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604to647 · 10 hours

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

First Movement (Adagio sostenuto)

5.5K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: About to make your society debut and enter London's marriage mart, you don't expect an old friend whom you haven't seen in over 10 years to make a surprise appearance at the first ball of the season.

Warnings: None! Fluff! B, C, D, E, F Bridgerton make appearances. It's me so there's a cute nickname (won't spoil). The masterlist includes a few words about how this reader insert is written - essentially, no reader description other than having hair and wearing dresses in the style of this era, reader has a backstory; much of this part is exposition (so maybe a little slow but we'll get there!😊)

A/N: My plan is to post the entire series before Season 3 of Bridgerton airs, because the story is intended to take place in the background of the same season and if things don't make sense after the show comes out then oh well 🤭 I'm also only 2/3 of the way through Julia Quinn's books, so please forgive me if some of my characterizations of the Bridgertons are not wholly correct 🙏🏻

Wonderful Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Series Masterlist

The Duchess of Hastings stands behind you, admiring the reflection in the mirror of the two of you together, “I dare say, if you had debuted with me during my season, there is a good chance that I may not have been the Diamond.”

“Oh, shush, your Grace,” you make a funny face at her in the mirror, to which she laughs and pokes you in the ribs, “Don’t you start with this ‘Your Grace’ business with me.”

That Daphne Bridgerton is your dearest and oldest friend in England is something you consider to be one of the great fortunes of your life, of which, as the daughter of a Count, you have many. Violet Bridgerton and your mother, the Countess, had been dear friends and as such, much of your early childhood in England had been spent at Bridgerton House, running around with not only the same aged Daphne, but her elder and younger siblings as well. The Bridgertons are one of the most beloved families of the ton, their good natured and spirited personalities recommending themselves to everyone, and accordingly, your memories of when your two families would gather remain some of the most joyous of your childhood.

Sadly, your dear mother passed away from illness when you were only seven years of age and your beloved father, who loved her more than life itself, could not bear to stay in England much without her. The Count was one of several nobles charged with governance of Her Majesty’s Royal Naval Fleet; a gentle man, his purview was primarily diplomatic (as opposed to militaristic) and he thus travelled widely, often and always for long periods of time.

Though he did not wish to remain where so many of his memories dwelled, the Count could not bear to leave his only child behind, and consequently, you had joined your father on his travels. He proudly raised a cheerful, spirited daughter who loved the seas and adventure as much as she did reading and music. Your father found that exposing you to and requiring you to immerse yourself in so many foreign cultures at a young age led you to be the most sympathetic and kind hearted child, one who others found easy to converse with and befriend on account of your good humoured nature and open minded heart. Unencumbered by the rigid etiquette requirements (and dress code!) of British high society, you happily embraced many freedoms that other young ladies of your age and breeding did not have the opportunity to enjoy. Your father taught you much about the ships and business of the naval fleet, subjects to which you took a great interest; to this day, you know your way around most ships better than some sailors. The Count was especially proud of your affinity for diplomacy, understanding the importance of fairness and tough negotiation both in foreign matters and managing fleets. You loved all of it – spending countless hours pouring over maps and letters of diplomatic matters with your father and absorbing all you could; as you got older, you took great pride in the way your father would sometimes seek your opinion and advice on business matters and delighting when he would praise you on your ideas.

While he was unorthodox, your father could not be accused of being neglectful; he would not forgo your formal and societal education, knowing that one day, you would have to return to live in England. Hiring only the most adventurous and brave governesses to accompany your travels, the Count ensured that your literary, numerical, musical and artistic accomplishments and pursuits could rival those of your peers back home. You learned to dance the dances of grand balls, though you had only the few foreign dignitary hosted events to practice. Your only other occasion to practice came when you would return for your infrequent visits to England, reuniting with your beloved Bridgertons to spend nearly all your time catching up and laughing with Daphne and her siblings, and take in what you could of British society before once again being swept away on another ship. Though brief, these reunions with your friends, coupled with your frequent letters were enough to ensure your friendships remained strong and cherished over the years.

Two years ago, Daphne had made her societal debut, meeting and marrying her love, the Duke, during the marriage season and you could not have been more delighted for your friend. That season should have also been your debut season, except that you and your father were in the Far East and would not have been able to complete the Count’s business and return in time. Since you had postponed one year, what was two? If you had your way, you would have made it three, not eager to give up the life of travel and leisure that you’ve grown accustomed to. However, when the Queen wrote to ask why the daughter of one of her esteemed Counts has not yet been presented, both you and your father had to regretfully concede that your life as a carefree sea farer was over.

And thus, you find yourself in your present circumstance: in a luxurious silk gown the colour of swan feathers, wearing what might actually be swan feathers in your hair, about to be presented to the Queen before embarking on your first social season. To be honest, you’re not terribly nervous, save for whatever nerves one always has whenever attempting something new, and you have good reasons not to be.

The first being that you are in the very capable hands of your great friend, the Duchess. The now Dowager Viscountess had promised your mother that when the time for your debut came, it would be the Bridgerton family’s honour to sponsor you. If anything, you felt that the honour was all yours – not only were you to have the support and backing of one of the most respected and revered families during your season, you would also be blessed with their company. As fortune would have it, due to the timing of your debut, Violet had prepared herself to take on the duty of presenting not one but two girls: yourself and her third eldest daughter, Francesca.

Fearing it was far too much work and pressure, you had assured Violet, whom you loved as a second mother, that she need not fret too much over you; you’re a woman of twenty-three with more world experience than most men twice your age, and encouraged her to focus her attentions on her own daughter. Violet had been aghast at the implication that she didn’t think of you as one of her daughters, and you were about to be on the receiving end of a scolding that only a mother could dispense when Daphne came to your rescue. As the Duchess of Hastings, she herself had the right to present young ladies at court, and she declared herself delighted to be your patroness this season. This was decidedly a win-win; not only could Violet concentrate on Francesca’s prospects, you could now look forward to spending the season with your dear friend by your side.

The second reason you’re not overly anxious is that despite being older than most of the girls debuting at the same time, you know you have plenty to recommend you to potential suitors. No, you are not terribly conceited nor do you hold your own attributes in such high esteem, but rather, very practically, you know most suitors will not let a small thing such as age deter them from the handsome fortune your father has bestowed upon you.

The Count was forever exasperated with the shortcomings of the laws of inheritance and how they prevented his one child from inheriting his estate, but he made up for it the best he could with the legal avenues available to him. First, he set aside a healthy dowry for you, so that you would be sure to attract a similarly healthy crop of high society gentlemen from which to choose a husband. Second, via his will, you would be provided for for the remainder of your life with a generous per annum allowance that rivaled the income of many estates; you were to want for nothing even if you never married.

And finally, known only to a select few, your father had a vast investment in an international fleet separate from the naval fleet of the queen; a beloved exploration and trade business venture that was the Count’s passion project - you and him spending many enjoyable hours pouring over the plans and movements of this fleet. The dividends from your father’s shares went directly into a trust of which you (and any future children of yours) are the sole beneficiary, though the capital had to be held by a man. It was the Count’s thinking that in addition to the income, it was only fair that you benefitted from a venture that you had invested much of your own heart and time into. Naturally, being a part of your father’s estate, this investment could be passed down to the next Count (a distant relative), but your father had other plans. If the intended recipient was willing, you father wanted to sell his shares to his future son-in-law, allowing for the dividends to continue flowing to you and so that you may remain close to the business via your husband’s involvement.

In other words, there are plenty of reasons that potential suitors who might otherwise be dismissive of your age and lack of societal presence, may find you attractive (the least of which were probably your charm and wit); you can afford to be choosy and you fully intend to be. And while you’re not quite so hopeful to wish for a great love like that of your parents, or even Daphne and her beloved Simon, you dearly wish for a husband that will understand and respect you; one who will celebrate you for your mind, experience, opinions and all the reasons why you’re different due to having grown up the way you did.

Daphne seems to have high hopes that there will be many potential suitors who will live up to your expectations. You’re less confident than she, but still more optimistic than not.

Flopping yourself down on the chaise next to Eloise, the two of you heave heavy sighs in unison. After the nerve-racking presentation to the queen earlier this week, the following days have been a non-stop flurry of ribbons, fittings, etiquette lessons and teas with the express purpose of study in the who’s who of the ton. In just a few hours, all of Violet and Daphne’s hard work and preparations will be put on display when your contingent attends the first event of the season: the Danbury Ball.

Eloise passes a box of candy to you and you select a treat gratefully. Though Daphne is your closest friend, you’ve sometimes found yourself having a fair amount in common with Eloise and know her to be a trustworthy confidant; this is one of those times. While you don’t think you have it in you to hate anything as much as Eloise despises the marriage mart, the both of you at least have the good fortune of being able to be picky with your suitors and moreover, wish to exercise that particular privilege. For Eloise, marriage is a cage. For you, it’s the not marriage itself, but a union with an imprudent match that you wish to avoid. If you can no longer be free to sail the seas and wander through the valleys and streets of the foreign lands that call your name, you must insist that the home you’re being called home to roost is at the very least, pleasant.

“I beg of you,” murmurs Eloise, “Please let all the fashionable young men fill up your dance card so that there shall be none left for me.”

You steal another piece of candy, “I’m afraid there’s more than enough young men to go around, El. Plus, you really ought to beseech Franny for your request, my dance card may struggle for applicants on account of me being such an old maid,” you giggle.

“None of that negativity now,” chimes in Daphne from the open door, “tonight is full of possibilities.”

During the season, you’re staying at Bridgerton House so to be close to all the finery of dresses, jewels, shoes, ladies’ maids and moral support that you may need. Your father is staying nearby in another house on Grosvenor Square, and comes by most days to see his daughter and dear family friends for breakfast at the very least. You have loved your life with your father, but at times like these, when you are laughing at and listening to the loving snipes and bickering of the Bridgerton siblings, you often wonder what it would have been like to have a more traditional upbringing. Pushing that thought out of your mind, you stand and pull Eloise up with you so that the two of you can follow the Duchess to the next room where you’re expected to choose from the glittering selection of dresses laid out for tonight.

As you lean towards selecting a pretty lavender gown, Daphne fills you in on the processional arrangements for your entrances tonight, “Mama, Franny, Anthony and Kate will take the first carriage, then you, Eloise and I will follow in the second. We will enter the ball in that order as well.”

“What about Colin and Ben?”

“They’re meeting with some friend from Colin’s travels whom he met in… I want to say Greece? They will make their own way and meet us at the ball.” You nod agreeably; as long as everyone is together at some point or another, your first season event will feel a lot less daunting.

---

As you walk into the Danbury estate, you cannot but feel a bit overwhelmed by all the elegance and glamour on display. Though no stranger to luxury and finer things, it’s not very often that you find yourself amidst so much opulence. Eyes shining as you take in the finery, your voice is full of excitement and genuine awe as you compliment Lady Danbury and thank her for hosting tonight’s soiree. Hand clasped tight in Daphne and Eloise’s as you make your way down the main hall to the ballroom, you see Colin further down on the right side of the hallway, waving alongside Benedict. Waiting by the wall with the Bridgerton brothers is a third gentleman, tall and broad shouldered with soft, curly brown hair who currently has his back to you; Colin has on a mischievous grin and he’s speaking to the stranger quietly, eyes flitting back to you and his sisters periodically as you approach. This can’t be good, you think with suspicion. When you’re a few steps away from meeting with the brothers, Colin gives the stranger a slight nod and he turns around; before you even have a chance to look upon the newcomer’s face, you hear a familiar sweet baritone voice say, “Hello, Dulce.”

At first, you’re in shock; the Spanish word for candy is not a nickname people commonly call you and it’s one you haven’t heard in over ten years. Then joy of recognition and realization overtake you and you completely forget where you are, crying out, “Pero!!!” Your arms behave of their own accord and fly open to wrap around his neck as you launch yourself into the handsome man’s arms.

He hugs you back firmly and whispers low in your ear, “Happy to see you, too” before releasing you, the both of you immediately stepping apart and drop your hands to your sides, remembering where you are and that the eyes of the ton are always watching. But you can’t help but beam; nor can you look away from Pero’s face.

Pero Tovar had been your most constant and beloved friend for many of your happiest childhood years spent abroad. Pero’s father, a Barón of Spain, was in charge of naval governance for his country in a similar capacity as your father was for England and accordingly, their paths crossed regularly in foreign countries. Both men of gentlemanly dispositions, the Count and the Barón had forged a deep and lasting friendship as they conducted their business. Another thing that they had bonded over was the fact that they were both widows who uncharacteristically chose to bring and raise their children with them on their travels.

So, although Pero is eight years your elder and already in his early teens when you first met, being the only two children of sea loving foreign diplomats in the strange lands you found yourselves in readily recommended you to each other and you had become happy and frequent playmates. Pero devoted hours and hours to your amusement, allowing himself to play more juvenile games of pretend that he may not otherwise with compatriots of his own age, and with his encouragement you grew to be brave and curious, always wishing to keep up with the older boy. He helped you with your studies, and you played music for him, learning and mastering the pieces he enjoyed the most. The two of you shared a love of literature and it became your special version of a traditional hunt in each new country you landed in to find foreign language versions of the other’s favourite books so that you could read the translations alongside your worn English copies. Some of the most cherished copies of your favourite books, ones you carry with you from country to country still, were gifts from Pero.

As you got older, your shared adventures expanded to include exploring the streets of new cities, trying local cuisines and frolicking on the beaches of the coasts of Italy, Portugal and even India. The last time you had seen him, he was a strapping young man of twenty and you had been twelve. His father was returning to Spain for an undetermined amount of time to deal with affairs of his estate, and Pero would be entering university, having postponed his acceptance for two years already. Although you had each promised to write, the letters were far and few between and eventually you lost track of Pero – you can hardly blame either of you; you were travelling with your father and not always easy to find, and you didn’t really expect a young man concentrating on his studies to have the time to write to a young girl despite having been her very best friend for so many years.

But now he’s standing right in front of you and you can hardly believe your eyes. He’s impossibly tall and wide, a far cry from the lanky boy with whom you scrambled over rocks on the beaches of Portugal, but he’s still tanned, leading you to surmise that he must still sail or at least get a healthy amount of sun regularly. And while his face is older, devastatingly handsome with a cutting jawline partially hidden by untamed facial scruff, he’s completely recognizable to you. An easy clue is the scar that runs from above his left eyebrow down past his eye, though faded from when you saw it last, but it’s the indulgent smile he’s giving you right now that gives him away to you.

“What are you doing at this ball? Did you know I would be here?” you can’t help but continue to stare at Pero wide-eyed, grinning like a fool.

