and cream puffs.
Gabriel turned away, noticing the side door that led out to the patio and garden pavilion. Hopefully he could make it out there before someone noticed.
Glancing around quickly, he spied his father with his back to him. His sister was chatting with a group of ladies in the corner. This was his chance. He moved toward the door and surged through it as fast as he could.
Gabriel was immediately rewarded with the oppressive wave of heat that July in Miami was known for. The humid blast hit him like a tsunami after the air-conditioned comfort of the ballroom, but he didn’t care. He moved away from the door and out into the dark recesses of the patio.
There were some tables and chairs set up outside in case guests wanted to come out. They were draped with linens and topped with centerpieces of candles and roses. All the seats were empty. Gabriel was certain none of the ladies were interested in getting overheated in their fancy clothes with their meticulously styled hair and makeup.
Glancing over at the far end of the semicircular patio, he spied someone looking out into the gardens. The figure was tall, but slender, with the moonlight casting a silver silhouette that highlighted the bare shoulders and silk-hugging curves. She turned her head to watch a bird fly through the trees and he was rewarded with a glimpse of the cheekbones that had made her famous.
Serafia.
The realization sent a hot spike of need down his spine and the blood sped through his veins as his heart beat double-time. Serafia Espina was his childhood crush and the fantasy woman of every red-blooded man who had ever achieved puberty. Eight years ago, Serafia had been one of the biggest supermodels in the industry. Like all the greats, she’d been known by only her first name, strutting down catwalks in Paris, New York and Milan wearing all the finest designers’ clothes.
And she’d looked damn good in them, too.
Gabriel didn’t know much about what had happened, but for health reasons, Serafia had suddenly given up modeling and started her own business of some kind. But judging by the way that red dress clung to her curves, the years hadn’t dulled her appeal. She could walk the catwalk right now and not miss a beat.
He hadn’t spoken to Serafia in years. When his family was overthrown by the Tantaberras, they had fled to the United States and the Espinas moved to Switzerland. In the 1980s, they’d moved to Spain and their families renewed their friendship. When Gabriel and Serafia were children, their families vacationed together on the Spanish Riviera. Back then, he’d been a shy, quiet little boy of ten or eleven and she was the beautiful, unobtainable older woman. She was sixteen and he was invisible.
This was a fortunate encounter. They weren’t children anymore and as the future king of their home country, he was anything but invisible. As Mel Brooks famously said, “It’s good to be the king.”
Serafia felt the familiar, niggling sensation of someone’s eyes on her. It was something she’d become keenly attuned to working in the modeling business. Like a sixth sense, she could feel a gaze like a touch raking over her skin. Judging. Critiquing.
She turned to look behind her and found the man of the evening standing a few feet away. Gabriel had certainly grown up a lot since she saw him last. He was looking at her the way most men did—with unmasked desire. She supposed she should be flattered to catch the eye of the future king, but he was in his twenties, just a baby. He didn’t need to get involved with an older, has-been model with enough baggage to pack for a long vacation.
“Your Majesty,” she replied with a polite bow of her head.
Gabriel narrowed his gaze at her. “Are you being sarcastic?” he asked.
Serafia’s mouth dropped open with surprise, her response momentarily stolen. That wasn’t what she was expecting him to say. “Not at all. Did it come out that way? If it did, I sincerely apologize.”
Gabriel shook his head dismissively and walked toward her. He didn’t look like any king she’d ever seen before. He exuded a combination of beauty and danger, like a great white shark, gliding gracefully across the stone patio in a tailored black suit and dress shirt. His tie was bloodred and his gaze was fixed on her as if she were prey.
She felt her chest tighten as he came closer and she breathed in the scent of his cologne mingling with the warm smell of the garden’s exotic flowers. Her fight-or-flight instincts were at the ready, even as she felt herself get drawn closer to him.
He didn’t pounce. Instead he leaned down, rested his elbows on the concrete railing and looked out into the dark recesses of the tropical foliage. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he said. “I still haven’t quite adjusted to the idea of all this royalty nonsense.”
Royalty nonsense. Wow. Serafia’s libido was doused with cold water at his thoughtless words. That wasn’t exactly what the people of Alma wanted to hear from their new king. After the collapse of the dictatorship, restoring the monarchy seemed like the best way to stabilize the country. The wealthy Alma elite would get a little more than they bargained for with Gabriel Montoro wearing the crown. He didn’t really seem to care about Alma or the monarchy. He hadn’t grown up there, but neither had she. Her parents had raised her to value her heritage and her homeland, regardless.
Perhaps it was just his youth. Serafia knew how hard it was to have the spotlight on you at such a young age. She’d been discovered by a modeling agency when she was only sixteen. Whisked away from her family, she was making six figures a year when most teenagers were just getting their driver’s licenses. By the time she was old enough to drink, she was a household name. The pressure was suffocating, pushing her to her personal limits and very nearly destroying her. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be the ruler of a country and have over a million people depending on her.
“I think you’ll get used to it pretty quickly,” she said, leaning her hip against the stone railing. She picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. “All that power will go to your head in no time.”
Gabriel’s bitter laugh was unexpected. “I doubt that. While I may be king, my family will ensure that I’m not an embarrassment to them.”
“I thought a king can do what he likes.”
“If that was true, my father or my brother would still be in line for the crown. In the end, even a king has a mama to answer to.” Gabriel looked at her with a charming smile, running his fingers through his too-long light brown hair.
It was shaggy and unkempt, a style popular with men his age, but decidedly unkingly. The moonlight highlighted the streaks of blond that he’d probably earned on the beach. She couldn’t tell here in the dark, but from the pictures she’d seen of him in the papers and online, he had the tanned skin to match. Even in his immaculate and well-tailored suit, he looked more like a famous soccer player than a king.
“And I know your mama,” she noted. Señora Adela was a beautiful and fierce woman who lived and loved with passion. She’d also been one to give the lecture of a lifetime while she pulled you down the hallway by your ear. “I’d behave if I were you.”
“I’ll try. So, how have you been?” he asked, shifting the conversation away from his situation. “I haven’t seen you since you became a famous supermodel and forgot about all of us little people.”
Serafia smiled, looking for the right answer.
