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"It is my great pleasure to welcome you to this wonderful vernissage this evening." The accented Argentinian Spanish is new to some ears in the room, but not to others. Damián and Digna have no trouble with it at all, by now. With how often they've chatted in the salon over Bianca's alfajor. To Marta, the accent almost makes her flinch. But it's alright. Just a little while longer and then it'll all be over. There will be no more jump scares of a woman who has made herself at home in every corner of Marta's life. Even where she was never wanted nor welcome.
Digna's portrait is the centerpiece of the entire exhibition, and Bianca's making a big show of thanking Damián for commissioning the piece, how much she's enjoyed working on it, how much she's enjoyed spending time in the charming Toledo …
Marta's nostrils flare as she breathes, trying to keep herself calm but she's failing. She's been failing for a while. How could she not? This woman is boasting to an entire room of people that love and adore her about how great this town is. What did she say about Toledo? Ni muerta podria vivir aqui. Yeah, right.
She's aware that she's been holding herself back from becoming a green eyed monster. She's aware the mask is slipping, and they've fought about it before. But seeing all of these people looking at Bianca, not seeing the tricks this woman pulls…
But she's kept an eye on her, she can see through Bianca's facade now. She knows her tricks. Problem being, her emotions still take over when she sees Bianca's tricks work on the people around her. Marta's eyes move from Bianca, and Digna's portrait - now revealed - to the woman by her side. Though Fina kept reassuring her it's alright, she can't help but feel her entire body tense when Bianca is around.
Bianca goes on about the techniques she's discovered through working here in a different climate, with not all of the same materials as back home. She's had to get creative, she says, experimented a lot. Her eyes land on Fina. They linger.
Marta's stomach lurches. It's another one of her tricks, Marta reminds herself. Just breathe. Then Bianca speaks.
"The entire process is beautifully captured by my wonderful photographer, who also happens to be an inspiration to me, Serafina Valero." Bianca reaches out a hand towards Fina. Fina's smile is radiant as she reaches out her own, taking Bianca's hand and stepping into the space at Bianca's side. Bianca encourages Fina to speak, but when Fina shyly says: "Oh no, I'm just here to take photos. You're the real star here," Marta's jaw clenches. Fina's also the lady of honor tonight. Fina has put a lot of time and effort into the photographs for the catalogue, Marta knows, and she wants to be so proud. She is! But she's also very relieved that soon, this will all be over. Bianca will finally go back home, and the only thing left of her in Toledo will be a beautiful portrait of Digna. Because it is truly beautiful, she can't argue with that.
She can deal with that.
Her jaw twitches when Fina doesn't return to her side, and she feels her absence in the empty space next to her.
When the speeches are done, Marta can finally move. Her feet ache in her heels from not having shifted her weight for so long. Everyone is walking around the room, discovering the rest of the art hung in the space. Damián and Digna went into the opposite side. The room has been carefully divided into smaller sections, which allow the visitor to always look from the smaller side rooms back into the big main open space where Digna's portrait hangs, but never into the next smaller side room.
"You go on ahead, I'm just going to make sure I get some shots of Bianca." Fina tells her, she is taking the opportunity to take pictures of the people in the exhibition. Not just for their memories, but for exposure, for her portfolio. She'd warned Marta ahead of time that she might be more in 'work mode' than just enjoying a glass with her, and she'd understood. How could she not? It wouldn't be her first time walking an art exhibit alone. She wouldn't be able to walk around with her wife on her arm anyhow, whispering into each other's ears about what they liked or disliked about a work. No, that was only for the straight couples around.
Bianca's paintings might not all be her thing, she can recognize that it's a powerful thing to be a woman painting portraits in this world. Work typically kept from women in the era where putting your name on a painting was quite new, when women were assigned still lives and only men could do portraiture. Of course, it's no longer the 17th century, but Marta can recognize that Bianca made a life for herself by her talent in a world not kind to that. Maybe that makes her more terrified anyway.
She crosses her arms in front of her, kneading her fingers into her own arms. She throws a glance over her shoulder towards the main room, where Bianca is shaking hands with a couple and Fina is capturing the moment with a snap. Just a little bit longer.
Marta turns the corner to see familiar brown eyes looking back at her from a painting. Fina, the way Marta used to know her: with long luscious hair and clothes not yet like the pants and stripes she's wearing now. She's sitting in an unfamiliar chair, in a dark room only lit by a few candles strewn around the floor and desk she leans an arm on. But it's not the outfit or the pose that strikes her. It's Fina's eyes, lit by the candlelight. They hold a pain that tells an entire story. Fina's story. Their story.
It's confronting.
It's painful.
It makes her swallow a lump of emotions and horrid memories and turn away from it. It's too much.
When she turns around, she sees another Fina. This one is radiant, with her camera in her hand moving around the room to get the best angle. There's a glint in her eye, smiling and happy. She's snapping pictures, totally in her element.
She doesn't see Marta.
But Marta sees her. Looking at Bianca through her camera. And Bianca is looking at her.
Click, goes the camera.
When Fina looks up from her viewfinder, it's Bianca's eyes she meets.
Click, goes her mind.
Marta's breathing catches and the world stops.
She has never felt more inconsequential in her life.
It's Marta that has to look away. From the pair. From Fina. From the love she sees in those eyes which were once directed at her.
She can't bring herself to look at her again. Her body turns, and she once again faces the version of Fina she knew, once upon a time. A version she never wants to wish upon her lover again, with all that pain and hurt. But a version that she knew; that she understood.
Her gaze is on the floor, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She feels every painful toe crammed into these incredibly tall heels. Heels she chose specifically to make her appear tall, to make her feel on top of things. To rise above. Que tonta eres, Marta. It was right in front of you all along.
There's a ringing in her ears, the echo of her heels on the floor is inaudible to her over the chatter of the people but she feels it move through her with every step she takes away from the painting, the woman who painted it, and the woman who posed for it.
Her hand trembles as she reaches for her coat, hung just over a chair in the beginning of the night. "Casual!" Fina had said. Marta doesn't do casual. She'd tried anyway. For her. For them. The softness of the fabric feels wrong in her hand, like it's too kind to her. Her fingers dig into it more. She lays the coat over her arm, slowly, calculated. Enough time to reconsider. Perhaps someone will notice her taking her leave?
She doesn't look back up to find out if someone does. She doesn't think she could handle looking up to find that, no one really notices her anyway. So she keeps her eyes staunchly on the floor, one step ahead of her. Marta de la Reina places one foot in front of the other, out through the door into the crisp spring night, and away from the woman she once knew as her wife.
Inside the gallery, Bianca's smile is captured by the click of a camera, and Fina's warm brown eyes that linger a bit too long on pink lips.