“Oh! We made the connection earlier this week at dinner,” chimes in Colin, “We were going to bring him over to the house but thought this would be more fun.”

You make to swat at Colin’s arm. “How did you meet this scoundrel?” you jest, with absolutely no malice in your voice, pointing your thumb at the still laughing Bridgerton brother. As your group starts to move towards the ballroom, Pero falls into an easy step by your side, “We met when Colin was taking in the crisp sea air of Mykonos, and then again last year in the vineyards of Tuscany. He made for excellent company after a long day of helping the locals prune grape vines. Naturally, when I arrived in London for business this month, I had to look him up.”

Daphne is now tugging you towards the ballroom by your hand, and in turn, you’ve grabbed onto and are practically dragging Eloise down the hall with you. You shout back to Pero, “I want to hear everything!” and can’t help the smile that spreads across your excited face when he nods after you.

“Oh!” you breathe, invigorated from the surprise of seeing Pero, as you come to a stop right before the entrance way. Daphne smiles over at you, “It was so hard keeping it a secret from you!”

You’re astonished, “You knew about Pero as well?”

“Yes, I thought it might give you an additional boost of confidence to have another friend’s support during your first event.”

You smile at your sweet friend and squeeze her hand affectionately, “Thank you! It does and I’m delighted to see Pero again. But in truth, my confidence could never be lacking when I have a friend like you next to me.”

Daphne gives you her biggest smile and squeezes your hand right back. A moment later, the three of you step into the ballroom and meet the gazes of the other attendees as you’re announced.

---

The ball is a whirlwind. It seems you hardly have a moment to even catch your breath, never mind catch up with Pero. From the moment you walked in to the grand hall, you were pulled in this direction and then that, introduced to new person after new person, some of whose names were familiar from your visits home over the years, and others only from the copious amounts of study you’ve done on the ton over the past week. You’ve certainly forgotten all their names by now.

Then it’s dance after dance after dance with the young gentleman that Daphne parades in front of you. The dancing itself is quite pleasant and a lovely way to shake out some of your jitters, but you find the small talk hardly enough to get to know your partners, and when the dance is over and you’re once again being whisked away to another introduction or meeting that the Duchess has lined up for you. The few opportunities you’ve had to take a breather and indulge in a glass of lemonade, you’ve been happy to retreat back to Pero and your small familiar group; but just when you’ve started to entreat your old friend to open up about his adventures since you saw him last, another potential suitor will be introduced and the entire cycle starts over again.

It’s only when you’re halfway through the evening that the frenzy has died down enough that you can observe and be amused by Pero’s behaviour at the ball. While you’re constantly twirling around the dancefloor, you notice that he never leaves his position against the wall and doesn’t dance at all; he mainly scowls and looks displeased, hardly speaking to anyone other than the Bridgertons or you when you have a free moment. You feel his eyes follow you as you glide across the dance floor with the young men that have asked you to dance, and even when you’re making your way through the room on Daphne’s arm, meeting and making small talk with the other families of the ton. When you do happen to look up and search for him, you often find him glowering and looking dissatisfied, though if you catch his eye, his expression will soften slightly.

Once while you were dancing with Lord Whitfield, you had caught Pero’s eye mid-turn and made a silly quizzical face at him, as if to ask What’s going on with you? and you think you see him laugh briefly before the steps of the dance require you to turn away from him. You wonder why frowns so fearsomely and if there’s a reason for him to be so stoic and curt with the rest of the ton. It’s so odd to you as you’ve never had so much as a cross word from him in all the time you’ve known him, not even when you had snuck out of the compound in Singapore when you were nine so you could watch the fireworks display. Pero had come looking for you, his face serious and eyes panicked when he finally found you in the busy square, but he never once got mad. Instead, he swore not to tell your father, and promised that if you had wanted to see the fireworks up close, he would accompany you. And then he did just that the next night and the night after that. But here, when not engaging the company of his friends, Pero’s countenance is positively sour. Any hopes harboured by the mamas of the ton for snagging a Spanish nobility son-in-law this season are quickly dashed. Barón Tovar is decidedly not here to find a wife.

With the evening more than half over, you realize that unless you make the point to do so, an opportunity to speak more than a few minutes with Pero will surely not present itself. And while you are having fun meeting potential suitors, your mind consistently wanders to Pero throughout the evening. Aside from simply wishing to catch up with him and be in his comforting presence, you do have something important you feel compelled to speak to him on.

After a particularly spirited quadrille, you curtsey your gratitude for the dance to Mr. Sedgewick, and before any of the young men you spy hovering nearby can approach you, you hurry as elegantly as you can toward where Pero is standing awkwardly pressed to the wall.

Pero, having seen the look of determination on your face when seeking him out, asks with concern when you come up to him, “Is everything okay, Dulce?”

There he is, you smile when you see the kind, gentle expression of the boy that you knew for so many years, “Everything is fine, Pero. Although I must admit to needing a respite from all the endless socializing. Do you think we could get some lemonade?”

“Of course. I would be happy to accompany you in fetching a glass.”

With Pero by your side, any person who previously had designs on engaging you during this brief break between dances now thinks better of it; you chuckle to yourself as his fearsome expression comically paves a clear path for you to the refreshments table. Once having secured your drink, you ask Pero if you can speak to him privately.

Careful not to lead you from view of other people lest it incite a scandal, Pero finds a quiet place in the entrance hallway and turns to find you looking up at him rather seriously.

When you’re certain you have his attention, you launch into your confession, “Pero, please allow me to tell you how sorry I was to hear of your father’s passing. I remember him as such a kind, generous man, and such a wonderful friend to my father and by extension, me. I will always think of him with tremendous fondness.”

“Thank you, Dulce. I know he thought very highly of both you and your father and forever treasured your friendships.”

But you’re not done and start to shake your head, eyes filling with tears, “And I’m so very sorry that I did not write to you at the time. I didn't know where you were, but I should have been more diligent in my efforts to find you. I deeply regret not being there for you if you needed someone. I hope you were not alone during that difficult time.”

You hang your head in shame. Pero feels a deep affection for you blossoming in his chest; before him is the same sweet and compassionate girl he knew when he was a boy. Tender-hearted and endlessly considerate of the feelings of others, you always had more empathy than you knew what to do with; he himself had been on the receiving end of your care and concern more times than he could count. Pero gently tips you chin up with his gloved finger, “It was a tough time and I miss him a great deal. But he was an incredible man and I strive to follow the example he set for me everyday. So, in many ways, he is still with me. No need for any apologies.” He gives you what he hopes is a soft and reassuring smile.

In return, you grin, “Who are you and what have you done with my friend? The boy I knew would have made me pay dearly for even the slightest offense - my portion of dessert for a week, at the very least.”

Unable to hold back his own grin, Pero is finding it easy to slip back into this familiar type of playful banter with you, “Well, I was trying to be a gentleman, but since you think me nothing more than a brute, I shall have no trouble devising an appropriate punishment. For your transgression against me, I demand… a dance.”

You laugh whole-heartedly and it feels wonderful to laugh loudly at something genuinely funny rather than the quiet polite laughter you’ve been making most of the evening. “A dance? Well, that is hardly a concession for me! One dance with you means one less spot on my dance card for some lord I don’t know but who Daphne thinks I might find charming,” you joke.

“Are you finding your potential suitors so far to be villains or are they all just very boring?” smirks Pero.

Giving him a little punch in the arm to show him you’re not really complaining, “I am not so terribly unfeeling. They are for the most part fine enough gentlemen. The particular circumstance we find ourselves in just makes them so very eager. It can feel terribly awkward.”

“None of them are good enough for you anyway.”

“Oh, and you are?” you jest, eyes full of mirth.

“Dulce, I’m the worst of the bunch,” counters Pero, leaning in close.

“I don’t doubt it,” you haven’t smiled this wide all evening.

“Be that as it may, the price you must pay to regain my favour remains the same. Shall we?” Pero holds out his arm, waiting for you to accept his dance invitation; you hold on to him gratefully and head back into the main ballroom, realizing this is the first dance of the ball that you’ve truly looked forward to.

When Pero takes his place across from you, the tittering from the crowd that the Barón has finally taken to the dance floor can be heard over the opening notes of the music. You can’t help but giggle, and Pero beams back at you – your light laughter more melodic than any music he’s ever heard.

Hand firmly curling around your waist, Pero sways you to the beat and the two of you carry out the steps of the dance comfortably together. You hadn’t realized how much stress you’ve been under or how much tension you’ve been holding in until now, when you find yourself actually relaxing in Pero’s strong hold. For the first time this evening, you’re dancing without nerves or the pressure of having to make polite conversation or a good first impression; you can simply be. You sigh in contentment.

“What is it, Dulce? Are my dance skills not to the standard set by your other partners this evening?”

“Hardly,” you chuckle, “I know for a fact that you dance remarkably well. And if I were to have any complaints, the blame would rest squarely on my shoulders since we learned these dances together.”

“That’s true, we can only be as good as the partners we practice with.”

“Exactly. At least that’s what Madam used to say, right before she would rap you on your shoulders with her rhythm baton,” you muse, nostalgic.

“That weapon had a name? I have not thought of Madam for many years now, but upon my word if I did not straighten up and stiffen my arms just now.”

You share another chortle as only two close friends with a long history of fond memories and inside jokes between them can. When you sigh again, Pero cocks his scarred eyebrow at you.

“Do not think me dissatisfied, my Lord. It is simply just so comfortable dancing with you, as if it has not been over ten years since we last did so.”

“I feel the same way, Dulce.”

You smile sincerely at Pero; although you could explain yourself further, you somehow know that he understands your meaning without you having to do so. Feeling content, both heart and mood light in the safety of Pero’s closed frame, you find yourself wishing that you could spend the rest of the ball dancing with only him.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @titabel

#pero tovar #regency!pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #bridgerton au #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #no y/n

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perotovar · 3 months

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PEDRO PASCAL as PERO TOVAR The Great Wall (2016) dir. Yi-Mou Zhang

#pedropascaledit #ppascaledit #ppascaldaily #pedrohub #mancandykings #dilfgifs #userallisyn #useralii #userfanni #useriselin #tusercora #tuserpolly #xuserannie #pero tovar #the great wall #g:pp #oaks #that's my man!!!!!!

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soaringcloud · 11 months

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I will never ever get over this photo

#he is so stunningly graceful #the GLASSES #he looks so good #pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña narcos #din djarin #frankie morales #triple frontier #oberyn martell #joel miller #javi gutierrez #dieter bravo #ezra prospect #pero tovar

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softiedingo · 5 months

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daddy-dins-girl · 23 days

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Pedro Boys tasked with buying your period products.

Someone sent an ask about Pedro boys dealing with their girl on their period... Not sure if this is what you had in mind but I hope you enjoy it regardless :)

Also, this is just for silly fun, don't @ me too harshly in the comments please if you don't agree with some of these, but DEFINITELY feel free to tell me where and why your opinion might differ on some of these choices, I'd love to hear it.

like this post? check out my Pedro Boys Alignment Chart Masterlist here

Headcanons under the cut.

Din/Tim/Dave/Ortega/Clint/Max L - Din is mostly just too shy/embarrassed to ask for help, the rest of these guys are too stubborn, too busy and/or aren't terribly comfortable standing around in this aisle any longer than they have to be.

Ezra/Jack - They're just genuinely confused as to why there are so many varieties. Maybe you WILL be playing tennis tomorrow like this girl in the picture on the box, how tf are they supposed to know? Jack's also a bit of a himbo but it's okay, he's pretty.

Marcus M/Oberyn/Frankie/Marcus P/Joel/Javi P - Some of these boys are 'girl dads' and just know the drill by now. Some are just great husbands (or husband material) who pay attention and some, well... some of these boys just know your p*ssy better than you do and that's all there is to it.

Javi G/Eddie/Zach W - They're sweet, and they're trying. They just wanna be good boyfriends. God bless these boys.

Dieter/Pero/Max P/Lucien - Dieter thought it was an honest question. The rest of these guys are just complete menaces (and honestly, we love them for it).

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pedrorascal · 4 months

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✨ Merry Tovar season ✨ (3/∞)

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onlyyouexisthere · 2 years

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Pedro Pascal Character Posters (requested by anon)

#pedro pascal #ppascaledit #pedrohub #the mandalorian #oberyn martell #javier pena #joel miller #francisco morales #javi gutierrez #pero tovar #din djarin

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chronically-ghosted · 10 days

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rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without – Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come. OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

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Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on.

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights.

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will.

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor.

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him.

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down.

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window.

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.”

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world.

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell.

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?”

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men.

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again.

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet.

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable.

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare.

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again.

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.”

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword.

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm.

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.”

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.”

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.”

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.”

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too.

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight.

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with.

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand.

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.”

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm.

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . . say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?”

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.”

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.

Fuck it.

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.

“Unless you don’t want –,”

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.

“Have you had your fun yet?”

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.”

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

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orangechickenpillow · 1 year

Text

What? Sorry, I was just thinking about that thing Pedro Pascal does with his eyes that makes him look, like, infinitely more scary than he normally does. You know, like-

Or some of

Or even

You know.

#pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal #ezra prospect #oberyn martell #javier peña #pero tovar

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dilfgifs · 1 year

Photo

PEDRO PASCAL as PERO TOVAR

— THE GREAT WALL (2016) Yimou Zhang

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pedropascal24-7 · 1 year

Text

The way that this man

Is also the same as this

He has the range! A total chameleon!

#pedro pascal #din djarin #pero tovar #the Mandalorian #javier peña #saturday night live

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absurdthirst · 4 months

Text

A Marriage of Convenience {Regency!Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20.5k

Warnings: Dying parents, arranged marriages, mentions of dying in child birth, fear, anxiety, panic attacks, poor Pero has PTS, virgin reader, vaginal sex, oral sex (female receiving), conversations about birth control, mentions of spousal beatings, pregnancy, childbirth

Comments: When your dying father sends you to Spain to wed Don Tovar, you know nothing about the man besides that he is a widower with two small children who will never love you. Finding your place in his household will take a stiff spine and a loving heart, making peace with your marriage of convenience.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Father, you cannot send me away.” You shake your head, dread welling in your stomach and you press your hand to the silken material of your day dress, the stays of your corset the only thing keeping you upright at this moment. Not that your stays are as tight as most of the noble ladies that come and go on the marriage mart. You have no desire to be married, to be chattel to a noble man and birth his children. Even though your father has just informed you that the man you are to marry already has children. A widower who is not so choosy as to a new wife that he is willing to take on an old maid who is nearly set upon the shelf and discarded at every social function during the season.

