouldn’t possibly make you this warm. Not when all the blood in your body iscertainlynot evenly distributed right now.’
‘Bro, yes, Shanni, I admit it,’ he bursts out laughing, face buried in my hair.
I roll over to face Darien, with his messy bed hair and his eyes screwed shut in amusement, and I take his face in both of my hands. ‘Okay, you … you heated blanket of a human being – go on, will you?’
I can’t even get words out between laughs that threaten to burst my lungs and kisses woven with smiles, and there’s something beautiful about that. Yes, we’re being babies, but I find that beautiful, too. To be at my happiest like this, it’s difficult. It hadn’t happened for a long time, until I met Darien, and suddenly, I get to be happy every day. I get to laugh over load-shedding and Dar being needy and horny and dramatic, and never once in all this laughter is there space for sadness. I forget about the pain that wrenches at my chest when I think about stepping out of this dream and dealing with reality.
If only for a moment.
Chapter Forty-Five
Shantal
Given a three-week break between Jaipur and Las Vegas, the season coming to an end far faster than seemed possible, the team returns to Rio for some development and well-needed rest. But Darien and I, it turns out, are on a mission, cleverly disguised as a casual walk through the city that eventually brings us to the town of Santa Teresa, where we had taken the tram before Imola.
‘And the last stop,’ announces Darien as we near a small home much like the others we’ve passed on our walk. It’s surrounded by open grass and trees, with an old Corvette out front. The house is maybe two floors, and just slightly peeling on the façade, but flags and flower baskets hanging at windows spruce it all up.
‘What’s this?’ I ask with a raise of my eyebrow.
‘This,’ he says happily, ‘is family dinner.’
I gasp as I start to put together pieces. ‘Oh, Darien, your mom’s house? I can’t, I wouldn’t be—’
He squeezes my hand and nods. There’s so much pride in his eyes that I can feel it radiating like the rays of the sun aboveus. ‘Listen, we want you here. You’ve done so much for me, you know that? This is the least I can do. Get you to meet the people who stood behind me from day one.’
Just as he’s wrapping up his thoughts, there’s a shout from one of the windows. A woman stands up there, leaning over with a broad grin on her face – a very Darien grin. It’s a completely different expression from the one I recall seeing on her face back at the hospital after Darien’s accident. She brushes curls from her face, regarding us cheerily. ‘Oy! Magalinho!’ she chirps.
‘Hey, Mãe!’ he yells back. ‘Look who’s here!’
She turns to me, waving. I’m not sure if she recognizes me from Miami – we hadn’t interacted, and I hadn’t yet been close with Darien – but the excitement in her voice fills my chest with the warm sensation of hope. ‘Come in, my dear!’
I just laugh, waving back to his mom, but something in her happiness fills me with warmth, almost concealing my nervous tension.
Darien leads me up a narrow driveway and down a weaving sidewalk that brings us to a threshold, beyond which is the bright orange front door. He gives it a firm knock.
‘Time for you to meet the family,’ Darien teases, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
The door finally creaks open, and there, with the biggest smile across her face, is the woman herself: Darien’s mum.
She pulls the door open and immediately brings both of us into an enormous hug. ‘Olá, olá. Oh, how exciting! Darien and Shantal, hmm?’
‘Yep,’ Darien manages through his mum’s sweater.
Mrs Cardoso-Magalhães holds us back at arm’s length, regarding us with pride. ‘What a beautiful couple. I’ve been waiting to finally meet you,filha.’
She radiates warmth, with the same bronze tan and chocolateirises as Darien. Her corkscrew curls fall around her face in piles of brown streaked with the smallest hints of blonde, as well as a faint grey. Smile lines just like Darien’s crease the corners of her eyes as she holds the door open for us.
‘Come on!’ Darien grins, taking my hand. ‘Come meet everyone.’
I sigh with a laugh as he herds me inside. It’s a symphony of colours. Decorative plates, brightly coloured furniture draped in handmade blankets. And the photos, they’re everywhere.
‘Mãe loves photos,’ says Darien, reading my mind. ‘I don’t remember some of ’em, but this is my favourite.’ He points to one that hangs in the living room, next to the clock, visible straight ahead as you enter the house. It looks like both his parents are in it, all three of them standing on a makeshift football pitch in a park. A toddler Darien holds the ball, and his mum and dad are laughing so hard that their eyes are closed.
‘Dar!’ a new voice calls from the kitchen.
‘My cousin, Karolina,’ Darien tells me, grinning.
