by Jennie Lucas
But when the heat between us was satisfied, coldness was all that was left. Both of us still naked, he held me against him on the bed. His voice was low.
“Why do you not look at me like you used to? What has changed? What do you—know?”
I looked at him. His face shimmered through my tears.
“Edward came to see me last week. At Rohares.”
“What!” he exploded, sitting up.
I held his hand. “I didn’t ask him to come. He snuck in. I only spoke with him for a moment. He wanted me to run away with him. When I refused, he told me...you had a woman here. In Granada. That you visited her. That you bought her a tavern. That you even sing to her....”
For a long moment, we stared at each other in the slanted bars of sunlight coming through the window blinds. I could almost hear the pounding of my heart.
Then Alejandro’s lip slowly curled.
“I will kill him,” he said, and with cold menace, started to rise from the bed.
“No!” Grabbing his arm, I looked up at him pleadingly. “It’s not about Edward anymore. It’s about us. You and me.” I swallowed, blinking fast as I whispered, “Do you love her?”
He looked down at me.
“Yes,” he said dully.
My lips parted in a silent, heartsick gasp. Numbly, I let him go.
“So that is your big secret. The thing I expected from the beginning.” I tried to laugh, wiping my eyes. “How very boring.”
“It’s not like that.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he scowled at me. “You think so little of my loyalty, even after all the time we’ve spent together?”
“But you said you love her,” I whispered. “You’ve never said that to me. Not once.”
I heard his intake of breath. “It’s not like that,” he repeated, setting his jaw. “Theresa is not my mistress.”
“Then what?” I choked out. “What secret could you possibly be keeping, that would hurt me worse than that?”
“I protect the people I love. At any cost.” His voice was bleak. I looked at him sharply, and saw the vulnerability in his eyes. The yearning. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “How I wish I could tell you everything.”
Our eyes locked. Held. I opened my lips to plead—
He shook his head and rose to his feet. The yearning in his expression shuttered. His face returned to the handsome mask I knew so well—powerful, ruthless and cold.
“Come,” he said. “Our time is short.”
After a silent luncheon on the lovely terrace of the parador, we walked through the gardens of the Alhambra, with their flowers and trees and wide lush pools. As beautiful and varied and wide as they were, they didn’t hold a candle to the gardens of Rohares, in my opinion. Though perhaps I was biased. Because the castle had become my home.
Alejandro held my hand tightly as we walked. I didn’t even try to resist. The truth was I wanted the comfort of his hand. It felt warm and strong in mine. Was it wrong of me to still want to believe? To trust him?
Yes. I was a fool. Any of the women’s magazines would have called me an idiot for not already being on my way to a lawyer’s office. And yet...
We met a guide who took us on a private tour. We walked through the graceful arcades of the Alhambra complex, through the lush terraces with their views of Granada in the valley below, past the blue pools hedged by myrtle, reflecting the wide blue sky. But in spite of the fact that I’d dreamed of visiting the Alhambra all my life, I barely noticed the beauty. As we walked through cavernous rooms, decorated with tile and geometric patterns and arabesques of Arabic calligraphy in plaster, beneath jaw-dropping ceilings soaring high above, of the sun and stars, my mind was scrambling, trying to put the clues together.
Why would Alejandro need to protect Maurine and Miguel? What could the secret be?
We had our picture taken together in the famous stone Court of the Lions, from the fourteenth century.
“No,” the guide laughed. “You are newlyweds. Stand closer.”
And so Alejandro put his arm around me. I looked up at his face, and again, I saw the yearning in his eyes. The yearning that matched my own.
“¡Perfecto! Now you look like lovers!”
As we left the Alhambra, I turned back to look at it one last time. It had been neglected over the years, vandalized, nearly blown up by Napoleon’s soldiers. But after all that, it stood tall and proud over Granada. Unbowed. Unbroken. And so beautiful now. So loved.
“We don’t need to see any more,” I whispered over the ache in my throat.