Pero Tovar is the name of the man you are to wed. Not only are you to be married off, but you will be shipped away from your home. Sent to Spain with no one that you know around you. Completely without allies and unable to easily go home if you are unhappy. Your father had met him in London and arranged your marriage before returning home to inform you. “Please.” You beg softly. “Do not make me marry a man I have never laid eyes on.”

“You have no choice. I am dying, daughter. You heard the doctor. I have months left. I do not wish to leave you without stability. The time has come for you to marry. I cannot allow you to delay it anymore. Tovar is a wealthy man. He has a large estate and two children from his late wife. He doesn’t need some young maid to birth children for his heir. He is stern but he has very strong morals. You’ll be safe with him and that’s all that matters. Please do not argue with a dying man.” Your father begs and you choke, tears stinging in your eyes as you embrace him and he rubs your back, knowing these moments before you go to Spain will be the last you spend together.

The day has come for you to leave your father, and despite your best efforts, you weep. Over the course of the month, he had grown more frail and could not even accompany you to Spain to see you wed in person. Embracing him in his sickbed, you know word would come that he had passed, your cousin inheriting the home you had grown up in, and all the wealth your father had accumulated. Your dowry is carefully packed into a large trunk, generous enough that if it had been known, several in London would have made you their wife. Instead, you will be Lady Tovar. “I love you.” You murmur, wishing you could stay until he had left this earth. “I love you father, I am sorry I was not the boy you wished to carry your legacy forward.”

Your father tuts, “don’t be silly, child. You are my life. After your mother died…you are everything to me. My world. I love you. If you could have everything, I’d give it to you.” He promises and cups your cheek, his hand shaking.

Your eyes sting with tears and you grip his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I know.” You promise, reluctantly pulling back.

“Go. Go live your life. Just promise me you’ll be happy.” He orders and you sniff, wiping your cheeks and you nod. It takes everything in you to leave his chambers but you do and you make your way down to the carriage to begin the start of a very long journey to Spain.

The trip to the ship takes nearly a week. A broken carriage wheel, a broken axle, and a thrown shoe from one of the horses. It seems as if the entire trip is cursed. You occupy yourself by writing letters and reading a few of the books you had packed into your reticule. Wondering if your father has passed already and praying that he has not. When you finally reach the ship, you sigh as you stare at the sails. Rather than just a short journey across the channel, it will be another week, sailing up the coast of Spain before you disembark. Your betrothed’s men should meet you there to carry you to his summer estate in the country.

When you step foot on land, you are relieved and exhausted, anxious and ready to be in your new home. Your husband to be doesn’t come to greet you, not that you expected that anyway but you are greeted by his secretary. “Señorita, I am Carlos. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Come this way, the carriage awaits us.” He says, gesturing to the horses behind him as the staff begins to gather your things to secure them for the final leg of your journey.

The carriage seems to be sturdy and soon you are pulling away. “Tell me about your lord.” You beg, having heard very little from your father beyond the rudimentary information. You want to know more about the man you are supposed to wed. “What is he like?” How a man treats his staff says a lot about him. That is what your father always told you.

Carlos looks at you, appraising you for a bit until he answers. “He is stern. Unforgiving but fair. He knows wrong from right and is only violent when the need occurs. He loved Maria, his first wife, but after she died, he has become a recluse. His children are cared for by the staff and he rarely interacts with them. If you want my honesty, señorita. The house needs life and love once again. It’s cold and lacking happiness.”

You bite your lip, repressing a small shiver. He sounds…..austere. Unyielding. You feel for the children who seem to have lost both their mother and father at the same time. “How old are the children?” You ask politely, aware that if he was not giving love and attention to his children, it would be your job. You remember how terribly you had missed your own mother, though your father had been your rock through grieving.

“They are five and seven. They do not remember their mother. Both too young. Luis - the youngest - was the child born when Maria lost her life. She doesn’t remember her mother. Alejandra, she - she doesn’t remember her either. They are - needing love and attention as all children do and their father - he is a busy man. That’s why he wanted a wife who was capable of nurturing his children when he is unable to.” Carlos explains and you glance out of the carriage as the Spanish port city turns to countryside.

“I see.” You wonder if the children are too painful a reminder of his late wife. If that was the reason he could not be around them. “And his holdings?” You ask. “He is a lord, is he busy with his lands?”

Carlos nods and sighs. “My lord works long hours to make sure that the estates and the lands that are used by his people are properly maintained.” He tells you, making you feel a bit better about the situation.

“Then I will make sure that he has a comfortable home and well behaved children to come home to.” You promise.

Carlos nods, appreciating your compliance and he watches you as you look back out of the window. You are beautiful, have an air of maturity the other girls, the local ones, had lacked. His lord has been searching for a wife for a while, but no one has fit his criteria. He doesn’t want a simpering girl who wants romance, he needs a partner who can assist him with his home and his children. Carlos knows that Pero’s heart is cold, iced over after the death of Maria and he doesn’t know if anyone can melt it.

The good thing about you is that you know that love and romance are not expected, nor required in most marriages. You aren’t a starry eyed little girl who will wish that her husband falls desperately in love with her. From everything you are hearing, that would be quite impossible. You will settle for mutual respect. The rest of the journey is spent quietly thinking, making plans for your new home that could be tossed out the window the moment you arrive. You do not even know if your future husband will be there to greet you.

When you pull up outside of the summer home of Don Pero Tovar, it’s beautiful and instantly takes your breath away. It’s picturesque and grand but when you have a closer look, you can see the cracks, the work that needs to be done. The shutters are crooked and need new paint. The flowers are gone and the paint is peeling everywhere. “Oh. I- it’s beautiful but-” You start and Carlos finishes your statement, “it needs work. After Señora Maria died, Don Tovar just let the place go, too preoccupied to maintain it.”

You nod, understanding that he might not have had the heart to continue to look after the details that make his estate a home for his family. “Then I will hire workers to restore his home to its former glory.” You decide with a smile, eager to get to work and contribute.

Carlos hums as the carriage comes to a stop, “if he allows it. He - it’s - it’s almost like he is stuck in the past, never moving forward.” His eyes widen and he shakes his head, “please señorita, don’t - he mustn’t know I said that.” He murmurs and you nod, “it’s our secret.” The secretary exhales and reaches out to open the door to the carriage, stepping out and holding out his hand to assist you down.

There is no staff lined up to greet you. No betrothed waiting at the door to introduce you to his household. The pots next to the large double doors of the house are empty, filled with dirt and sticks. Providing an unwelcoming air and you try to think of it as some kind of omen. “Well, it is late.” You excuse, biting your lip as you look around.

Carlos looks guilty as he opens the door to guide you inside to find the housekeeper, Señora Garcia. “Come, let’s take you to your quarters and we shall start fresh in the morning, you have had a long journey and I’m sure you’d rather meet everyone after resting.” Carlos says and Señora Garcia nods, “also, your lady’s maid, Carmen, will be waiting in your room to help you prepare for tonight. We will bring dinner to your room.”

You tilt your head. “Prepare for tonight?” You ask, confused by what he means. “What is happening tonight?” Surely he does not mean that Lord or Don Tovar meant to wed you tonight after you’ve only just arrived? You have not even met the man, you had hoped to have a conversation before he becomes your husband.

“The wedding.” Carlos says like you should’ve known. “Did no one inform you that Don Tovar wanted to be married as soon as you arrived?” You shake your head and Carlos sighs. “You are to be married tonight. Carmen will help you dress and we will bring your trunks up to your quarters. The wedding will be at eight. We will bring food to your room beforehand and a bath. You’ll be the lady of the house tonight.”

Closing your eyes, you try to suppress the tremble that races through you. Stiffening your spine and taking a breath before you open your eyes and nod. “I will be ready when Don Tovar says.” You agree, making Carlos nod in approval. “I would also like a cup of tea to be brought up, right away.”

Carlos nods, “sí, señorita. I’ll make sure you get your tea.” He assures you and you sigh, following Señora Garcia up the stairs to your quarters. The house is dark and damp and there seems to be no sign of life anywhere. You immediately feel alone and cold, regretting leaving your home, your dying father for this pitiful estate.

****

By the time your tea arrives, it’s accompanied by your meal. Cold and unappetizing, you wonder why the cook would send you a plate such as this. Investigating your room, you find that it has not been properly aired out, dust still sitting on the window sills and the candle holders not refreshed with new candles. It seems as if you are to be un-welcomed or the staff who works here is completely unskilled in how to run a house.

“Señorita, bienvenidos.” Carmen says as she walks in, “I am sorry I am late. I am your lady’s maid and I am here to assist you with getting you ready for your wedding to Don Tovar. Was your dinner acceptable, señorita?” She asks and notices your frown, “what is wrong?” She prompts, wanting to be there for the soon to be lady of the house.

“The meal was cold,” You explain, understanding that she is not to blame for that. “As was my tea.” You tilt your head and look at the lovely young woman. “Have you worked for the household for long?” You ask. “Is this how meals are normally delivered?” If it is some kind of custom, you would try to be more understanding, but you don’t think that it is.

Carmen shakes her head, “absolutely not. I- you shouldn’t have had a cold meal and cold tea. Please, señorita, let me get you a new, hot -”

You interrupt her, “no. It’s not - I’ve eaten it now and I do not have time to waste. I need to bathe and get ready for my future husband.” You inform her and she nods, “I will go fetch the hot water and we will get you ready.” She promises and rushes off.

You are grateful that your trunks have been delivered, your dress you had made clean, if slightly wrinkled from being packed. Airing it out, you had hoped you would wear this while marrying a man that you had met before, but it seems unlikely to happen now. You had not even heard any movement in the large house.

Carmen works diligently to clean you up, washing your back and making sure the dirt from the journey has been washed off prior to your wedding. Once you’re dry, she works on styling your hair and soon enough, it’s time for her to help you into your dress. “What’s he like?” You ask her as she buttons your dress and Carmen bites her lip. “He’s…direct but fair.”

“That seems to be what everyone says about him.” You hum. “Is he a handsome man?” Carmen glances at you nervously. “He- some think him handsome. But-“ she glances around your empty bedroom and lowers her voice. “He has a - a scar. Over his left eye.”

You inhale sharply, wondering how a man like Tovar got a scar over his eye. You’re worried now, scared that he is going to be a rough man. “He’s a good Don, fair and harsh but I think you will be good to have in this house. We need light, we need love. It’s been missing for far too long.”

It doesn’t take much longer for Carmen to declare that you look perfect. Your nerves flutter in your stomach and you press your hand to it in a meager effort to calm them. “Then perhaps you can show me a little of the estate while we walk to the chapel?” You assume that there is a chapel on the grounds that you will be married in. Giving your maid a weak smile, you try to hide the fear.

Carmen nods, “of course, señorita. Come, let us go now. Your intended will be waiting.” She says and you exhale shakily, trying to gather yourself to get married to a man you’ve never met before.

The estate is beautiful, the ground neglected like the house, although you can tell someone had once cared for them a great deal. You wonder if that was your soon to be husband's late wife. It doesn’t take long for you to see the stone chapel, overgrown and yet the soft candlelight coming from the windows gives it an enchanting glow. You take a deep breath and glance at the maid for some reassurances.

Carmen squeezes your arm and winks at you, “everything will be fine.” She promises but you both know she has no way to assure that. You stand in the entrance of the chapel when the violin starts to play and you swallow harshly when Carmen gestures it’s time for you to go. You exhale shakily and step foot into the main hall of the chapel.

****

When you step into the chapel, Pero keeps his back turned. Your father had shown him your miniature so he knows you are a beautiful woman. Not that it makes a difference. He has far exceeded the socially acceptable grieving period for Maria and now he’s expected to get a wife. He needs a mother for his children and a woman to maintain his estate. The music plays as you walk down the aisle and when you approach him, he turns around and inhales sharply when he sees your face. You’re gorgeous. A woman most men would kill to wed but he doesn’t care about looks, he cares about you filling the position that has remained empty in his home. He wonders if you like the look of him.

Your steps forward stumble briefly, but you recover. Catching your breath and smiling softly, you find him to be most handsome in a visceral, viral way. Rough and not exactly tamed, although many would say that you were possessed to think that way. HIs eyes are dark and watching you, making your skin heat and you wonder if your future husband approves of you. Stepping closer to him, you stop directly in front of him and take another breath. “Don Tovar.” You murmur, curtsying prettily.

You curtsy so perfectly, it’s almost enough to make him smile but he doesn’t. He hasn’t since Maria died. His life is now black and white, his love taking all of the color in the world with her when she died during childbirth. “Señorita.” He greets you and takes your hands, turning towards the priest who was called to marry you. Pero’s secretary and Carmen are to bear witness to the marriage and Pero is glad there’s no audience to see him remarry a woman he doesn’t even know.

The priest recites the vows in Spanish and you follow along closely. Listening as he proclaims that marriage is a sacred duty to your husband and you can barely look at your intended. Sneaking a glance and trying not to fidget. “I do.” You murmur quietly when you are asked if you take the Don as your husband. Your eyes meet his and you bite your lip, wondering if he is unhappy. He is frowning, he must be unhappy with his decision to marry you.

Pero remembers his wedding day to Maria. How excited he was. Young and eager before the days of war to marry the woman he loved. He was ready to have a future with her and it was ripped away from him on one fateful winter day. Tovar recites his vows and when the priest declares you husband and wife, he leans in to kiss your cheek. “Welcome, mi esposa.” He whispers once you are married.

A kiss on the cheek was not what you expected, turning to find his lips when he pulls away leaves you flustered. “Gracias, husband.” You murmur quietly. His secretary and your maid clap quietly and you turn back to them with a smile, thanking them for witnessing your vows.

Pero takes your hand to guide you out of the chapel and to the carriage awaiting to take you back to the main home. Pero doesn’t say a word as you are carted back and when you arrive, the housekeeper takes your hand to assist you inside. “There’s no need to arrange our bed chamber. My bride will be spending the night in her own room.” Tovar reveals with a grunt.

“Yes, Don Tovar.” Carmen nods and you are left feeling rejected even if you had been nervous about the wedding night. It is silly to think of, but you hope it’s because he wishes to get to know you before you become intimate.

“Then I wish you a good night, husband.” You nod politely to him and wait for him to speak.

Pero turns to look at you, reaching for your hand and he bends down to kiss the back of it but it’s cold and emotionless. “Buenas noches, señora Tovar. I will see you tomorrow so we can discuss your duties. Carmen, escort her to her room. Garcia, vamos. We have much to discuss.” Tovar says to his secretary who nods and steps beside him as he strides over without a glance back towards you.

“I see what you mean.” You murmur to your lady’s maid as she starts to guide you back up the stairs. “He is devoid of much emotion, although at least he is polite.” It is better than some men that you had met. “Is there a library in the house?” You ask curiously. “I fear that I had brought many of my own books when packing my trunks.”

