Lessons in Gravity (Study Abroad #2) (10 page)

“Wow,” I breathe. “Just—wow. This place is amazing.”

Javier grins at me over his shoulder as we climb the stairs. “Wait ’til you see the church. It’s one of the most beautiful places in all of Madrid.”

His voices echoes off the walls, a deep, masculine rumble. I look up to see him and Carmen taking the steps in time, their movements so in synch, so naturally complimentary to each other, I wonder if the two of them were ever together. First loves, maybe? It wouldn’t surprise me; they make pretty hot pair. I get it. If I was a guy who looked like Javier, I’d want to date a girl who looked like Carmen.

If, of course, I was into dating. Which I’m not. Definitely, definitely not.

“When was the last time I saw you?” Carmen turns her head and offers Javier a red-lipped smile. “It has to be almost three years?”

He digs a hand into his hipster wave, mussing it into a tidy spike. “More than that, I think. Too long. I’m really excited to be back home.”

“And your band—it is new?”

“Yes.” Javier nods. “An entirely new project. I’ve missed the classical stuff—the stuff I started with.”

I’ve missed the classical stuff
. That’s interesting. What has he been doing that’s kept him from the music he loves?

“Going back to your roots,” Carmen says.

“Exactly. I got a few of the boys together, and we decided we’d give it a go. I don’t have plans for us, not yet. But it could be fun.”

“Classical stuff?” I ask. “Like Bach and Handel and violins?”

“Sort of,” he replies. “I was trained as a classical guitarist. Flamenco was always my favorite, so that’s what I wanted to study. Now it’s what I want to play.”

“I can’t wait to hear you play again,” Carmen says. She glances at me. “Javier is a very talented musician.”

“So I’ve gathered,” I say. “I’m excited to see him in action.”

We mount the top step and hang a right. I’m torn between ogling exquisite marble inlays on a nearby arch and listening to Javier and Carmen catch up. I’m more curious than I should be about their relationship. They’re just so—
hot.
Spanish. Sexy. Things I will never, ever be. It’s like catching the world’s most beautiful celebrities falling in love right in front of you. You can’t
not
watch.

I hear the thrum of an acoustic guitar, followed by a few claps and shouts, as we head toward a pair of monumental doors at the end of the gallery, one of which is open.

Javier stands by the door, gesturing Carmen and I inside first.

“Thanks,” I say.

He meets my gaze. My pulse hiccups. Those
eyes
of his. They are warm and gentle. “You’re welcome, Maddie. I hope you’re inspired by what you see.”

I step inside the church.

The breath leaves my lungs as a tingling awareness moves through me.

I don’t believe in fate. Not like I used to, anyway. And whatever faith I had in a higher power’s “master plan” pretty much went out the window when my dad blind-sided me with his lies.

But stepping inside this theater—this overwhelmingly beautiful theater—I know in my gut that this place, and this moment, are important. This isn’t just another church, another historic monument I’m not allowed to touch.

This place means something. I’m not sure what. But I’ve never, ever seen anything like it. I haven’t read about anything like it, either—a palace turned monastery turned theater. A theater where this guy I just met is going to play some flamenco guitar. It’s fresh subject matter in a field where hidden gems are increasingly hard to come by.

The angles are infinite; I could write about history, the success of restoration work already done, the architecture of acoustics. I just need to be able to come here on a regular basis so I can actually
study
the space. If by some miracle I make that happen, I think I can put together a solid thesis proposal. Maybe I really do have a shot at coming back to Madrid for graduate school.

Goosebumps break out on my arms.

Being inside the theater makes me feel like I am definitely in Spain. I see Moorish influence in the stylized arches above the doors; lots of Catholic motifs in the sculptures above what was once the altar but is now the stage; more Catholic mythology etched into the stained glass windows.

Oh, the windows. They’re enormous, set high into the walls on either side of the theatre. Colors hundreds of years old still burn brightly, the light warm; purple from this angle, green from that one, now cobalt blue, and red, and yellow. It’s like being inside a prism.

The church was obviously meant to impress, with its soaring white walls, sculpture, and heavy gilding. Now that it’s a theater, the effect is very much the same. Only these days it’s not the nuns’ voices that fill the space, rising higher and higher in arias to the Virgin Mary; it’s bands like Javier’s that crank out the tunes. And something tells me Javier’s music has nothing to do with virgins.

“You all right?” Javier asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Yeah. Definitely. Just trying to absorb it all.”

“That’s going to take a while.”

I wrap a hand around the back of my neck, which has already started to ache from all my gawking. Javier is right; there’s just so much to see. I could look for hours, days, even, and there’d still be details I would miss.

I look down to see Javier watching me. His eyes appear hazel in this light, the brown tinged with green.

“C’mon,” he says, nodding to the stage. A couple guys are up there, tuning their guitars. “Let me introduce you to the band.”

***

Javier

I remember the first time I visited El Monasterio de los Humildes Royales. I’d been dating María Carmen for a few months and her parents had just gifted a big chunk of change to the foundation for the monastery’s preservation. They were season ticket holders, and this was the first time they’d invited me to tag along as Carmen’s date. Being the music geek I am, I was stoked to attend a concert given by one of my favorite flamenco bands of all time.

While the band was awesome, it was the monastery that stole the show. Listening to the sound of the guitars echoing off the centuries-old walls was nothing short of a religious experience. Every note, every cry and stomp and clap became its own living, breathing thing, taking on new depth. The stage lights, sparkling in the stained glass windows, only added to the magic. It was a defining moment in my musical career; that night I decided I would be up on that stage someday, playing music inspired by the place I call home.

