This is a short story. Georgina, an American girl in Madrid is about to give up and go home. At the last minute, she meets a mysterious stranger and unexpected and delightful events ensue. Will she stay? I might turn this into a long epic love story...
He had only seconds to change into his standard issue black tailored suit, with the family crest Bandido emblazoned onto the pocket in gold thread. He wore matching black velvet loafers emblazoned with the same crest. He sits elegantly upright, waiting like a marble statue for me to arrive. People are starting to stare.
Finally, he moves when his viridescent eyes suddenly catch sight of a petite, pretty brunette in a brown coat and Mary Jane shoes walking towards him.
"Georgina, lovely to finally meet you."
"Hey, George! Nice to meet you too. The city is so busy again!" I look around at all the passersby, Madrid has come to life once more.
Our greeting was a customary Spanish peck on each cheek, my vivid red lipstick left a cheeky little heart-shaped smudge. My cold hand touches him on the arm.
"When you look at these crowds it's hard to believe the streets were empty a few months ago." He shivers at my touch. He pauses briefly before awkwardly blurting out,
"I can't wait to get rid of this stupid mask!"
"Me too." I concur with a nod.
With a gentlemanly sweep of the arm, he says; "I propose we head this way, to Huertas, then to Sol, and then, to the Plaza Mayor where we can find a terrazza. Sound good?"
"Yes!" I reply.
Banco de España shone a pearlescent platinum white, Plaza de España gleamed like a forgotten palace at the bottom of the sea.
The coal-black sky contrasted with the proud illuminated 18th-century buildings.
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We meander around secret corners and down cobbled side alleys that beg for mischief, each stone on the street freshly washed with rain and shining like individual mirrors in the night lights.
The warm glow of the souls of patron saints beam out of the doors of Catholic churches, heavy with religious iconography. Warmly dressed people spill out of entrance ways and sit at tables on sidewalks drinking Tinto de Verano, their breath smoking in the winter air.