“There is a library, señora. It- it needs organizing. It has been neglected for many years but the children do study there during the day. It needs a refresh. Perhaps you may ask Don Tovar if he will provide you with the tools to refresh the room where the children learn.” She says and you hum, letting her escort you back to your chambers.

****

“She is beautiful, no?” Carlos asks his employer who grunts as he sits down in the chair, working on removing his shoes and his wedding attire, wanting to be comfortable. “She is but you know I don’t care for beauty. I need a woman to run the house. To show those fools in society that I have fulfilled their requirements. I don’t need her company, I just need her presence. Her father was desperate to marry her off before his death and her dowry was enough to keep her without spending my coin. She’s suitable for the role and I’m hoping the children will attach to her.” Pero says and Carlos nods, “we shall see.”

You wake up shrieking as a pitcher of cold water is tossed on your face while you lay in your bed. Bolting upright, you flail your arms, hearing giggling as you try to blink and see what or who is attacking you. Finding two children grinning at you in defiance as the oldest holds the empty pitcher in his hands. It is still dark outside, at least you think it is, for the curtains are still drawn over the large windows. Pero’s children. Your husband’s children have woken you up by throwing water on your face. You leap from the bed right as you hear the pounding of footsteps and the door to your room bursts open.

“Alejandra! Luis! Mierda!” Pero growls as he storms into the room to find his children standing there with their hands behind their backs. “What is wrong with you?” He growls, turning to face you when he sees you are soaking wet, his eyes dipping down to the white gown you’re wearing, now see through and he swallows harshly at the sight of your nipples. Carmen rushes in and he turns towards her. “Gather water for a bath to warm her up and get her a robe.” Pero demands and turns back to his children. “I was walking past when I heard the commotion. You cannot do that. Why would you do that?” Pero hisses at his children who stare at him defiantly.

“We thought it would be funny.” Alejandra answers and Pero inhales deeply.

“That is not acceptable. You will miss breakfast and today, you’ll be writing lines - saying you will not abuse your new mother.” He says lowly and Luis shakes his head, “she isn’t our mama. We don’t want her. We want our real mama.” Luis stomps his foot and Pero pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Go to your rooms before I get the belt.” He threatens, knowing he wouldn’t actually hit them but every day they test him and push him closer to physical punishment.

“Papa-” Alejandra chokes and Pero hisses, “do not test me girl. Now get out of my sight.” He hisses and the children rush out of your room.

“I am sorry.” You murmur quietly, covering your arms over your chest and shivering in the cold. It is chilly in the room since there is not a fire laid in the grate and you wish that you did not feel so exposed with his eyes on you. “I- I do not know what happened.” you shake your head. “I was sleeping and then - I just - they do not wish for a new mother?” You had expected that the children were accepting of your new husband marrying again, but it is apparent they do not want you here. That will make things more difficult for you if you expect to forge any kind of bond with them.

“They are loyal to their mother.” He answers curtly, wanting to add that he is too but he feels that would be too insensitive. “They will come around. They have been troublesome and I am hoping a female presence will help them adjust.” He says and Carmen rushes over with your robe to help you cover up.

“Thank you.” You wrap the robe around you and find that your husband does not seem to care for you being here any more than his children and you swallow harshly, feeling incredibly alone. “I see.” You nod and decide that you might as well broach the subject since he is here. “Then I have permission to discipline the children?” You ask him. “If they are to respect me, then they need to see me as an authority figure as well as a motherly one.”

“Yes, but I do not physically punish them. You are welcome to discipline them as you see fit. I have struggled to control them. They do not seem to want to be around me and I - I must admit I am a little hopeless about how to handle them.” He confesses, “if you can control them, you’ll have my admiration.”

You nod, thankful that he will allow you to curtail his children’s rambunctiousness. “I also wish to reorganize the library and freshen up the house to make things more homey.” You add. You do not tell him that his home is desperately in need of repair, but that would be something that you would be able to tackle with a good scrubbing and a good airing out. “Would that be acceptable to you?”

Pero nods, unable to argue with you when you are doing exactly what he wants to be done. He needs his home to be returned to its former glory and his children to be nurtured and loved in ways he has failed. “Very well, señora. I will let you prepare for the day. Breakfast will be brought to you and you are permitted to explore the house as you see fit. It is your home now.”

“Thank you.” You murmur quietly, wondering if you would ever have a meal with the man you call your husband. “However I will order dinner to be served in the dining room this evening.” It will be the first time you will have imposed your will and you wonder if he will dismiss your wishes. “Perhaps the children can join us?”

Tovar nods, “very well.” He doubts he will eat dinner with you. That implies that you are having some kind of relationship and that isn’t what this is. You’re here to fill a position like if he were to hire a new housekeeper. Pero stares at you for a moment before he steps back and makes his way down the hall to his office.

You blow out a breath, happy and yet slightly discontent with his answers and you feel like he has no intention of trying to get closer to you. It’s like he does not actually want you here, but needs you. “Well, good morning to you as well.” You huff sarcastically under your breath.

Pero continues on with his day, attending to the finances due at the end of the month for the tenant rents and salaries for the staff, signing off on the accounts for the food and necessities. It’s a laborious job but Carlos can only do so much. Your presence here will alleviate the household requirements from him but the estate needs maintenance. The day gets away from him and he is soon preparing for lunch.

You sigh, exhausted and wipe your brow as you collapse into a dusty couch and look around the room. The library will be days in the making to turn into a lovely place to read and teach the children. Who have been watching you warily and not paying attention to their tasks. They are seated at a table, their books open, but neither one of them has completed an assignment. “How do you like the gardens?” You ask, looking over at them. “Is it lovely to have picnics there for lunch?”

Alejandra glances at her brother before she answers you, “we don’t have picnics in the garden. Papa doesn’t really like for us to go outside.” She tells you and Luis nods his agreement, making you frown. “He says it’s dangerous to go outside in the gardens.”

You purse your lips, not remembering any kind of warning about staying out of the gardens. “Perhaps your papa means that it would be dangerous for you to go out there by yourselves?” you offer, standing up and wiping your hands on your apron that you had covered your day dress with. “Why don’t we see about having the cook make up some picnic food and we can take lunch out there? Explore and take in the fresh air.” It was obvious the children were bored and isolated, running around in the gardens would be good for you and them. Perhaps it would even help them like you.

Alejandra is cautious as she watches you, placing her pencil down so she can look at you properly. Luis tugs on her sleeve, shaking his head, and she pushes him off. “The garden, Luis.” She says pointedly and the little boy giggles, making you tilt your head. “What’s so funny?” You ask and Luis shakes his head. “Nothing.” Alejandra answers, “a picnic would be lovely.”

You frown but nod. “Alright. Put your books away and we will venture into the kitchen.” You smile. “Perhaps the cook has made cookies for us to have.” You shouldn’t bribe the children with sweets but you want to break through their prickly exteriors. They are still young and it has been a long time since their mother has been lost to them. “How does that sound?”

Luis nods, cautious but easily swayed by cookies. Alejandra is more reserved, offering you a look as she closes her book and you smile at her, trying to disarm her cautious nature. The children soon have their books stored away and they rush towards the kitchen, calling out for the cook who has become a mother figure for them. Señora Lola. “¡Ay niños!” She exclaims as they practically slide into the kitchen.

You can’t help but smile as the children greet the cook with obvious affection and your complaints about your first dinner being cold are forgotten for the moment. They hug the cook excitedly and both begin talking at once, turning and pointing to you. When the older woman looks up at you, you nod your head politely. “The children and I would like to have a picnic luncheon in the gardens.” You explain in Spanish. “Would we be able to put together a suitable fare for this?”

Lola nods, “of course, señora. I can prepare a basket for you and the children.” She assures you, “would you like a cup of tea while I prepare lunch?” She asks and you nod, moving to sit down at the kitchen table while the children tell Lola about their lessons. You can sense that she’s like a mother figure to the young ones and you’re glad they have had someone since their mother passed. Lola works fast to get you a cup of tea and the children a glass of milk while they wait.

“Thank you.” You watch as she moves about the kitchen, finding her to be quick and decisive as she gathers her ingredients. This is not a woman who is sloppy or resentful it seems. It makes you wonder why the food was so horrible the day before. When the kids are busy drinking their milk, you smile. “Tell me about yourself, Señora Lola. It is obvious you have been with the Don’s household for many years.”

Lola smiles, “my mother was the cook before she retired. My father was the Tovar’s butler and they fell in love and had me. Mi mamá taught me everything I know and we have been in the Tovar household for three generations. My son is a gardener. My husband is the groundskeeper. Maria - bless her soul - was the heart of the home. She lit up every room she was in.” Lola sighs and glances at the children.

“I understand that I am new.” You venture softly. “And I cannot replace Señora Tovar, but I would like to bring some comfort and happiness to her family.” You know that you can’t just force these people to accept you. Not when they had lived for so long with the ghost of the woman who had left them broken. You bite your lip. “Will you help me do that, Señora Lola?”

Lola nods, “if you can bring hope and light back to this home, you will forever have my admiration and gratefulness, señora. You are Señora Tovar now.” Lola tells you and you bite your lip as she prepares the lunch.

Once the lunch is packed away in a basket along with a large bottle of lemonade, you have Carmen bring you a quilt to spread on the grass to sit on. Guiding the children out of the large, glass doors into the garden, you smile at the bright sun and fresh air. The weather is beautiful and you can see yourself bringing the children out here often. “Where would you like to sit?” You ask, looking around the neat but barren gardens. It’s obvious Lola’s husband keeps them up but there has not been any new flowers or plants added for some time.

The children point to a spot near the pond and you allow them to guide you towards it. Carmen spreads out the blanket and you settle down with the children. Pero is standing up to stretch when he sees you and the children on the lawn. He tilts his head and wonders how you managed to get them to sit down for more than five minutes. Maybe he did make the right decision.

Eating outside seems to have been a magical treat for the kids. They ate politely and minded their manners after the promise of running around after they finished was made. You can tell they enjoyed it and by the time you had to pack up to go back to the house to finish their lessons they were sleepy. Making you smile at the way they leaned against one another.

****

“Señora, is this the color you prefer for the drapes?” Carmen asks you as you appraise the different materials and pattern samples. It’s been a month since you’ve been in Pero’s home and you have been slowly working on bringing the home back to its former glory. The children have grown closer to you, wanting their meals in your company, yet still no sign of your husband.

Pero walks down the hall, the portraits of his ancestors lining the walls and he notices the change of the decor. Everything seems dusted and shiny, and the rugs are pristine. It’s fresher and brighter. He knows it’s your doing and that makes him smile, assured he made the right decision to marry you.

“I think it will look lovely in the breakfast dining room, don’t you?” You ask, finding Carmen to be a wealth of information and a good judge of character and design. As the two of you had grown closer the more time you spent going through the house room by room. Even the kids were helping when it was time to scrub walls and beat rugs out in the garden. You had turned it into a game where you covered their eyes and spun them around before they whacked the rugs with a broom. They had giggled and fallen down, but it was worth the extra time it had taken to freshen the rugs. “Perhaps, even if he does not dine with me, Don Tovar might enjoy reading his paper and drinking his tea in a bright and cheerful room.”

“Papa! Papa!” Alejandra rushes up to her father who is shocked at her cheerful greeting.

“Sí, mi tresoro.” He answers and she grins, “we are going into town today.” She declares and Pero frowns, not liking the idea.

“Whose idea is this?” He asks lowly and Alejandra says your name. Pero sighs and tells his daughter to lead him to you. She takes his hand and guides him to the kitchen where you are sitting with Lola. “Hola.” He greets his cook who smiles at him and says “hola señor.” His dark eyes turn to you, “Alejandra tells me you are taking the children into town today?”

“I am.” You nod as you set down the book you are making notes in. Carmen hustles to put the fabrics away and you send your husband a small smile. “The children need new shoes and I have several merchants that I wish to visit.” You glance at Alejandra with a proud look. “The children have assured me that they will be well behaved, and they are excited to spend their own pin money.”

Pero frowns, “I do not like them going into town. I do not want you going into town. It is dangerous.” He says, remembering when Maria went into town while with child and was knocked over. She went into labor early with Luis and that’s the night that she died. His hands shake a little and he shakes his head, “you are not going. I forbid it.”

Your brow arches and you look towards Carmen and Lola. Both women quickly bow and disappear. “Alejandra,” you urge his daughter. “Go and find your brother.” You urge her as you stand up and brush your dress down. If you are going to disagree with your husband, you are not going to do it in front of the staff or his children.

Pero meets your defiant gaze and he clears his throat, “I will not allow you to go into town. It’s dangerous. If you need something, you can tell the staff and they will go and get it.” He compromises and you glance around to make sure no one is around.

“Don Tovar, I appreciate your concern for my well-being but I am not a child and I will not be held hostage on your estate.” You declare. “I will take a footman and a driver with me, and exercise all caution. But I am going to town. Now….is there anything you wish for me to get while we are there?”

Pero clenches his jaw, remembering that moment Maria was carried into the house, her screams still echo through the halls of his mind. “No. I forbid it. You won’t be leaving this estate. That’s an order.” He growls, reaching for your wrist to grip it, his hand shaking as he remembers the night Maria died.

You wince when he grabs your wrist, squeezing it hard enough that your breath catches in pain. You wrench your wrist away from him, yanking your arm down and stepping back, your eyes wide with both fear and anger. "I am your wife. Not your servant." You manage to keep the fear from making your voice tremble.

“You can’t go. I - I can’t - Maria - she- please. You cannot go.” He shakes his head, his chest starting to heave and he hates how anxious he’s become at the thought of losing more from his life. He has barely spent a moment with you since the wedding but the idea of his children losing another woman from their lives makes his chest tighten.

Fear turns to worry, making you step forward and reaching for his arm. “Pero?” You do not use his Christian name often, but you use it now. “What is wrong? Take a breath.” You urge him, frowning at the way that your husband has turned from cold and demanding to panicked. “Talk to me.”

He pants, unable to calm himself down, and he clings to you, pulling you close and he can’t control his thumping heart, remembering the night he lost Maria, the night he lost the light of his life. He closes his eyes, trying to control himself but he’s failing.

You nearly stumble, but you don’t resist him. Holding onto your husband’s waist while he trembles. He’s obviously horrified by the idea and you can’t understand why but you don’t want to make him do this. “Alright, alright, I will not go into town.” You give in, hating that you are but perhaps you can talk to him and come to agreement later on when he has calmed down.

Pero inhales deeply, remembering what his doctor told him to do, and he tries to calm himself down, grounding himself with your touch. He takes several moments before he opens his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. “I- I’m sorry, esposa.” He murmurs, his hands still gripping you.

