2.

                                    

                                          



"Thomas, what on earth are you doing?" Ada asked when she had the chance at the wedding reception, faking a smile while someone passed them by. "How the hell can you get married that quickly, to someone you barely know?! What about Lizzie?"
Thomas did feel a hint of guilt, for how he treated her over the years, even before they were married, but what's done is done, and it was unlike him to go over such things these days, being too busy even to eat, sleep, or think.
"We'll talk later, Ada. I want you to meet her." As he looked to the side, Ada was no longer there by his side. Or nowhere near it.  He feared going mad but eventually decided to deal with it later. 
Scanning the room for his sister, he found the bride instead, surrounded by women, dying to know any juicy detail about how they came to be husband and wife when she was the daughter of a late Spanish marchioness and her father was an English lord but now husband was a commoner from...Birmingham. 
"Leonor, my dear." Her uncle Lord Tate came to greet the bride, kissing her cheek with a smile. "You look marvelous today!" Harold was all pleasantries, especially when his wife, Lady Mary, was around. "Mary and I are so glad she made it back in time from France for your wedding." 
"You look so much like her, your mother, don't you, marquesita ?" Mary spoke with disdain, not as a compliment to her the bride, but as a reminder to herself, as she was the sister to Leonor's late father, and she hated her niece and anything that had to do with Leonor's mother's side of the family. 
But apparently, now she was head over heels about her niece's husband, fixing both her posture and her already overly combed hair when he finally decided to join them. 
"Lady Mary, I don't believe I had the pleasure of meeting you." Thomas grabbed her hand, kissing it softly, then shook Harold's, firmly and harshly. 
"Mr. Shelby, it's such a beautiful wedding!" She smiled, leaning in far too close for both Thomas and Harold's liking, not to mention Leonor's. "I do sincerely hope she makes you happy." Mary glared at her niece for a brief second then hugged him. "Oh, Mr. Shelby, Harold, and I will check one of the vineyards sometime later this week. You should come."
At the mention of her mother's vineyard, Leonor shifted uncomfortably in her spot, glancing at Gloria,  the maid who came with her to England, and waited as she translated what they said. 
"I would love to." Thomas nodded, gently pulling his now wife to the kitchen, as Gloria followed them.
"Lady Leonor?"
"Give us a minute." Thomas sighed, closing the door on her face. 
"Come in," Leonor said, as the maid opened the door but stood in a corner, with her eyes lowered to the ground. "She knows, it's for appearances."
 "Very well. So, wife, one of the vineyards?" He scoffed watching the scene, pinching his eyes. "I was told there was only one ."
Leonor frowned, tilting her head. "No. There's two or three wineries, but many vineyards." She then realized he didn't know or ignored the difference between them. "Oh. You didn't know?" 
Thomas rubbed his forehead with one of his hands, while the other fished for a cigarette. He could blame her uncle but in the end, it was his mistake, and now, his loss. "Fine, I'll deal with it later."
"And I'm it ?" She asked, amused but he just walked past her, his silence being the response to her question. How rude of him . "Gloria, what do you think of him?" Leonor asked as she sat down to rest her sore feet. "Gloria?"
"Who, Lady Leonor?" Gloria basically had raised the girl, they became closer over the years so formality had been long left behind, at least in Leonor's end, who said nothing, just stared at her, glancing at her wedding dress. "Oh, well, he seems like a hardworking man..."
Gloria knew who he was, what he had done, and what he did but feared telling her, especially when nothing would've changed. "You should be careful, Lady Leonor."
Leonor nodded, deciding not to prolong any further, hearing footsteps approaching. She knew who it was.
"Wife." Thomas came in, as if nothing had happened, with two cups of whiskey in his hands, and handed her one, which she downed in one go, twisting her nose as it burned her throat. "We are needed for our first dance as a married couple." At that statement, she grabbed the second glass and drank it all at once. 
As they danced, Leonor paid attention to everyone's expression as they watched the couple. One particularly stood up and Thomas noticed how she stiffened in his arms. 
"What?" He asked, studying her face, for the first time up this close. Her eyes were darker than his but carried the same tiredness, the makeup she had on was different from the rest of the English women, and so were her jewelry and hair, which had a pearl-encrusted comb attached to it, the only item from her Spanish side that her aunt allowed her niece to wear.
"I want to come with you." She dismissed his question, turning away from his gaze. "To the vineyard."
Thomas sighed, ready to refuse it, but then saw Oswald's eyes on his new wife, whispering something to Diana, who by her expression, seemed either bored or drunk, maybe both. "It's not a good idea."
"For appearances, they should come too, your partners." Leonor suddenly spoke, as he twirled her around, exiting the floor, and giving space to others as she picked up a slice of their wedding cake. "Jack Nelson, Sir Oswald, and Lady Diana, that bitch."
"Excuse me?" He nearly laughed, lighting a cigarette, and watching as she ate a bite. "You know Lady Diana?" She just nodded, offering him the rest of the cake, but he declined it. "Very well, and what do you know about her?"
"People speak freely when they think you can't understand them. " She just shrugged, watching the people dancing. "But you can deal with it later, as it seems to be your pattern." Leonor mocked then held his hand, knowing some of the guests still had their eyes on them, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Thomas." He looked at her, not addressing the tear that rolled down her cheek, it wasn't staged this time. "...I hated the cake." 
"Of course you did." Thomas kissed the top of her head, feeling Oswald's eyes on them, handing her his handkerchief, watching as she dried her tears. "I'll deal with it later."
She laughed, but the smile did not reach her eyes, as she came to realize what she got herself into, sinking into the fear that this was the beginning of her end, from wine and tapas and sunny days to whiskey and dry cakes and gloomy years. "Of course you will."
"Quien mucho abarca, poco aprieta."