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He chuckled. “My grandmother is near-sighted. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, but look how I’m dressed.” Her clothes were rumpled from an afternoon spent on the floor of the stateroom.
“My grandmother won’t be offended. There’s no need to dress for dinner at her house. It’s a casual affair, believe me.”
“Dinner? She’s having us for dinner and you never said a word about the invitation before now?”
“It’s a standing invitation. She makes enough for an army every Sunday. Whoever stops by is welcome.”
“Who else stops by?”
“My aunts, cousins, their families.” He shrugged.
“They’ll all be there?”
“Some of them, sure.”
“You said before that they knew about our arrangement. I’ll feel…awkward in their presence.”
“They know about our arrangement,” he acknowledged. “They also know I would never bring someone I didn’t care about to dinner.” He took her hand, kissed the back of it. “I want you to meet my family, Catherine. Will you do me the honor?”
When he put it like that, she couldn’t refuse. “It’s me who is honored, Stephen.”
His grandmother’s house was not especially large, nor was it in an exclusive neighborhood. But there was no denying its charm. With its stone façade, it reminded her of a fairy-tale cottage. Chrysanthemums bloomed like pots of gold in the flower beds, where other perennials had already enjoyed their glory and had now been cut back in preparation for winter.
The instant they stepped across the threshold they were surrounded by boisterous, enthusiastic relatives of varying ages and sizes, all chattering excitedly. Some spoke in English, some in Spanish. All with the kind of welcoming fondness that Catherine had thought only Hollywood could manufacture. She was kissed and hugged by people she had never met before and whose names had already become confused.
“Welcome, welcome,” a plump older woman said, wiping her hands on an apron as she crossed the room to where they stood just inside the door. It was as far as they had gotten before being surrounded by family members.
“Abuelita,” Stephen said with a grin. “I’d like you to meet Catherine. Catherine, this is my grandmother, Consuela Fuentes.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Señora Fuentes,” Catherine said. She had barely gotten the words out when she was wrapped in a pair of surprisingly strong arms and soundly kissed on both cheeks.
“You will call me Abuelita, yes?”
“Abuelita.” She tried out the word, liking the way it sounded. Stephen’s family nodded their approval.
Throughout their visit it became clear to Catherine that while Stephen had grown up in privilege, surrounded by servants and wealthy grandparents who had been miserly with their affection, here he had known generous helpings of love. There was no sign of the aloof, intense man in Consuela Fuentes’s homey living room. He wrestled on the floor with his cousins’ children, joked with his uncles, complimented his aunts.
Dinner was a casual affair, the food not as spicy as Catherine had thought it would be, but filling and delicious and made in massive quantities. People laughed and talked, sometimes over one another, passing serving bowls or even hopping up to walk down to the far end of the table for what they wanted. It was informal, bordering on chaotic. It was fantastic.
From all of the chatter Catherine deduced that the evenings when Stephen had slipped away, not to return till late, had been spent here.
Afterward, when the last bit of dessert had been eaten, Catherine helped Stephen’s three aunts and grandmother clear the table. They wouldn’t let her help wash the dishes, but she sat on a stool at the counter in the kitchen and listened to them chatter happily about babies and bargains, the lyrical cadence of their voices making even the mundane seem magical. And she knew if not for her presence much of the conversation would have been conducted in Spanish and more than likely would have centered on her.
“Christina and Miguel are expecting again. They are hoping for a boy this time.” For Catherine’s benefit Rosaria added, “They already have four daughters.”
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