"It is alright." You murmur soothingly, wanting nothing more than to make him feel comfortable around you. You are supposed to be here to help him, and it seems like he needs help with this. "I am here, I am right here." You assure him with a smile.

When you smile at him, he jerks back and lowers his hands, the shield back up as he gathers himself and clears his throat. “I, uh, I am going to go - go back to my office. I trust you will send Carmen in your place to town.” Pero says and quickly turns to rush back to his office, away from you and the children once more.

You stare after your husband, completely flabbergasted and frustrated. The man dictates that you must stay at the estate, not go to town and has an apoplexy before fleeing back to his study without giving you a reason why you must be a hostage. Blowing out a frustrated sigh, you turn and curse your husband's stubbornness. You need to know what happened to Maria and why town is forbidden.

Alejandra and Luis shake their heads when you tell them you are no longer heading into town. “Please. Tell Papa we must go!” Alejandra whines, clinging to your skirts.

“I’m sorry, amor. He won’t allow us. We must listen to him.” You say and she shakes her head and looks up at you to stomp her foot.

“I hate him!” She cries and runs off, followed by Luis. You sigh and sit down just as Carmen comes over with a tea tray.

“Señora, I do not wish to speak out of turn.” She says and you shake your head, “when do we hide our feelings and thoughts, mi amiga.” You smile at her and she smiles back, glancing around when she takes a seat beside you.

“Don Tovar has - has a lot of fears about you going into town because that was the night he lost Maria.”

You frown, unsure of why going into town would cause a woman to die in childbirth, but you take your tea and listen. “I do not understand.” You shake your head. “Maria died giving birth to Luis, I thought?” You frown, knowing you will need to soothe the children’s feelings later on, but you want them to be able to calm down before you try. If you know why your husband fears it so, you can explain better to disappointed young children who don’t understand why they cannot have fun.

Carmen glances around again, “Maria was far along with Luis when she wanted to go into town to fetch more yarn for knitting. She - she was an independent woman and Don Tovar, he - he worshiped the ground she walked on. She loved him and he loved her. When she went into town, she was robbed for her jewels and coins and thrown to the ground and it sent her into early labor. The thugs were never apprehended and she was rushed home and the doctor was called. That was the night Luis was born and Maria died. They thought Luis was going to die too but he survived. Don Tovar was never the same.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders slump and you can understand why Pero is fearful of his wife going to town now. Even if he does not love you, the children have grown close to you and it would hurt them to lose you. “That is so sad.” You look down into your tea with a sigh and wish for a moment that this had been explained to you sooner. “I better understand why he is so hesitant, but he cannot think that the children will be kept here forever, does he?”

“He has…attacks when he has concerns about the children’s safety. I think - I do not wish to speak out of place but I think that’s why he has pushed the children away.” Carmen says and you nod in understanding. “I think he wishes he could connect with them but it’s hard since all he sees is Maria. He loved her. She was his childhood sweetheart and they married young before he left to fight in the war.”

You sigh softly, knowing you would find it romantic if he didn’t push his children away. To close himself off from pain. “Then I will make him.” You decide with a firm press of your lips. “I will go talk to the children. Inform Lola that the children and I will be taking lunch in Don Tovar’s study.” You decide. “Since he refuses to take his meals in the dining room, we will come to him.”

Carmen won’t argue with you, knowing it is futile, so she nods. “Very well, señora. I will tell Lola now and will let Carlos know.”

You shake your head, “not Carlos. I want it to be a surprise.” You say and she nods, “sí, señora.” You smile and she stands, bowing her head before she exits the room, leaving you with the news to tell the children.

****

Pero looks up from his papers when there is a knock on the door and he calls out “come in.” When you enter followed by the children, he’s shocked. “Señora?” He frowns, setting his pen down.

“Husband.” You send him a smile and guide the children over to the table that sits in front of the sofa and they sit down. Alejandra is still pouting, but her tears have dried and she is not so angry when she was told her papa feared for her safety. “Carmen will be bringing in our lunch soon.” You explain with a cheerful smile. “I thought that since you work so hard and are so busy, we would join you here to have lunch together.”

Pero’s frown deepens, “lunch together? Are you not able to have lunch in the kitchen?” He asks and you raise your eyebrows at him.

Pero bites his lip and you answer him, “the children would like to spend some time with their father seeing as we are no longer going into town.” You say and Alejandra stands up to walk over to Pero, reaching for his hand, “please papa. Let us have lunch together.” Her pout is Pero’s unraveling as he nods, standing up from his desk chair to walk towards the sofa.

Luis grins, unaware and still too young to understand his father’s hesitancy, but he begins to tell his father about the Spanish Armada that the governess is teaching the children about lately. “Sí, mijo. The English defeated us.” His dark eyes meet yours as he answers questions Luis excitedly asks him and he seems to relax a little. Lola and Carmen bring the meal in and the four of you begin to eat.

“I have decided to ask Carmen to direct any traveling merchants to our house when they are going through town.” You take a sip of your tea and look at your husband. “As well as inquire about children that are near Luis and Alejandra’s age that might wish to come play with them. Soon the house will be ready for visitors.”

Pero frowns, “why would we require merchants to come to my home?” He asks as he picks up his glass of wine. “And for the other children…I suppose it will be good for them to mingle with others.” He concedes that point, glancing at you and he’s taken back once again by your beauty, especially when the light hits your face.

“We require merchants to come to your home because the children need new shoes, their own are pinching their feet and the cobbler cannot make their shoes without measuring their feet.” You point out. “Also, I enjoy socializing and since I am not permitted to go to town, I will simply have town come to me.”

Pero sets his wine glass down, “I suppose that is for the best. I want the children to have everything they need, I want you to have everything you need. You - I am guessing one of the staff told you about Maria?” He asks, curious if anything has been said about his behavior.

You could lie to him, but you don’t. “I was told about the night Luis was born.” You admit softly, understanding how such a thing could haunt the man, especially since he was a soldier in the war. You wonder if the poor boy you have come to love even gets any acknowledgement on his birthing day, or if grief is too overwhelming. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

Pero swallows the lump that always forms in his throat when he thinks about Maria and that fateful night. In a way, he’s glad he didn’t have to discuss it with you, to relive that horrid night, but another part of him knows he needs to discuss it with you, to tell you why he brought you here and has yet to consummate the marriage. That time is not now though with the children here. “Gracias, mi esposa. I- I would like to have supper with you tonight…if you want.”

Your head tilts in surprise but you don’t voice it. “That would be lovely, Don Tovar.” You murmur softly, aware that he is asking for a dinner that is apart from the children. “I will ask that Lola makes your favorite dish.” You offer, smiling slightly. “Do you have any preference for dessert?”

Pero’s gaze dips down to your cleavage. You are a beautiful woman and he has not indulged in pleasure since Maria died apart from a few times where he had spent his coin and then felt incredibly guilty after when he felt like he was betraying his beloved wife. Tonight is about giving your marriage a chance, giving you a chance when he’s been so closed off from you since your wedding night.

You don’t miss the way that your husband's eyes dip down to your breasts and you wonder if he has finally decided to acknowledge that he has a wife. You aren’t ignorant of the relationship between man and wife and yet you have still retained your chastity well into your marriage. Pero mumbles something about a sweet and you nod. “I will make sure that is what you get, if you so desire.”

He nods in appreciation and Luis takes his attention by handing him a cookie from the tray. “Gracias, mi amor.” Pero smiles at his son.

“Papa, will you come and ride with us tomorrow?” Alejandra asks, wanting him to join them for their riding lessons.

“I- I am busy, mija. I-”

Alejandra shakes her head, her lower lip trembling. “Papa. I want - please.” She begs and Pero looks at you, a little lost.

“Your Papa is a very busy man, sweetheart.” You remind her gently. “Although, I believe that he should be able to join you for at least one hour? Yes, Don Tovar?” You ask, glancing from Alejandra to your husband. It will allow the children to see their father and still not take too much time away from his busy work. Although you feel as if he spends much of his time working so he does not have to grieve. “How does that sound?”

Alejandra nods, “please papa. Just an hour. Por favor.” She pleads and Pero nods, not wanting to see his daughter so pouty.

“Sí, mi amor. An hour. Let’s go riding for an hour.” He compromises and she surges forward to hug his arm, “¡gracias, papa!”

You smile at your husband’s shocked face when his daughter smothers him in affection. Nodding when he looks over at you, asking if he is doing things right or perhaps seeking help. He’s doing something that will make his children very happy and it’s a good thing. “Now we need to finish eating.” You tell the children. “Papa needs to get back to work, so finish your lunch so we can leave him to it.”

Pero nods, rubbing Alejandra’s back and he leans down to kiss her head. He can’t deny the way his heart twists at how much he’s missed out on with his little girl and his son. He knows he needs to be a better father to them. “Let’s finish eating.” He says and Alejandra nods, letting go of her father to settle down to eat. Lunch is finished in companionable silence and Pero is soon kissing his children on the head, promising them he will have dinner with them tomorrow.

“Go start your studies again.” You tell the children, smiling when they rush off and you turn towards your husband, slightly flustered to be alone with him for the first time. “I will clean up and get this mess out of your hair.” You promise. “Thank you for not turning them away. They talk about their papa every day and want to spend time with you.”

Pero smiles, watching the children rush off after kissing his cheek then yours, and Pero watches them with his heart thumping. “Gracias, señora. You - you brought me back to my children and I- I never knew how to bridge the gap. I- I cannot repay you for that.”

“There is no need for repayment, Don Tovar.” You assure him, still calling him by his formal title since he has never permitted you to use his Christian name. “That is my job.” You know that he would rather be quit of your presence so you nod and quickly turn around to gather the meals up onto the trays to be carried back to the kitchen.

Pero swallows harshly, “please…call me Pero.” He says and reaches for your hand. He squeezes it, and his heart twists as he thinks about you and how beautiful you are yet he feels like he’s betraying Maria.

“P-Pero.” you murmur, feeling shy now that he has stopped you from your task. You bite your lip as you stare into his dark eyes, wishing that you could tell him how handsome you find him. “Is there - something else you wished for, Pero?” You ask quietly.

Pero stares at you for a moment before he withdraws his hand. This is progress but he knows he shouldn’t venture into his attraction to you. It will only lead to heartbreak, either his or the children’s. “No. That is all. I shall see you later for supper.” He says and clears his throat.

You are disappointed, knowing that he wanted something else but you don’t push him. He had shown that he had no wish to have a relationship with you. “Yes, Don Tovar.” You revert back to your formal politeness and you pick up one of the trays and you will send Carmen in to gather the other. “Good afternoon.”

Pero frowns, wishing to hear his Christian name from your lips and when you carry the tray out of the room, he leans back against the chair, sighing and rubbing his face. He wants this to work. He needs this to work. For the children’s sake. Dinner tonight will be his chance to redeem his terrible behavior.

The rest of the day is spent with the children. After asking Lola to make the Don’s favorite meal, you had finished their lessons and then took them down to the kitchen for both their dinner and their baths. Laughing when they pouted when getting into the water, and then pouting when they had to get out. Once they are clean and in their nightclothes, you chatter and joke with them as you take them back upstairs to put them to bed. Leaving you little time to get ready for dinner with your husband, but it is for the best. You had no time to think about why he wanted to have dinner with you now, so long after your marriage.

Pero adjusts his jacket - not the latest trends but well made, none the less- and he paces in the dining room, wondering if you aren’t coming as the minutes tick by. When you finally appear, you look beautiful and his heart flutters in his chest after laying dormant for so long. He strides forward, taking your hand in his and leans down to press his lips to the back of your hand. “Esposa, you look beautiful.”

“Forgive me for being late, Don Tovar.” You curtsy for him and hate how handsome he is in his evening jacket. “The children were begging for another story before bed and I could not say no.” Your own preparation for dinner had been rushed and you hope that he is not disappointed by your appearance.

Pero shakes his head, “don’t be silly, esposa. The children come first. I trust they are in bed?” He asks and you nod, “they are asleep and in bed.” You smile and Pero keeps your hand in his so he can guide you to your chair. He pulls it out and helps you sit before he makes his way over to his own seat.

Once you are seated, Pero sits across from you and Carmen immediately marches into the dining room with the first course. “Don,” you venture, smiling your thanks to Carmen as she sets down the soup. “I believe that we should hire more staff.” You tell him. “My maid also acts as the housekeeper and now she is serving our dinner. I believe that we need a butler and perhaps a full time housekeeper. That way we are not overworking our staff.”

“You are in charge of the household. If you wish to have another, I will have Carlos and Lola ask around in town.”

You lift a brow in surprise, your soup spoon nearly to your mouth and you take your bite and swallow before you respond. “Thank you, I will have them ask immediately.” You smile at him again and Pero glances back down at his own soup as if he is shy. “The children are excited about riding with you tomorrow. I was surprised they had not learned already but they have come so far in their lessons.” If it is a rebuke, it is a small one. The children had been very far behind in their lessons and some had not started at all. You had been working diligently to get them on track to where they should be. “They are very bright children. You should be very proud of them.”

Pero’s stomach twists with guilt. He barely knows his children. He doesn’t know that they are behind in their studies when you mention they have much to learn. The guilt twists in his stomach again and he knows he can’t hide from them anymore. “I am.” He answers softly, offering you a rare smile. You are so kind, he doesn’t want to tarnish you with his sins.

Surprised by the smile, you offer one of your own and hope that he is starting to care. You continue to eat in silence, waiting for Pero to talk to you but the silent sounds of eating settles between you. It’s sad, really. This man doesn’t have more questions about his children and doesn’t seem interested in them. When you are done, you set your spoon down and quietly wait for the next course.

Carmen brings in the next course and Pero is struggling to find the words to make conversation. It’s been so long since he had dinner with someone and he’s a little out of practice with his etiquette. “Are you liking Spain or do you miss your home?” He asks you after rubbing his hands together.

“Truly?” You shrug one shoulder and look down at the plate in front of you. “I have not seen much of the country since the carriage ride to your estate.” You remind him, trapped here by your husband’s wishes. “But what I have seen is beautiful. Carlos is very hopeful we can restore the gardens and the greenhouse to their former glory.” You had learned that Pero had ordered that the garden not be planted, just maintained. As flowers would die off, they would not be replanted. At least until you had arrived. You suppose it was because Pero’s first wife had loved spending time in the gardens. The little pond of water had apparently been her favorite spot.

Pero wants to bite out that the gardens are not to be touched but then he remembers why he brought you here to marry him. He needs someone to maintain his home. “Perhaps we can take a ride soon, I would like to show you my country.” He says softly and looks up after he cuts into his meat.

