Spanish Short Story With English Translation Novels & Stories

As they savored the rich flavors of the dish, Sofia leaned in closer to James. "Este lugar es increíble," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with delight. In English, she added, "This place is amazing." James, savoring the mole, replied in his best Spanish, "Y la compañía es aún mejor," which drew a radiant smile from Sofia. Dessert arrived, a delectable tres leches cake topped with fresh strawberries, just as the mariachi band struck up a romantic ballad. James extended his hand to Sofia, and they swayed to the music, lost in the enchantment of the evening.

For someone who has a track record of being reckless, it comes as a surprise. I don't let myself think about the fact that his walls are painted in the same shade as my hair and walk out to meet him on the balcony. I can see the words he'd written on his collarbone. They are in Spanish, but thanks to those Sunday classes —a secret I'd begged mum and Emilio to never tell Miguel about because it'd be another thing on his list that he'd use to torment me (we'd claimed it was a book club when he asked at dinner the last Sunday we went)– I can translate easily.

I whispered close to his ear with a smile, but in that moment, I had to freeze due to the sudden sentiment which left my lips. He pulled away from me and looked me right in the eyes with a smile, but a simple chuckle leaving his lips as he pulled me even closer to look right at his lips. “No te preocupes Princesa, te amo desde el momento en que te vi.” He whispers so quietly in my ear with his thick Spanish accent, each word sending intense shivers down my spine, but due to the language, I couldn’t understand him. “Do not fret Princess, I have loved you since the moment I saw you.” He says translating his beautiful words for me, pulling my head back to look at him with such a smile, I lean f

“Are you trying to mess with me?” His expression went cold instantly. “Look, lady, I’ve had enough of your bullshit. Either say the fucking password in Spanish… or get the hell out of this property.” I swallowed hard. Yeah… he was definitely getting pissed. “O-okay… tiger, calm down,” I muttered under my breath, raising my hands slightly. Bad idea. Very bad idea. His eyes darkened at that. Right. Focus. Spanish. I glanced back at the wolf statue, my pulse kicking up. My Spanish was rusty at best, and now of all times my brain wanted to go blank. Lunar… okay, that stays the same. Gate… puerta, right? And thirteen… trece…

“Send it in Spanish, I’ll have it translated.” “Okay, okay, I will.” So she sent him a P*F with what she’d written so far, for him to do whatever he wanted with it. The next day, Deborah squinted at the flash drive in Jim’s hand. “You want me to find a what?” “A Spanish translator. But it can’t be any translator, ‘cause it’s Argentinean Spanish, and she told me it’s different from regular Spanish.” “Can’t she translate it for you?” “She’s busy.”

" she asks, raising her eyebrow at me. "Sure. I'd like that." I say, smiling. My phone pings with a text, so I open it and it's from Vixen. -------- *All the Spanish I use in this book comes from g****e translate so if there are any errors that you recognize, kindly let me know. Thank you!* --- The first couple of minutes is Vixen cursing and mumbling under his breath. He sighs and looks over to me. "What happened?" he asks, still pissed.

I yelled in the hope she could hear me but still no answer. "Cassandra" I warned shaking the door handle. "I'll kick this fucking door down if you don't open it" As soon as I was about to kick down the door it opened slowly revealing an angry Cassandra. "Maldito gilipollas, ¿tienes problemas de ira o algo así?!" Her Spanish accent dripping with anger but it kind of turned me on even though I had no idea what she was saying. (Spanish Translation: Fucking asshole, Do you have anger issues or something?!")

Imogen interrupted, shocked by her mention of Spain, "Perché la Spagna? ( Why Spain? )" Madam Marino said as a thought crossed her mind and tried to emotionally blackmail these three insolent kids, "Huh ... ho una nuova istruzione di lavoro per il ragazzino monello della mafia spagnola. Ed essere una domestica non è quello che ..... ( Huh.. I got a new work instruction for the brat kid of the Spanish Mafia. And being a maid isn't that what.....)"

Instead, she says something in Spanish, words I’ve never heard before. “La libertad es para quienes sangran por ella.” Catalina’s eyes widen for the smallest second before they harden. I see her hand tighten around my mother’s. Then she leans forward, pressing her forehead to my mother’s. It feels like a goodbye wrapped in a secret. I look away. It’s too intimate, too sad. When they pull apart, both are quiet. My mother looks tired, like her bones hurt. Catalina forces a small grin and turns to me. “Alright, muñeca,” she says, slinging an arm around my shoulder as we walk back toward the car. “I heard your soon-to-be husband is muy caliente.”

* (Son of a bitch, I’m going to fuck your girl in the asshole, you can kill me, you queer. Even though my Spanish is a bit rusty, I answered him in his own idiom, surprising him: “Dime dónde Samantha es, o rasgar la garganta tan lentamente que va a rogar a morir.”* (Tell me where Samantha is, or I’ll tear your throat so slowly that you’ll beg to die.)