Dimitri arrives at 7:30. A little earlier than expected and honks at me as I glance out the window. I finish packing last minute necessities and take a final glance at my paling reflection in the mirror before heading out. I woke up in the morning feeling more jumpy than usual and the late night of overthinking promised to not hide itself underneath my concealer.

When I step out, Dimitri is leaning against his car with two takeaways beverages. The steaming cup forms smoke in the chilly morning air. The sun still hasn't risen yet. Today, he's opted for something a bit more casual. Skinny black trousers, white trainers and a plain grey t-shirt that stretches across his chest, practically doing no justice to conceal his toned abs and biceps.

"Morning," he greets, flashing me his perfect row of white teeth. There's a very faint indent on his right cheek - didn't think him to have dimples.

"Hey," I greet. "Bright and early as you promised."

"Punctuality is key," he passes me over the steaming cup. We exchange my handbag. "Sorry, I simply brought you tea with sugar. Didn't know if you were a coffee drinker," He probably hit his head on the way to bed because he's actually being thoughtful today.

This is weird, this is strange, this is unusual. I shouldn't complain.

"It's fine," I smile at him. "I appreciate the gesture. I'll drink anything as long as it's not black coffee. Cannot stand the taste."

His lips press together before he takes a long swing of his cup. "It's really not that bad," he states, purposely slapping his lips together for show.

I shudder, remembering the time I had my coffee black and spat it out. "I'm so disappointed in you. Black coffee is disgusting. What you tryna prove? You're that quiet and moody brooding guy just because you drink your coffee black and bitter?"

He takes another sip, his lips curving over as he hides it. I'm truly disgusted he's drinking it again. "Someone's got an imagination this morning," he comments. "And no, I'm actually a badass with my matured taste buds."

"Oh look at me with my matured taste buds," I mock, wanting to imitate the Spongebob meme. He snickers, clearly amused by my sheer hatred for the coffee. "Aren't you cold?" We've been standing out for five minutes now and there stands Adonis in front of me, a thin cotton shirt and not a care in the world.

"Nope, black coffee warms my soul," his dark eyebrow arches, hiding his smile over the cup. Before I even get the chance to say anything further, he's opening the door for me. He goes around the back, opening the boot and propping the luggage in.

For today's journey, he brings one of his relatively flashy but super comfortable cars. Didn't doubt his exuberance a bit. The car smells like dark cherries and I'm strapped in, engulfed by the scent. A few minutes later, he ushers himself into the driver's seat - the coffee cup gone. His phone is already plugged in, maps open and the address written in from last night's message I sent him. He turns the heating on, and without another word, he rolls out. I still had three hours to kill with this guy.

I won't lie to you, the first hour or so was torture. Awkward silence, awkward glances, stupid ass classical music playing in the background. It was either Bach or Mozart, hell I couldn't tell. It was lulling me to sleep. At least the traffic was light for the morning until we reached the motorway and we're hit with a surprised delay forcing the traffic to move at a snail's pace. Half way, through the classical music is driving me insane. I connect my phone over the bluetooth speaker, forcing Dimitri to belt out to 2000s jams.

We went from Bruno Mars' Locked out of heaven to Soulja Boy's Kiss me thru the phone. (My absolute favourite). He remained tight lipped until the chorus hit before finally giving in - no surprise he knew all the words. I had to torture him further by blasting Jay Sean and JLS. He admitted Beat Again was his favourite and I confined him telling him I had Aston's face in my bedroom.

Two hours in, we briefly stop for thirty minutes at a service station, grab some snacks, hit the loo, trade an insult to one another and we're off again. I pointed to passing cows that I saw in an open field and he countered back smugly with "awh, you should go befriend them," clear to say I was livid.

Being out of London is refreshing. Small narrow roads with no speed limits, cottages, open fields for miles and uphill roads, it reminded me so much of my childhood.

Not to mention, I felt as if I was breathing a different air. It was more crisp, colder and chillier. Abuela's road is always silent as she lives further into the concave. It's a small detached house with white paint and black panelling, a cobbled pathway leads up to her door. The grass is mowed, decorated with a range of flowers that I can't begin to name. Dimitri's driving slowly now, Abuela's house is just up the road. The excitement starts engulfing me, and I can't sit still any longer telling him to drive faster.

Then it hits me. I had forgotten to tell Abuela I was bringing Dimitri over. "Shit,"

"What?" He turns to face me once he's parked outside.

I play with the hem of my buttoned shirt, "Uhm, I forget to mention to Abuela you were coming with me," I squeak out.

"Oh," he looks straight ahead. He goes dead silent, then forces a smile into his lips. "Want me to drive back to London?" My mouth drops. He's still smirking at me, his right hand resting on top of the wheel.

I take a brief second to analyse him, trying to clarify to myself if he's joking or actually being serious. The humour hangs in the air but he's definitely uncertain about it. "Come on," I state, opening the door and stepping out. He follows after me, locking the car behind him. We're at her front door now, "Don't say a word. Just let me talk to her." Dimitri doesn't say anything, awkwardly hovering behind me.

The doorbell rings. I let out a shaky breath. Abuela, meet the guy I'm marrying for money. No, I can't say that.

Abuela, meet Dimitri. He's going to be my husband for the next year or so.

Abu– the door flies open, she's grinning from ear-to-ear, squealing. She's got her black hair freshly styled, the grey stands peeking out and she's rocking the look. She immediately pulls me in for a hug, stating how delighted she is to see me after months. She holds me at arms length, admiring me. Stating how my hair had gotten longer, I looked more tired and had aged more.