“I would like that.” He might not mean it. Might not ever do it, since he seems to blow so hot and cold, but you smile. “I have missed riding.” You haven’t gone for rides since the children would want to come with you and they were not accomplished enough to go so far and you do not know the area. “But there has been plenty to keep me busy. Have you any opinion on the changes, Don Tovar?”

Tovar looks out of the window to the beautiful gardens, now full of flowers after your dedication to the garden, and he turns to look back at you. “The gardens looks gorgeous, mi esposa.” He says and turns back to his meal. “You are bringing the estate back to its former glory.”

“Thank you.” You feel proud that even if he is a man who does not interact with you much, that he sees your improvements to his home. “Was there anything that you wished to discuss with me?” You ask quietly. “I thought that might be why you asked me to have dinner with you?”

Pero sighs, setting down his cutlery. “I wanted to discuss…if you were looking to have children of your own. We never got a chance to discuss it and I wanted to address the matter as it would mean us…consummating our marriage.” He says, trying to be as matter of fact as possible.

“I had hoped to one day have children.” You confess setting your own cutlery down and hate how handsome he is despite how aloof he acts. “I have put those dreams aside, now.” You look away, back down at your food and you aren’t hungry anymore. “It does not seem that you are interested in….consummating our marriage.”

Picking up his glass of wine, Pero knows he has failed in your marriage already. He’s been selfish and he isn’t sure how he can fix it. The thought of betraying Maria in this final way has his stomach twisting. “Are you- are you interested in consummating the marriage?” He asks softly.

You need to be honest with him. So you are. “I am not interested in being used.” You admit bluntly. “I have no experience with intimate relations, but I do know what to expect.” You assure him. “However, I would not accept being used to fulfill your needs and then ignored until the next time you have use of my body.” You could very well ruin your chances of any kind of relationship with Pero, but he asked. “You are a very handsome man, and I have found myself thinking about you often, but if you have every intention of satisfying your lust and then pretending I don’t exist until the next time you want to touch me, I would rather you just leave me untouched.

Pero nods, appreciating your candor and the way you hold yourself. It makes you more attractive to him. He sips his wine as he contemplates his answer. “I do not wish for you to feel used and I am not capable at this time of more than physical release. If you wish to experience pleasure, I will ensure you are satisfied with our marital bed. However, if you yearn for an emotional connection, then I would suggest we permanently place any relations on hold.”

You smile, albeit sadly. “Don Tovar, I have never expected love in an arrangement. I am not a silly, romantic girl. However, I will require you to respect me if we were to share our marital bed. Take your meals with me and perhaps some evenings beyond our pursuit of pleasure. I don’t require your heart, I know your first marriage was one of love and your affections still lay with your late wife.”

Pero is taken back by your refute to his offer but he appreciates your directness. “Very well. I assure you that I will try my best to ensure you are satisfied physically. Shall we - would tonight be appropriate or do you wish to wait until it happens naturally?”

You hum, amused by the idea of physical relations happening naturally with a man who has not spent more than two hours in your presence since you have been married to him. Perhaps it is foolish, but you want to know what it is like to be touched. “Tonight is fine.” You assure him and pick up your cutlery again. “Do you have any preference for physical intimacy? I do not have any reference, so I will need to be told if there is something I should not do. Or should do.”

Pero nods, “very well. Let us finish our meal and I will allow you as much time as you require to get ready for our consummation.” He assures you and continues to cut into his meal so he can finish eating. Dessert is soon served and you eat in companionable silence before the dishes are cleared away. “Take your time.” He tells you as he stands and waits for you to gather yourself from the dining room table.

You nod. “Give me twenty minutes.” You ask as he takes your hand to walk you to the stairs. “Then I will be ready.” You noticed that he did not answer you about his preferences but figure that he would just show you tonight. After all, it is a husband's job to teach his wife about how he prefers love making.

Pero watches you walk up the stairs and he exhales shakily, realizing that this will be a big step towards cementing your marriage as husband and wife tonight. He clears his throat and makes his way to his chambers to clean himself up. It’s been a while since he’s been intimate but he remembers that women do not like being with men who smell like a long day. He washes and dresses in his linen nightshirt, deciding to keep things simple for the act. Inhaling deeply, he makes his way down the hall to your chambers.

Tovar knocks on the door, heart thumping in his chest, and when you call out for him to come in, he slowly opens the door. “Hola, esposa.” He murmurs after he shuts it behind him. He takes in your figure, glowing in the firelight and his cock twitches under his shirt.

“Hello, husband.” You bite your lip and wonder how he will approach you and this. “What- what do you want me to do?” You ask, watching him carefully, more nervous than you had expected to be. You don’t think he will hurt you, but you had been told the first time is painful and that you would learn to enjoy it. “Do you wish me to get on the bed?”

Pero shakes his head, walking over to you to take your hands in his and he exhales shakily, suddenly nervous. It’s been so long since he’s been with a woman, especially his wife. His heart clenches when he briefly thinks of Maria but he pushes that aside. “Esposa, eres hermosa.” He murmurs, letting go of your hand so he can reach up to caress your cheek. You are beautiful and any man would be lucky to have you as their wife. You deserve better than him, than some half shell of the man he used to be. He slides his hand down to caress your neck and your collarbone, his fingers playing with the edge of your gown. “Can I take this off?” He asks, his dark eyes meeting yours, burning like embers in the flames of the fire.

Mouth dry from that simple touch, you nod. Watching him as his eyes seem to shine like a dark flame and you can help but to think that he is most handsome. His hands skim down over your waist and he tangles the material of your nightgown in his fingers and slowly starts to drag it up. Exposing you to the warmth of the fire and it makes you even hotter as your skin starts to burn from the simplest touch. Tonight you will just let him touch you, hopefully show you what he likes. Maybe you can help him by letting him find pleasure with you.

Pero tosses your gown to the floor and steps back, his dark eyes running down the length of your body. His eyes focus on your tits, swallowing harshly as his gaze lowers to the thatch of curls at the apex of your thighs. “Hermosa.” He murmurs, stepping closer to you, and he reaches out to caress your waist, pulling you up against his body. “Tell me if you want to stop. Or you don’t like anything.”

You nod, wanting to touch him but you don’t ask. Knowing you would hate feeling rejected if he pulled away. Your breathing stutters as his fingers slide up and brush the underside of your breast, nipple hardening and you bite your lip so you don’t moan wantonly. “Pero….” Your whisper is soft, pleading and you wonder why you are so eager to have this man touch you.

His hand squeezes your breast until he notices that you want to touch him so he reaches for your hand, bringing it to his chest. “You can touch me, esposa.” He assures you, inhaling the scent of your bath oil as he leans in to run his nose along the length of your neck.

His own dressing gown is hanging open at the neck and your fingers slide inside to touch hot, tanned skin. Biting your lip and trying to concentrate as his fingers brush over your nipple and make you gasp. Looking down, you see the gown tenting over his cock and your cheeks burn, but you are curious to see what it looks like, reaching down and brushing the fabric close so you can see better.

Pero hisses when your innocent fingers brush his cock. He reaches down, guiding you to wrap your fingers around him. His skin is hot and velvety and you explore him with utter lack of knowledge but he enjoys it. He likes that you have no expectations of him. He can just feel. He murmurs your name and his hand lets go of yours, letting you explore him while his palms continue their own adventure, palming your ass in his grip.

It feels wicked and yet you know that it is perfectly natural to touch him. You need to learn how he feels since he is perhaps the only man you would ever sleep with. Unless you remarry and your husband is obviously a hale and hearty man. “It is so hard.” You murmur in wonder. “And yet so soft.” You gasp when you feel a wetness on your skin and look down to see a smear of liquid on your finger.

He refrains from chuckling at your virginal observations. “Take your time, esposa. We are in no rush. No rush at all. I want to make sure you feel good.” He assures you and he slides his hand down between your legs, finding you wet and wanting him. He loves that and he is going to make you cum. From his fingers, from his cock. He finds your clit and loves the gasp that escapes you as he starts to rub the bundle of nerves.

Your eyes flutter closed and you hand to cling to his shoulder before your knees buckle. “Oh…ohhhh my….” You whimper, your grip on his cock loosening. You don’t know what he’s doing to you but you need more of it. “Pero.”

Pero grabs your waist, keeping you upright and pressed against him while he works your clit. His lips brush your neck by accident and you shiver against him. He rubs your clit a little faster, wanting you to cum for him for the first time. “That’s it, esposa.”

He doesn’t seem to mind touching you, increasing how fast he is rubbing but he’s groaning against your ear and encouraging you. For what you don’t know, you just know that your stomach is fluttering and clenching right up until stars burst behind your eye and you gasp as your cunt clenches on its own and a wave of heat floods your core.

Pero keeps you upright, working you through it and groaning when you bury your face in his neck. He groans your name softly and slides his finger back to gently push it inside of you, wanting to stretch you out so you feel less pain when he finally fucks you.

“Ohhhhhh.” Your eyes wide, mouth hit against his skin as you moan. Surprised to feel his fingers inside you and your body jolts when he pushes them up and presses against something inside you, “oh Pero.” You whimper, closing your eyes and unable to help yourself, you kiss his neck.

He curls his fingers, knowing he needs to make this good for you. He pushes his fingers a little deeper, loving the way you kiss his neck and he knows he should stop you but the intimacy makes his heart twist, his stomach clench. It’s been so long since he enjoyed the touch of someone else. “Fuck.” He curses, his cock twitching.

“Is this- is this how it feels?” You pant softly, your hips rocking up to his hand. Chasing the feeling that he pulls out of you. “All the time?” You are surprised that there aren’t more babies in the world if sex feels like this.

“Sometimes.” Pero chuckles softly, adding another finger, “sometimes it feels good, sometimes it’s just a physical release to relax. Quiero - I want you to feel like this all the time we are intimate, mi esposa.” He murmurs, his hand squeezing your ass to encourage you to rock down onto his fingers.

You feel so good, rocking on your feet as you wantonly move in your husbands arms. Kissing along his neck every time you grind down onto his finger, you feel that sensation start to build inside of you again. “Pero.” You whimper, clutching his shoulders and clenching around his fingers. “Pero- I- again- it’s- it’s-“ you cut yourself off with a small cry, another wave of pleasure and heat flooding you and making you forget about everything but the bliss of his fingers.

The way you clamp down on his fingers has his cock leaking. To hear you so unabashedly enjoying yourself has him groaning and he works you through it. His fingers soaked and he knows you are ready to take him. “Mierda.” He hisses, pressing his cock against your hip as you come back down to earth. Soon enough, he’s withdrawing his fingers and he wipes his fingers on his nightgown. “Come on, esposa. Lay down. I want to fuck my wife.” He says with a slight smile, knowing it’s taken way too long to get to this point in your marriage.

You hum, nearly floating on a cloud as you walk over to your bed and pull the covers back. Climbing into the bed and knowing that you will come out of it properly wed is thrilling and you lay back amongst the pillows. Watching as he walks towards you. “Are you going to remove your shirt, husband?” You ask softly, wanting to see your husband as fully as he has seen you. There is no love between you, but there will be passion and you wish to know what he looks like.

Pero bites his lip, wondering if he will be good enough. If you will like the scars on his body from his battles won in the war. He exhales shakily and nods, reaching for the hem of his shirt so he can lift it over his head, fully exposing his body to you as you lay in your bed.

He is strong, you can tell that from the corded muscles that spoke of your husband doing much more than just being an idle lord. Bunching and rippling as he stands still for you inspection, you don’t hesitate to let your eyes roam over him. Widening slightly when you get your first look at his cock without some fabric blocking your view. “You are…handsome.” You admit breathlessly. “It- you make my core throb.”

Your words surprise Pero and he smirks, slightly cocky that you are satisfied with his appearance. He shifts closer to the bed until he is kneeling on it, his fingers caressing your ankle bone and up your leg. “That’s good. That’s lust, esposa. Do you desire me? Do you want me inside or you?” He asks, kneeling between your thighs and he doesn’t touch you so you can make the final assessment before he consummates the marriage.

Even though you are innocent, you are aware of what should happen. Feeling bold by the lust that is in his own eyes, you spread your thighs to reveal the thatch of curls covering your core. “Please, Pero.”

“Mierda.” Tovar mutters and caresses your thighs. When he looks into your eyes and sees your certainty, he nods and reaches down to grip his cock. Shuffling closer, he notches himself at your entrance and slowly, so slowly, pushes inside of you. “Fuck.” He pants, trying to control himself but you’re so wet and tight. He exhales shakily and pushes deeper, wanting to make sure you are as comfortable as possible despite him taking your innocence.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling a pinch but it is not the painful experience that you had been led to believe that it was. Moaning softly as you feel him deep inside, seemingly deeper than his fingers had been, and throbbing. Your fingers dig into his shoulders again and you slowly open your eyes as you breathe out. “Pero.”

The urge to bury himself inside of you is strong but he remains in control, slowly rocking his hips so he can work his cock deeper inside of you until he is settled inside of you. He knows you are a keen horse rider so your innocence was likely taken during a saddling but he doesn’t care. He’s damaged goods himself and he knows some men would want you to be intact but this is kinder to you and to him. He closes his eyes once he’s fully inside of you, his fists clenched as he tries to not spill his seed before you can experience the pleasure of sex.

“I- I feel so full.” You whimper, your fingers dragging across his skin and your legs shuffling slightly. He’s so still on top of you and it makes you want to move, need to move. To chase the same sensation you felt when you had his fingers inside you. You gasp when you think of what you heard your maids back home giggling about. Riding a man as if he were a horse and you clench down around him thinking about riding Pero like that, his cock deep inside you.

Pero hisses when you clamp down on his cock and he inhales deeply. He reaches down to grab your thigh and he lifts it higher so he can sink deeper inside of you. “Fuck.” He pants and starts to move slowly.

You moan again, eyes widening at how well you feel him. “I- oh Pero.” You whimper, trying to roll you hips down but he has you nailed to the bed with his cock. “I-f-fuck.” You stammer out, the curse unfamiliar on your tongue but it feels like it is necessary for what you are feeling right now as your husband moves inside you.

Your curse has his cock twitching inside of you and he groans when your walls squeeze him. “Fuck, esposa. You feel - it’s - perfect.” He allows you a minute access to his thoughts and that seems to make you wild. Clamping down on his cock and arching your back to egg him on. He starts to move faster, lowering his hips and groaning your name as he tries to make this good for you.

You enjoy the rough sound of his voice. Moaning again as he starts up a rhythm to his movements and making you nearly gasp every time he pushes deep. You slide your hands down your back, playing over scars and working muscles rippling under the skin. You feel like he approved of your curse so you do it again, followed by his name. “It’s so intense.”