“You’re here. See it all.” Silently, Alejandro drove us down the mountain to the city. We visited the Capilla Real, the royal chapel, getting special permission for a private tour that took us immediately past the long line of tourists outside, past the gypsies begging on the streets and musicians busking along the crowded edges.
In the dark, quiet interior of the enormous stone chapel, I saw the tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella, who together had practically ruled the medieval world in their day, even before they’d sent Columbus in ships to the New World. Together, they’d finally ended seven hundred years of Moorish rule, laying siege to Granada and driving the last sultan, called Boabdil, from the city.
It was said that the reason he gave up without a fight was to prevent the destruction of his beloved Alhambra. And so he spent the rest of his life mocked, and in poverty, a sultan without a throne....
Alejandro came to stand beside me in the cool shadows of the royal crypt. “What are you thinking?”
I looked at him. “How loving the wrong thing—or the wrong person—can ruin your life,” I whispered.
“Sí,” he said quietly. He turned away. “Come. This place leaves me cold.”
Outside the echoes of the shadow-filled chapel, we were hit by the brilliant Spanish sunlight, the noise of tourists laughing and talking, the distant sound of music. Life.
“Enough history,” Alejandro said, shaking his head ruefully. “There’s an ice-cream shop down the street, the most famous in Granada. The American first lady visited here recently and said it was the best ice cream in all of Spain....”
But I wasn’t listening. I was too busy trying to think things through. Eating the ice-cream cone some time later as we walked, I looked at Alejandro sideways beneath my lashes. He was so handsome, so dark-haired and broad-shouldered. The man of my dreams, come to life.
What was the secret? What was it he couldn’t tell me, for fear of endangering his grandmother and his son?
We walked through the narrow streets of Granada, and I bought some chocolates and a garden ornament for Maurine, and a small stuffed toy for Miguel, plus a wooden sword and shield he wouldn’t be able to play with for at least a year.
I couldn’t stop thinking of that last sultan, Boabdil, who’d sacrificed everything, his honor, his fortune, his pride, rather than see the palace he loved blown up into ash.
What would I sacrifice for love?
What would you?
Love me? Alejandro’s words floated back to me. You do not even know me.
Maybe he’d been right. A year ago, maybe I’d just fallen for his power, his wealth, his influence. His beauty.
But now, as I looked at his face, I loved him for who he really was. The man who took care of everyone. Who was willing to sacrifice himself for those he cared about. As a father. A grandson. A neighbor. A boss.
A husband.
My heart caught in my chest. What was I missing?
Twilight was falling when Alejandro suggested we go out for dinner and drinks. “A...friend of mine owns a restaurant in the Albaicín district.”
I looked at him sharply. He nodded.
“Yes,” he said quietly, watching me in the deepening dusk. “I want you to meet her.”
I w
as shaking when we walked up the cobblestoned alleys of the Albaicín, the old Moorish quarter on the hillside beneath the Alhambra. We reached a prosperous-looking tavern, filled with people and music. I froze.
“Come on,” Alejandro said gently. “It’ll be all right.” Pulling me inside, he brought me through the crowds to the bar, where he was greeted eagerly by the other patrons.
“Are you going to play tonight, señor?”
With a slight smile, he shook his head. “Where is Theresa?”
The man motioned toward the end of the bar with his glass of sangria. With a quick nod, Alejandro pulled me down toward a dark-haired woman.
“Theresa,” he said, kissing her on each cheek.
“Alejandro,” she exclaimed, returning the embrace. “I didn’t expect you so soon!”
I stared at the woman. She wasn’t what I’d expected. She had dark eyes and a round, friendly face, and she seemed at least ten years older than Alejandro. She smiled as she turned to me. “And this must be your wife.” A big smile lit up her face. “Your Lena?”
My lips parted. His Lena?
“Sí.” Alejandro put his arm around me. “My Lena.”