Her gaze trains past me, a small smile playing on her lips. "Bella, who's this?" Her eyebrow playfully arches at me. Here goes nothing.

"Abuela, meet my fiancé, Dimitri."

"Fiancé?"

"Surprise?" Abuela is stunned for words.

_________________

The house hasn't changed much since I left but there are newly added pictures. The living room is filled with mutual colours, cream sofas, grey rugs, cream wallpaper. The bookshelf is still decorated with burgundy cloth classics and frames. I desperately pray he doesn't look at all the embarrassing baby pictures and awkward teenage phrases. I had acne, braces and had decided to defy my parents and dye my hair pastel purple.

No doubt, he's looking at them.

As Abuela and I catch up, the conversation flowing heartily in Spanish, Dimitri's eyes are trained behind us. He's gazing at the large frame on the mantelpiece and all I want to do is tell him off.

It's Mama and I - she sits behind with her arms wrapped around me. Her black hair is curled, a pink carnation decorates her left ear and she's wearing the most beautiful shade of mauve on her lips. I have the pink ribbon in my hair, the carnations are propped between my tiny hands and we're both smiling at the camera. I must've been seven or so at the time. I still remember the day the photograph was taken – summer in Barcelona.

One of the best summers I've had, although I can't remember much.

"So tell me, and be honest. Are you taking care of yourself and taking your medication on time?" Her face has wrinkled more over these last months, she looks like she isn't getting much sleep. She seems weak, gets tired and breathless easily when walking.

Abuela nods, rolling her eyes. I clasp her hands in mine, kissing her wrinkled skin. I just wanted her to be okay and healthy. "Only my knees but I'm as fit as I was when I met your grandfather."

The thought of Abuelo makes me smile. This was one of my favourite stories about them. "Can't believe you called him ugly and he still took you on a date."

"Poor guy was desperate," l snorted. My cheeks flush red when Dimitri's eyes land on me from the outburst. I expect him to tease me, pass a snarky comment but he doesn't. A small smirk plays on his lips.

"Speaking of meeting people. Where did you get that? You don't return for months and when I beg you to finally come see me, turns out my granddaughter is engaged. How dare you hide this from me."

I'm scrambling for words, needing to explain myself. "No, no. Uh, I'm sorry. I promise you I was busy with work and I wasn't trying to hide anything. It all happened so fast."

Abuela isn't convinced, her brows push together. I think she's angry with me. "It happened fast?" Her eyebrow raises, asking me to elaborate.

Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into. I shrug, "Yep it happened fast. Like you know when you meet someone and you know they're the one for you?" This is the most bullshit response I've came up with. Even my homework excuses were better than this. I feel like lying is the only thing I'm good with nowadays. I've never had a man love me an insane amount. I hoped I felt that soon, I was really starting to become lonely.

"It happened exactly how you met Abuelo, you just knew he was the one," With each lie, everyday, my space in hell becomes bigger and bigger. I can almost feel the weight of my sins sink into my shoulders.

"Don't worry, I'm only teasing you. I'm very happy for you." She cups my face, softly. "You did yourself good, Bella, if I say so myself. Look at that man, he's eye candy. I was starting to worry you're going to become a lonely cat lady."

"I was getting around to doing that. I found a cat I wanted to adopt but stupid Crystal won't let me have pets in the flat. And you talking about him?" I glance at Dimitri. He's looking right at me, his right ankle is propped over his left leg. His hand touching his lips. I don't think he understands the language. He's been sitting idly for the past ten minutes, occasionally glancing at the photographs in the room. He seems relaxed though, at home. Comfortable.

"Please, he might have Superman's face but he is the most serious person on the planet." It's fun talking about him in Spanish.

Abuela laughing at the remark. "He came to see me in the evening this one time and I kicked him out. The poor guy was so frustrated."

"Pero adivina quien regresó," he casually says, sending my body jolting straight. The accent is remarkable, the pronunciation is clear and he replies confidently. He sounds like a native speaker. I glared at him, praying my ears are deceiving me.

Did he just say that it was me who came back. No, it was my desperation, exactly two weeks later. He really said that in Spanish?

"What?" Dimitri raises his dark eyebrow challengingly, "Did I forget to mention I speak the language fluently? My bad," he grins at me, shrugging.

Meanwhile Abuela has lost it, grinning like a nun sucks, "Bella, he's such a catch. I love him even more now. And he speaks fluent Spanish," she's squealing at him like a little girl.

Abuela has already begun speaking to him in Spanish and he's replying back confidently. I sit, rotting away in my own misery and wait for him to butcher a word, mess up the pronunciation or simply forget to roll his r's. He does none of those things and it frustrates me even more. Great, can't insult him in Spanish anymore.

His voice is low, deep but the soothing kind. Like dark liquor and black cherries, a type of molton wine that warms you from the inside and gets you drunk quickly. You're simply left delirious and wanting more.

He's narrating what he does for a living. Hm, I was wondering when exactly Abuela was going to start grilling him. Abuela turns wide eyed when she discovers he's one of London's richest men and passes me a look of pride, clearly stating I've done myself too well. I roll my eyes, turning swiftly away to stare outside the window.

It's all fake. It's a shame.

In the course of the conversation, I learnt he also speaks fluent french and some Chinese because his business has close partnerships with Chinese investors. Was there anything this man couldn't do?

Then there's me, bilingual from birth and losing vocabulary in both of them.