He likes to hear that because it’s a lot to him too. To be intimate with his wife. He never imagined he’d remarry but he starts to think it’s possible to have a marriage with you, to be able to survive without Maria…perhaps even be happy. He enjoys your touch and slides his hand up to cup your breast, squeezing and he shifts so he can lean down to take your nipple into his mouth.

You hadn’t expected his mouth. Wrongly assuming that kissing being too intimate meant any part of your body and not just your lips. “Pero!” You cry out loud enough that the servants might hear and arch your back up, wanting more of the pleasure of his mouth at your breast. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You whimper, shivering.

He loves hearing you curse, his cock twitching inside of you, and he switches over to your other breast. He bites down on your flesh, nipping and sucking, and he moves inside of you, grinding deep. “You like this, hermosa?” He asks, lost in the pleasure of being inside of you.

“Yes, yes Pero.” You moan, closing your eyes and lifting your legs to wrap them around his waist. You know that you are making him feel good. At least you hope you are. Feeling his thrusts start to build faster, his breathing catching and starting to pant against your skin. “So much.”

He grunts when he feels you starting to clench around him and he drops his hips so he can press his pelvis where you need him more. “Cum for me.” He pleads with a groan, needing to feel you cum before he finds his own high. “Por favor, esposa. Cum.” He demands and drags his tongue along your sternum.

You shiver at the feeling of his tongue on your skin. “Ohhhh Pero!” You cry out, body starting to shake underneath his with the next thrust of his hips as you start to fall apart. Pleasure whipping through every inch of your body as you moan.

He clenches his eyes shut when you clamp down on his cock and he bites down on your shoulder as he barely manages to pull out of you, his hot seed spilling on your thigh. “Fuck.” He pants, cock twitching against your hip as he rides his orgasm.

Your eyes open and you frown in confusion as you feel the wetness of his seed on your skin. “I- is something wrong?” You pant quietly, wondering if you’ve somehow disappointed him.

He frowns, pulling back to look down at you. “What are you talking about? I- nothing is wrong.” He’s trying to catch his breath and he shifts to lay down beside you. “It was good.” He assures you, “did you not enjoy it?”

“You-“ You bite your lip and look up at the ceiling. “You spilled your seed on my thighs.” You murmur quietly, wondering if there was something wrong with you that caused him to do that. He was supposed to finish inside you. That’s what everyone said.

Pero closes his eyes, trying to conceal the pain. “I know - I know we aren’t - tonight was our first night but - but I can’t risk you being with child so soon.” He admits, reminded once again of Maria dying during childbirth.

“I-I am so sorry.” You close your own eyes, mortified that you had brought up something so personal to him. “I understand. Forgive me for being so thoughtless.” You know you have ruined things and you swallow down a sigh.

Pero shakes his head, shifting to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t worry, esposa. I- I’ll leave you to clean up. I have work to attend to.” He declares as he stands and reaches for his nightgown. “I shall see you tomorrow.” He says, turning to look at you after he edged towards the door.

You nod. “Yes.” You know he wants to leave and you sit up, his seed cooling on your skin. “I will clean up and then choose another book from the library before I go to bed. Goodnight, husband.”

“Buenas noches, esposa.” Pero says and swiftly leaves your room. Tonight, he gave in to his desires and left you upset after he pulled out of you. He knows you will urge him to have a child soon and he isn’t sure he is ready for that conversation but for now, he will retire to his quarters to read over the accounts before he falls asleep. He’s not entirely sure how long he can continue keeping you at arms length but he has to try. He cannot lose another wife.

****

The next morning, you are surprised to find your husband in the dining room when you come in. “Buenas días, husband.” You see that he is reading some papers, so you move to your normal seat with the cup of tea you had retrieved yourself when you had gone in to see Lola. “I hope your night was restful.” You had decided that you understood where Pero stood on getting you with child and you wished to speak with him about it. “Have you ever used a- a condom before?” You ask him. “My maid back home said they can be purchased from the chemist. Perhaps that would be a good solution?”

Pero raises his eyebrows over his newspaper, watching you for a moment until he chuckles. “Is that what you wish for us to use? I am happy to let you manage our…situation if you wish.” He trusts you and he isn’t sure when that changed.

“You said that you did not wish for me to be - to have a child.” You don’t add the ‘yet’ portion because you feel like he would rather that be ‘at all’. “So a co-condom would help.” You shrug, slightly self conscious now. “We don’t have to use one.”

Pero nods, understanding what you are saying and he appreciates your planning. “Let us have Carmen fetch us some things and then we have the choice.” He says, knowing that it will be hard to keep away from you now that he knows how you feel. The passion inside of you scares him and he knows if he allows it, he will lose himself in you. He can’t put his heart back on the line and the children need a mother. With a nod, he goes back to eating his pan con tomate and knows that you will take care of the issue of birth control.

Carmen brings you a plate of food and you thank her, eating in silence with your husband. You had not expected grand conversations with him, at least at the beginning, so you do not try to disturb him with idle chit chat and when you stand after finishing, you give him a small smile. “Have a good day, husband.” You wish him softly.

Pero watches you go and realizes that maybe he doesn’t just want this to be a marriage of mutual benefit. He finishes his breakfast in peace and decides to spend the rest of the day near the children.

****

“Where is my wife?” Pero asks Carmen, who frowns, “she’s in her chambers, Don Tovar.” She answers and Pero frowns, making his way to your rooms and he is even more confused when he enters and calls your name, only to find you aren’t there.

Biting your lip, you urge the horse faster. Knowing that you are breaking your word to your husband, but it cannot be helped. Luis is feverish, and Carmen and Lola had been nowhere to be found when you had gone searching for them. Frantic about your husband’s son, you know it would destroy Pero to lose the last bit of his wife that she had given him. So you broke your promise. Currently racing to town to fetch the doctor, you pray that the instructions you had given his sister were working and that you will be able to bring the doctor back from town in time.

When Pero finds the children, he’s frantic when he’s told that Luis has a fever and you have left to go to town to find the doctor. He can hardly contain his anxiety, his hands shaking, and he growls at Carlos, “I’m going to fucking find her!” He feels like he’s losing control, his heart pounding and his breathing is heavy. His legs feel like lead and his brain focuses on you and his children. Is Luis dying? Is this his punishment for his time in the war? Is he going to lose you? He pants and collapses to his knees, Carlos reaching out to steady him as his vision goes cloudy. “I- I - can’t save them.”

It is to your detriment that you haven’t been to town, wasting precious time to find the doctor and demanding that he come with you back to the Tovar estate. Shaking with fear and praying that you make it back in time to help your little boy. You didn’t give birth to him, but you have grown close to the children and you have come to love their personalities now they are being taught and challenged, time being spent with them. The mischief of your first meeting was long gone. Rushing to your horse and as soon as the doctor is mounted on his own, racing for home.

Pero manages to stand up, shoving Carlos away as he demands to know where you’ve gone. “I - Alejandra said she’s gone to the town.” Pero doesn’t waste a second, rushing to the stables and swinging his leg over his stallion, no saddle, he pushes the horse to the limit as he gallops towards town. Images of you injured or dead flash in his mind and he realizes how you have wiggled his way into his mind and heart. Your kindness and the feel of you beneath him have his heart twisting at the thought of anything happening to you.

Frowning, you spot a rider in the distance on the road. Unsure of who it might be, you glance back at the doctor who is on your horses heels and then forward again. Recognizing the haste in the way you see the horse being pushed, dread knots in your stomach, realizing that it must be your husband. Lifting a hand, even though he is too far away to shout to, you wonder if he will beat you for disobeying him.

Pero sees you as he gallops and he nearly falls off of the horse when he pulls on its hair to slow it down. “You - what the fuck do you think you are you doing?” Pero yells as you approach him and the doctor’s horse skids as he comes to a stop.

“Luis! Luis has a fever!” You cry out, panting for breath as your horse stomps and shakes underneath you, “I- I had to get the doctor.” Your own mother had died from a fever sickness and the idea of losing his little boy on your watch makes you want to be sick. “I- we must hurry Pero! He cannot die, not like mama!”

Pero nods, knowing that now is not the time to have this argument. “You’re unharmed?” Pero asks and you nod frantically. His heart is pounding but you are safe and unharmed from what he can tell so he turns his horse around and the three of you gallop back to his estate, back in front of the sick little boy in record time. Pero kneels beside Luis, watching the doctor and he swallows harshly, “por favor. Just - do something.”

You twist your hands, knowing that Pero is worried and you start to pray yourself. Carmen has Alejandra in the other room and you can hear her comforting the older child. The doctor works and you worry, pacing the floors continuously, eager to bring the doctor anything he might need and bringing in the basin of cold water that Lola brings up.

Pero holds his son’s hand while the doctor assesses him and murmurs prayers as you kneel beside him. He reaches for your other hand, squeezing it as he prays and the doctor starts to drain the boy’s blood in hopes of bringing down the fever. “Bleeding should help the fever break. If not, I have some bark I think will help.”

Pero swallows, his throat is dry, “whatever you can do. I- I can’t lose him.”

You try to be there for him. Sitting strong and praying as the doctor continues to bleed the boy until he claims that it is enough. Wiping him down and checking his forehead again with a small frown before he moves over to the teapot he had requested with boiling water. You squeeze Pero’s hand and glance at your husband’s worried face.

Pero doesn’t know how long he lays there, his heart and mind weary as he watches his son. The doctor gave him the tea and left, stating it “is in God’s hands now.” He’s not eaten, he hasn’t slept. He just sits there and watches the little boy breathe. He doesn’t know where you are, he sometimes wonders but he’s too concerned about his son.

You watch. Waiting for anything and everything that Pero or Luis might need. Often leaving the room to comfort Alejandra and to let her know how her brother is doing. You don’t want her to feel forgotten and eventually you allow her to come into the room after promising to be quiet. The two of you sit in a chair behind Pero and eventually curl up together and fall asleep together from exhaustion and worry.

Pero isn’t sure when he fell asleep, perhaps the exhaustion got to him and he simply rested his head on the cool sheets, his eyes closing without his knowledge. “Papa.” He doesn’t hear the weak murmur at first. “Papa.” A small hand touches his hair and Pero’s nose wrinkles. “Papa.” The voice is stronger and wakes Pero up, his head shooting up to see Luis lucid and awake.

“Luis” He gasps, reaching for him to check his views. His eyes are clear, his forehead cool but not cold. He’s okay. “Mi amor.” Pero chokes, wrapping his arms around the little boy to pull him into his arms.

You wake up, rousing Alejandra in your arms and nearly sob with relief that Luis is awake and alert. “Mama, is Luis okay?” Alejandra demands, her own worry for her brother causing her to not think about what she calls you. Your eyes widen and you try not to tear up at the honorary name, nodding and brushing her tangled hair back from her face and holding her close despite being on your lap. “It looks like he is.” You hum. “Go hug him and your papa.”

Alejandra nods, rushing over to her papa and her brother and she wraps her arms around them. Pero shifts, gathering the children into his arms and he sniffs, trying to ignore the tears that sting in his eyes as he embraces them. “Te amo, mijos.” He murmurs and looks over at you, “come here, esposa.” He gestures for you to come over to them.

Standing up, you are happy to see such a touching moment between the small family. You know you are a part of it now, but they are reminders of his wife and very dear to him. Walking over, you ruffle Luis’ hair and smile. “You gave us all a fright, Luis.” You hum, sliding your hand to your husband’s shoulder.

Pero reaches up to grip your hand in his, his terror at losing you or one of his children now subsided and in its place is joy that he doesn’t have to suffer another loss. The four of you embrace until Carmen comes in to attend to Luis, wanting him to eat something and drink. Pero tells Alejandra to stay with her brother and she nods. “I need to speak with you.” Pero says to you, his voice deepening as he reaches for your hand.

You swallow, aware that he will now punish you. You had disobeyed him and you know from everyone that Pero is a stern man. You follow him quietly, wondering why he is still holding your hand as he guides you out of the nursery towards your bedroom.

When Pero opens the door to your chambers, he pushes you inside. “What were you thinking?” He hisses, dropping your hand as he glares at you, “I told you to never go into town.”

“I was thinking that Luis was in danger.” You won’t apologize for your actions, but you understand his anger. “He needed the doctor and I could not find anyone.” You stand straight and stiffen your spine. “If you punish me, that is you right. But I would do it again. My mother died of fever and I did not want you to lose your last gift from your wife.”

Your words take Pero back and his jaw drops, staring at you as he absorbs your words. Your kindness knows no bounds it seems and that’s the moment it clicks for Pero. Unable to stop himself, he surges forward and you think he’s about to hit you but he doesn’t, instead, his lips press against yours.

You had flinched, you could admit that yourself but then you are gasping against Pero’s mouth, shocked that he is kissing you. He had told you that he wouldn’t do that again; it was too intimate for him. Yet his lips are warm and soft against yours and you cannot help but melt into him.

His hands grip your waist and his mouth moves against yours, his tongue sliding along your lower lip as he pulls you up against him. You moan into his mouth and his hands reach down to tug your skirts up, his hands soon pulling his cock free from his breeches, hard and aching. He needs you and he hopes you want him too.

You had expected a beating, not for your husband to fuck you. But you aren’t going to push him away. Your fingers tug on your petticoats and you quickly push them down. “Husband.” You gasp out when he pulls his lips away. “Please.” You whimper, enjoying his apparent need for you.

His hand grabs your thigh, lifting it over your hip so he can position his cock at your entrance and he pushes inside of you with a groan. “Fuck, hermosa.” He murmurs, caressing your thigh as he pushes deeper.

“Oh god.” You would probably collapse if he didn’t have his hand on your waist and use his strength to keep you upright. Wanting to kiss him again, you wonder if that was a fluke and he wouldn’t kiss you but you turn your head to kiss along his jaw while he throbs inside you.

He turns his head to kiss you, pressing his lips against yours as he starts to move inside of you. You’re so wet and tight and alive. You’re alive. He focuses on you and your touch, his mouth moving against yours as he presses you against the wall.

You had never considered that your husband could fuck you against a wall, and yet, it’s thrilling. You moan into his mouth and cling to him, not caring that his hips push you back against the wainscoting every time he thrusts into you. Your own tongue touches against his and your entire body shivers with pleasure.

“Fuck. Mi esposa. I- Don’t want to lose you.” He murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and he kisses down your throat as he lifts your hip a little higher so he can push deeper inside of you. “Fuck. Please. I need - I need you.”

“Pero.” You whimper, closing your eyes and letting him do whatever he needs to you. You are starting to fall for him, especially with how he worried for Luis.

It’s hard to imagine his days without you now. Cold nights alone have turned into passionate escapades scattered throughout the day, touches leading through the night. He has tried to stay away but you’ve drawn him in. He continues to work his cock in and out of you, groaning as he presses his lips to yours again.

