happily, then turned on her grandson, tossing her chic, white hair. “Though you don’t deserve lunch. I should let you get fast food at a drive-through in Seville!” She hitched her great-grandbaby higher on her hip against her pinafore apron. “I cannot believe you got married without inviting me to the wedding! My only family! After I waited thirty-five years to see you get married! After the way you used to make me bite my nails over those wretched skinny, self-centered women you used to cavort with!”
“At least I didn’t marry one of them, eh, Abuela? Do I not get credit for that?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “On that, you did well.”
The two of them smiled at each other, and I had the sudden image of what it must have been like for him to be raised by Maurine in this enormous castle. Alejandro had lost his parents even younger than I’d lost mine. My father had died of a stroke, my mother six months later of illness. But Alejandro had lost both parents in a car crash when he was only twelve. He’d also lost his best friend, Miguel, whom he’d thought of as a brother, and even their housekeeper.
My smile suddenly faltered. All this time, I’d moaned and whimpered so much about my own difficult childhood. But Alejandro had barely hinted aloud about his. A very masculine reticence, but enough to make me writhe with shame. No wonder Alejandro had been so determined that our Miguel, his only child, should come back to Spain, his home, and meet his grandmother, his only family, who’d raised him and loved him.
Even though she didn’t seem to be one hundred percent loving him right now.
“But still.” His grandmother’s chin was wobbling. “All I asked was that you let me attend the wedding. It was my one and only chance to see you get married and I...”
“It was the worst wedding ever,” I heard myself blurt out.
Both of them turned to face me. She looked amazed. He looked faintly strangled, as if he were afraid of what I might say next.
“It was just the two of us—” I shook my head “—along with the priest and some stranger as witness. There was no cake. No flowers. You didn’t miss anything, Maurine!”
“Call me Abuela, dear,” she said faintly. Her gaze softened as she looked at me. Whatever anger she was now lavishing on Alejandro clearly did not extend to me. She blinked with a frown, tilting her head. “You didn’t have any flowers? Not one?”
“It’s not entirely his fault,” I said apologetically. “We felt we should get married immediately, without too much fuss, because of...” I glanced at our baby in her arms.
“Ah.” A look of understanding filled her eyes. “Yes, of course.”
“The legal part is done, but Alejandro was just saying on the drive that he wished we could have a reception, a party of some kind, to introduce me to his neighbors and friends. I mean, he did tell a few people in Madrid that we were engaged—” I looked at Alejandro beneath my lashes “—but that’s not the same as celebrating with neighbors and family.”
“No, it’s not,” she said thoughtfully.
Taking a bite of juicy ripe papaya, I sighed. “But we just don’t know what to do. I mean, Alejandro is so busy with his company, and of course I have my hands full with Miguel. I wouldn’t have a clue how to organize a party anyway, not a big one. So we were thinking we could maybe hire a party planner, maybe from Madrid....”
“A party planner!” Maurine gasped indignantly. “My new granddaughter—and my great-grandson, this little angel—introduced to all my neighbors and friends with some dreary, chic party arranged by a paid Madrileño!” She put a dramatic hand over her fulsome chest. “I would turn over in my grave!”
Alejandro’s eyes met mine. His lips quirked as he said, “But Abuela, you’re not dead.”
“You’re right, I’m not,” she snapped. “Which is why I will be planning your wedding reception. Oh, there’s no time to waste.” Turning away with Miguel still in her arms, she hurried from the dining hall, calling, “María! Carmen! Josefa! Hurry! We have a new project—the most important party I’ve ever done!”
I turned back to my lunch, only to find Alejandro looking at me. He said in a low voice, “Why did you do that?”
The intense way he was looking at me made me feel nervous and fluttery inside. “Do what?”
“You could have told her the real reason for our quick marriage. That I forced you to marry me, against your will. That I threatened a custody battle.”
“Oh.” Awkwardly, I looked back at my plate. I took another bite of the Pato a la Sevillana. He just waited. Finally, I said in a small voice, “I didn’t want to tell her that.”
Alejandro came closer, the hard edges of his jaw and cheekbones leaving shadows across his face. “Why?”
My cheeks felt hot. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Were you trying to protect her?” He was so close now that I could almost feel the heat through his black tailored shirt. My gaze remained down, resting on his shirt just below his ribcage. Just below his heart. His voice was so quiet I could barely hear as he said, “Or were you trying to protect me?”
“You,” I whispered.
The only noise in the cavernous dining hall was the distant murmured conversation of the bodyguards sitting at the far end of the table, the clink of silverware against china, the thunk of wineglasses against the wood.
Alejandro leaned forward, his elbow against the long oak table, bringing his face very close to mine. It was almost painful to be that close to so much masculine beauty. Unwillingly, my eyes traced the hard slant of his cheekbones, the rough edge of his jawline. His darkly intent eyes.
And his sensual mouth. That most of all. I watched, unable to look away, as his lips moved to shape a single word.
“Why?”
I swallowed, sweeping my hand to indicate the elaborate decorations and luncheon spread down the long table.
“She loves you. And you love her.” I shook my head and blurted out, “All this time I’ve been moaning about my family in London. I feel so stupid for complaining about my childhood—while all the time, you yourself—”
He put his hand on my cheek. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Our eyes locked. I caught my breath, feeling the warmth of his fingertips brushing my skin. Feeling how much, deep inside, I wanted him to touch me. On my cheek. Down my neck. Everywhere. Unwillingly, I licked my lips.
But I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t surrender. If I ever gave him my body, as I’d done the year before, my heart would follow. And I didn’t think my shattered heart could survive when he betrayed me as he inevitably would—hadn’t he told me as much himself?
Is there anything you’re not good at?
Keeping promises.
I pulled back, suddenly desperate to get away from the dangerous energy sizzling between us.
“You love each other. You’re a family.” My voice trembled, betraying me. “I want