I’ll never forget that first time. But now, watching Maddie take it all in, it’s like I’m reliving the experience all over again. Her wonderment, the excitement that lights up her blue eyes—I remember feeling those things, too. I remember how intensely I felt them, an out of body experience that touched every part of my being.
 

I had this gut feeling that this spot would mean something to me. Granted, I was eighteen, and I was in love; the world was a very romantic place for me back then. But I was right. The monastery
has
come to play a big part in my life. And I can tell from the look on her face that Maddie feels it, too, that sixth sense telling you to pay attention, because something big—something cool—is going to happen here.

Maybe her tagging along with me today isn’t the worst thing, after all.

I could watch Maddie ogle the monastery all day, reliving that excitement vicariously through her. But I’m not a creeper, first of all, and second, my band is waiting.

On cue, I hear a familiar voice call out something filthy that I won’t repeat in a church. I know without looking that it’s Leo.

Leo Rodriguez an insanely good guitarist and one of my best friends. He’s also
that
guy. You know, the guy you love like a brother but are embarrassed to be seen with in public because he’s such a mess.

Rolling my eyes, I let out a groan. “So, the band. They’re really talented musicians, Maddie, and I swear to you they mean well. But let’s just say they don’t spend enough time in polite company, yes?”

Maddie smiles, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “I’m always game to learn new ways to swear in Spanish. What did that guy say?” She glances over my shoulder. “Something about milk? I didn’t catch it.”

“You don’t want to know,” I reply. “But in the interest of furthering your cultural education, I’ll tell you. Me cago en la leche
—
literally, I shit in the milk. In this case, my dumbass mate used it as an expression of surprise. As in, ‘holy shit, our lead man has arrived.’ The Spanish is a bit…er, stronger than the English translation, I think.”

“I shit in the milk.” Maddie nods, trying out the Spanish. Her accent is excellent and a bit cute. “A keeper for sure.”

I smile, even as I catch María Carmen cross her arms and shoot me a look of disapproval. I guess she’s not as nuts for shitting in the milk as Maddie is. Makes sense, considering Carmen is the epitome of that polite company I was talking about. I actually can’t think of a time I ever heard her swear, even something so innocent as cállate—shut up!—or culo—ass.
 

I climb the steps onto the stage, the lights warming the crown of my head and shoulders as I wave Maddie up behind me. I introduce her to Leo, who gets a little handsy for my taste when he leans in to kiss her cheeks.

I blink. The possessiveness that prickles inside my skin takes me off guard.

Maddie isn’t mine. Never was and never will be.

Still, I find myself staring down Leo as he touches her.

“Oh!” Maddie says, looking down at his hand on her hip. Her lower, almost-lady-groin-area hip. “Oh, aren’t you, um, friendly. Mucho gusto
,
I guess?”

I quickly untangle Maddie from his grasp, keeping her close beside me lest Leo is feeling especially ornery this afternoon.

“
Ha
-lo, Maddie,” he says. “I have enchanted to meet her. You have a yearning for doing it together?”

She blinks. “A yearning? To do—do what? I don’t know—um—”

“Doing it!” Leo gestures at the guitar hanging from a strap at his pelvis. “Together! The music. I have played guitar, and you do the singing? The songs!”

“Oh!” she says again, letting out a small trill of relieved laughter. “No, no, I’m not part of the band. I’m just here to watch. To see the monastery.” She waves her hand above her head, gesturing at the ornately frescoed ceiling.
 

Leo, clearly having understood none of what she just said, smiles and nods. He gestures to his pelvis again. I wince. “Watch my part? Yes!”

Maddie looks at me. “Help.”

“There is no helping him,” I say, shaking my head as I angle my body between the two of them. “I can, however, protect you from that weird Elvis thing he’s doing with his…you know.”

I explain to Leo that Maddie is a friend of Rafa’s, which means she’s a friend of mine.
 

I speak Spanish
,
Leo,
Maddie says in that cute accent of hers.
Would that be easier for you?

“I am the need practice the English,” he replies. “If good to you, we speak it together, vale?”

“Sure.” She glances at me, a grin playing at her lips. “Of course. I’m happy to help you with your English. So you play the guitar—do you guys write your own music? Are you classically trained, too?”

Leo smiles and nods again. I let out a bark of laughter and quickly translate what Maddie is saying into Spanish.

Vale
, Leo laughs.
The Spanish is better for this, yes. I help Javier write a little bit, but right now he has not been writing much. He is very good at writing hooks—
 

Maddie looks at me, brow furrowed.

“Hooks,” I translate. “It’s the part of the song that makes it catchy. It could be a turn of phrase, a riff, a chorus—whatever has you singing it in the shower.”

She nods. “So basically Taylor Swift is the queen of writing hooks.”

“Absolutely,” I reply, trying—and failing, quite miserably—not to imagine Maddie singing “Shake it Off” while lathering up in that shower we never got to take together. She’d be all long legs and slippery skin, hot to the touch.

I swallow, hard. Why the hell am I thinking about Maddie when I want to find forever with Carmen? I need to get a grip.
Now
.

With no small effort, I shove the glistening shower image from my head. “T. Swift is a genius in that regard. I’ve actually studied her songs a great deal.”
 

“I thought you said you didn’t like country.” Maddie cocks a brow.

“Taylor went pop a while back, didn’t she?”

“Point taken,” Maddie says. “I’m so excited to hear what you’ve come up with.”

You should be more excited about the acoustics of this place
, Leo says.
We’re going to sound a lot fucking better than we actually are
.

“Do you guys have a name?” she asks. “The band, I mean.”

Leo and I look at each other.

“Yet no,” Leo says. “Javi, he has four or six bad ideas.”

“They’re not
that
bad,” I say.

Leo looks at Maddie. “They are very bad. For example, there is the Gods of the—”