Closing your eyes, you give yourself over to him completely. Clinging to him as he fucks you so deeply you know they you will be feeling him for days after. Even though he’s not wearing a condom, you expect him to pull out and spill his seed outside your body. The condom had been great and you loved the feeling of him pulsing inside you.

Pero kisses along your jaw, breathing you in and he needs you to clamp down on his cock. He grabs your other thigh, lifting you up completely as the adrenaline surges through him and he grunts as he lifts you up and down his cock, still pressing you against the wall.

Gasping, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and try to wrap your legs around him, your skirts bunched between you. “Fuck, Pero, I- I love you.” You moan quietly; needing to at least whisper it even though he doesn’t feel the same way. “So close.”

He hears it but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he presses his lips to yours and when you whine into his mouth, he groans against your lips when you clamp down on his cock. He should pull out but he doesn’t, too focused on you and how you feel and how he could’ve lost you. He grunts and keeps thrusting you through your orgasm until finally, he’s pushing deep and filling you full of his hot seed, painting your walls.

Your eyes widen and you are too busy worrying about the feeling of his hot seed inside you. Knowing he will regret it you are savoring this one moment. “Pero- Pero you have to let me- I have to bathe.” You whimper.

He doesn’t release you, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pants again at your chin, enjoying the feel of you surrounding him. “Don’t.” He murmurs, not wanting to let you go just yet. He can’t lose another person from his life that he cares for.

You frown but you don’t push him away, deciding that he knows what he is doing. “Okay, husband.” You pant softly, feeling him throb inside of you and start to soften. “Is-is this my punishment?” You ask teasingly.

Pero chuckles softly, pulling out of you and lowering you down to the floor. Your skirts settle down and he reaches down to tuck his cock back into his breeches. “No punishment.” He assures you and reaches for your hands, “please…just do not go into town unless you are escorted.” He compromises, knowing that it will be hard to overcome his anxiety surrounding town but he cannot keep you prisoner.

You bite your lip, aware that your husband is compromising. “Yes.” You murmur softly, leaning in and pressing your lips to his cheek. You don’t want to push him for more than he will give you so you won’t kiss him on the lips unless he kisses you first. “Thank you, Pero.” You hum, smiling as you pull back to look into his dark eyes. “I will have an escort.”

Pero nods, letting go of your hands and he is pleased that he could compromise. The idea of you going into town terrifies him, he doesn’t want to lose you. The children clearly love you and he - he has affection for you.

****

Pero looks up at you as you enter the dining room. He stands up, walking over to pull your chair out for you, taking over the job from the footman. “You look beautiful, esposa.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek as you stand before him and he helps you sit down.

“Thank you.” You give Pero a smile, but you’re slightly nervous. Your monthly time has been missed for several months now and you woke up feeling nauseous and your breasts being sore. You are with child and while your husband has become warmer to you, you don’t know how he will react. It’s true that there have been several times since the day Luis was sick that he hasn’t worn the condom, he had also still worn it and never said anything about having children with you or your confession of your feelings. You’ve never repeated those words again. “I’ll just have some weak tea and toast.” You tell the footman before he disappears to let Lola know you are ready for breakfast.

Pero frowns, usually you order more at breakfast and he wonders if you are unwell. “Are you ill, esposa?” He asks and wonders if you are okay. He watches you as you eye the cup of tea with a grimace and he calls Carlos over to order the doctor to come to the house.

“I think that I might have some kind of stomach malady.” You admit with a small groan, covering your nose from the aroma of the tea. “It should pass.” You have an idea of what is wrong but you don’t wish to alarm Pero.

Pero is concerned but knows the doctor will help you and Carlos will ensure his swift arrival. Your breakfast is hardly touched and he will inform Carmen to let Lola know to prepare a light but generous lunch for you. He is concerned, knowing how Luis was and he’s terrified that you are going to end up with the same fate.

After breakfast, you still feel ill, laying down and resting even though you know you should be watching the children. You feel dizzy and nauseous and you wonder if all women feel this way when they are pregnant. You are sure that is what is going on, emptying your stomach of the tea and the few bites of toast you had managed into the chamber pot under your bed.

Pero greets the doctor, escorting him to your chambers. This is the same doctor who was present when Maria died and the midwife called for him after there were complications. The two men exchange a look before Carmen announces the doctor’s arrival. “I will leave you to it.” Pero says after everyone enters.

“Oh, I didn’t know Pero was calling a doctor.” You sit up, embarrassed and hoping that the nausea has passed. “I am afraid that I am not quite feeling myself.” You admit when he tuts and brings his bag over. “I think- I think I might be ….” You lower your voice. “Expecting.”

The doctor nods, “very well. Let us check and we can confirm, Señora Tovar.” He says softly and under Carmen’s watchful eye, he performs his tests. Feeling your stomach, he smiles. “Congratulations, Señora. You are with child.” He offers you a soft smile and Carmen grins, “congratulations.”

“Thank you.” It’s a relief to know that is what is wrong, but you wonder how Pero will take the news that you are expecting his child. “What can be done about the nausea?” You ask him softly. “My mother died young and I have never been around someone expecting.”

“I have a tea I can provide your cook with to assist with the sickness.” The doctor informs you and is soon bidding you goodbye. When the doctor exits your quarters, Pero looks up, eyes questions and the doctor pats his shoulder. “I believe your wife had good news.” Pero swallows, knowing what that means and he thanks the doctor before Carlos escorts him out.

Exhaling shakily, he walks over to your room and knocks, entering your chambers to find you sitting on the edge of the bed. He sits down beside you and reaches for your hand, “esposa.”

“I’m sorry, Pero.” You start quietly, looking down at your joined hands. “I know that you wished to wait, or to never have children with me.” You are worried that he will be upset, that it will ruin the closeness you have felt with him lately. “I do not know what happened. I’m - I am going to have your child.”

He squeezes your hand, “don’t know what happened? I think I do.” He chuckles softly. “And…and I’m not angry about it. I knew what could happen and you are an incredible mother to Luis and Alejandra. I think you’ll be amazing.” He assures you, “and I - I want to have a child that is half you and half me.”

You let out the breath you had been holding and smile. Relieved that he is not upset and you are able to be excited for the first time. “I think it will be wonderful.” You admit, although you frown after a moment. “I promise I will not go into town, even with an escort, when my time draws near.” You don’t want him to worry about another wife, even if he doesn’t love you, he would worry.

Pero nods his gratefulness, knowing you now understand his anxiety and reaction. Especially after you ran off to fetch the doctor. He knows he is going to be even more protective of you. “It’s good news, hermosa.” He promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead, brushing his nose against yours until his lips brush your lips.

You’ve found there is comfort in his kisses. A certain sense of home that you’ve not found anywhere else as the nights in his bed progressed. It was often you ended up sleeping together after your pleasure but you had never voiced that sentiment of love again. You desperately want to say it again, but you are afraid to, afraid of being reminded that you are not his late wife and he had warned you that he wouldn’t love you.

****

As your pregnancy progresses, Pero gets more and more anxious. He’s nervous of the birth, reminded once again of Maria dying after giving birth to Luis. He swallows harshly as he leans against the wall, trying to calm his racing heart. You’re going to give birth soon according to the midwife and each day makes his anxiety threaten to overwhelm him.

Every day that passes, you can see your husband slowly start to unravel. He is sleeping less and worrying about you. Not even allowing you on the stairs without someone. Making you ring a bell to have someone come help you. Most often he works from your chambers, moving his work to your writing desk. You sigh as you slide your hand over your stomach, panting slightly. The pains had started last night but you had kept it from him, knowing he wouldn’t sleep and he desperately needed the rest.

Pero sees Carmen rushing through the halls and she slows down when she sees him. “What’s happening?” He asks, frowning, and the young woman bites her lip. “Tell me.” He demands and Carmen knows she can’t deny him, “she’s having pains. The birth is happening. I must fetch the midwife.” Carmen rushes out and Pero’s eyes widen.

“Fetch the doctor too. I will take no chances.” He says and Carmen nods, rushing off. Pero drops everything he is doing and rushes to your chambers, “esposa. Is it true? You’re having pains?” He asks, eying you in the chair in the corner.

You would deny it, to spare him a bit more time but another pain makes you clutch your stomach. Bending over slightly as you start to moan quietly. It lasts for a long time and by that time you relax, you are panting. “I am.”

Pero rushes over to you. Guiding you over to the bed, “come, you must lay down.” He shakes his head, trying to take your shoes off. “Why didn’t you send for me?” He asks, caressing your ankle as you settle against the pillows.

“You have not been sleeping.” You remind him quietly. “I know you need rest and if I told you, there was not any rest in your future.”

Your whimpers make his heart clench and he shakes his head. “Mi - esposa. Come, do not worry about me. I will worry until the babe is in your arms and you are well and healthy.” His voice wavers for a moment and he wonders if you notice as he wipes your forehead of the beads of sweat.

“It will be well.” The midwife has assured you that you are carrying well for a first time birth and believes that it will be a simple thing. Reaching for his hand, you smile at him softly. “I have already asked that you be allowed in the birthing room if you need.”

Pero is surprised and pleased, kissing your damp forehead. “I won’t leave you.” He promises and brushes his lips against yours. “I’ll be here. Every single second.” He vows as Carmen comes back in with water and a flannel.

You get changed into a clean nightgown, Carmen helping you although you don’t mind your husband being there. He has seen you naked more than your own nanny when you were a child. Getting settled back down into the bed, you grip Pero’s hand and cry out when the next pain washes over you.

Pero lets you squeeze his hand as you try to ride the pain. You whimper and Pero frowns, “where is the midwife?” He asks, starting to get impatient. “And the doctor? I called for him as well.” He growls, looking over at Carmen.

“They are coming, Don Tovar.” She assures him, knowing that he is worried about his wife. Everyone has seen how much the Don has come to care about his wife and they are all happy for him. You are kind and loving and it will be good for him to love again. “The doctor is impressed with your wife and has already said he will come whenever summoned.”

“He needs to be here. I will allow no one to take a singular risk. I won’t have my wife’s health and the baby’s health put in danger.” He hisses and squeezes your hand when you groan at the pain. “Are you - you need anything?” Pero asks, wanting to make sure you have everything you need.

“Water.” You beg quietly. Labor is harder work that you realized and you feel parched from it.

Pero nods and squeezes your hand again. “Whatever you want.” He promises, kissing your hand and rushing over to the tray Carmen had brought you earlier.

Pero returns with the water, letting you sip it and he wipes your forehead with the wet rag Carmen hands him. It seems like the sun is setting when you are finally ready to push. The midwife checking you and announcing it’s time. Pero is terrified, this was the time Maria lost too much blood. He remembers the sheets being soaked with it as Luis cried. He grips your hand, sweat beading on his brow as his heart starts to pound

Clenching your teeth together, you try to make sure that you don’t scream during the next pain. It makes Pero uneasy every time, he pales when you scream and grip his hand as tight as you can. You know that he is scared and even though you are in pain, you’re worried about him.

Pero feels unwell but tries to stay strong, each clenched scream bringing you closer to having his next child and he is terrified. Terrified of losing you. During your marriage, he has grown close to you. Spending many nights in your bed, even if he hadn’t touched you. He can’t imagine his life without you now. “Come on hermosa, you can do it. Push.” He urges you on, wanting you to concentrate.

Nodding, you sit up slightly and start to push. Bearing down with all your might, you see the midwife between your thighs as you start to feel more pressure.

Pero watches you push, his eyes darting between you and the midwife and he’s worried, he’s so scared that he’s gonna lose you. His hand grips yours as he watches you push and he’s silently praying.

“I can’t- it is too much.” You gasp out, falling back against the sheets as you pant.

The midwife clicks her tongue and looks up at you. “One more push, señora, and the bebita will be in your arms.” She promises you. “Next time the pain comes you push as hard as you can.”

“You can do it, hermosa. You can do it.” He eggs you on, sweat beading on his forehead as he watches you struggle. “Come on, mi amor. Come on.” He says, wiping your forehead.

You close your eyes, tears leaking out of the corners as you barely hear the words that you have wished for far longer than you should have. Holding his hand, you nod, bearing down with all your strength and pushing your baby into the world. Feeling them slip from your womb with a rush of relief.

Pero watches the midwife cradle the crying babe, her smile wide and Pero starts to cry, relieved and so happy at seeing his child born. “Felicidades, Don Tovar, it’s a boy.” She announces and Pero leans in to kiss your head.

“A boy, amor,”

“A boy.” You sob, exhausted and relieved and more than a little emotional about hearing ‘amor’ again. Almost terrified that he is thinking of his late wife and reliving that horrible night with a happier ending through you. “We have another son.” You pant, reaching for the baby when the midwife hands him to you.

Pero looks down at the screaming babe in your arms. His eyes sting with tears and he looks at you in awe. “A boy. Another boy.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Amor.”

“He’s beautiful.” You murmur quietly, brushing your hand over his wet forehead. “Perfect.” His ten little fingers are curled into fists and he has ten perfect little toes. “Isn’t he?” You ask, looking up at your husband after you manage to tear your eyes away from your new baby.

Pero leans in to rest his forehead against yours, loving how you are cradling the baby and he knows Luis and Alejandra are excited for his arrival. “He’s perfect. So is his mother.” He murmurs, caressing the baby’s head.

You hum, not sure how to take that and look back down at the baby. He’s turning his face towards you and crying, searching for your breast. “Put him on the breast.” The midwife tells you. “Your milk will come.” You nod, opening your nightgown and guiding him towards your breast and gasping when he latches into your nipple.

Pero watches in awe, the midwife working on helping you with the afterbirth and the baby mouths at your nipple. Pero kisses your forehead again, he’s so perfect. You’re perfect. Hermosa, I- I love you.” Pero chokes, never imagining that he’d fall in love again but he couldn’t help it, you’re too beautiful and kind. The children love you and you’ve made his life so much better.

Your eyes widen and you look up at Pero in shock. “You- you love me?” You ask in astonishment, sure that would never happen for you. He nods and you start to cry. “I love you too Pero, I love you and our three children.”

Pero leans in to kiss you, “I love you. So much. I- I didn’t think - after Maria - you’ve brought this home, my children…me…back to life.” He murmurs and kisses your forehead. “Mi esposa, hermosa, amor. You are everything to me. I owe you the world.” He murmurs, looking down at the little boy.

Your smile is watery, but overjoyed. You had come to Spain to marry a man you didn’t know and was told that he could never love you. Now you have a beautiful son, two other children that adore you and your them, and a loving husband. Your father had chosen right. You were a family.

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