“I’m so happy to meet you at last!” she said with clear delight. “I told him he had to bring you here. Wait until you hear him play!”
“Play?” I echoed, looking at him.
He blushed. I swear he did. “Yes. I play a little guitar sometimes. No one cares I’m a duke here. They only care how well I play the guitar....”
“Are you that good?”
“Let him show you.” Theresa gave me a wink. “Drink orders always go up thirty percent when you sing, Alejandro.” She turned to me with a smile. “Go grab a table, if you can find one.... And what will you have?”
“Bourbon,” he said. “Rocks.”
“Right. Lena?”
“Something light...sangria?”
She chuckled. “Light?”
“Isn’t it mostly juice with a bit of red wine?”
She gave a hearty guffaw and glanced at Alejandro affectionately. “Innocent little thing, isn’t she?”
“Very,” he said quietly.
She sighed, looking back at me, she suggested, “I’ll make you a tinto de verano. Dash of wine, sugar and a little lime with sparkling water. Trust me. It won’t go to your head.”
She was right. The delicious concoction was a mixture of tart and sweet and bubbles, with lemon and limes floating beside the ice. I had one glass, then another, then a third, then looked down at my empty plate and realized I’d ordered and eaten a whole plate of dinner without paying the slightest attention.
“What time is it?” My head was swimming. I put my hands to my temples. “She said this drink wouldn’t go to my head,” I said accusingly.
Alejandro gave a low laugh. “It wouldn’t, but you had four of them.”
“Four?” I looked with amazement at my empty glass. “They just taste so light. The most delicious wine cooler ever invented.”
“You should stop.”
I looked at him brazenly. “You should tell me who you really are.”
Time suddenly stood still.
“Don’t you know?” he said hoarsely. “Haven’t you guessed?”
“Don’t tell me you’re already having your first fight.” Theresa was holding out a guitar. “Fix it, pequeño. Play.”
“Sí!” the people around us clamored, pounding on their tables. “Play!”
Alejandro shook his head. “We’re leaving.”
But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to see what everyone else apparently already knew. The other side of my husband. The one he’d never let me see. “Will you play?” I whispered. “For me?”
He whirled to look at me. Then he gave a slow nod. “For you, mi amor.” He slowly took the guitar in his hand, and there was a burst of cheers and applause. “This is just for you.”
Walking across the crowded tavern, past all the tables to the tiny stage, Alejandro sat on a stool. With his guitar in his lap, he said simply into the microphone, “This is for my bride. The mother of my child.” He looked at me. “The woman I love.”
My lips parted in a silent gasp.
Could he have said...
Surely he couldn’t have said...
How strong were those tinto de verano drinks anyway?
Exhaling, Alejandro strummed his guitar, and in a low, husky voice began to sing. It sounded very old, and Spanish. He was a good musician, I thought in amazement, really good, far better than any tycoon-slash-duke had a right to be. The music was so heartbreaking and pure that at first, I didn’t bother to listen to the words.
Then I did.
Alejandro stared at me from across the room, and sang about a young peasant boy who’d dared to put on the clothes of a prince. He’d gone through life as an imposter, until he died heartbroken, wishing he could see, just one last time, the peasant girl he’d left behind.
Love me? My whole body flashed hot, then cold as his words took on new significance. You do not even know me.
I dimly heard the whispers hissing through the room. “That’s the Duke of Alzacar—and she must be his new wife—they’re obviously in love....” But I just listened to the music, and suddenly, it all fell into place.
Maurine’s shaky words. If not for him, I never would have survived the aftermath of that car crash, when I lost my whole family.... I can still see him in the hospital, his little injured face covered with bandages, his eyes so bright.... He was worried about me, not himself. “It’ll be all right, Abuela,” he told me. “I’m your family now.”
Pilar’s voice. I know it was always your desire to have a larger family, growing up so lonely, up in that huge castle, with your older sister off working in Granada. And your mother working night and day, when she wasn’t distracted by the duke....
I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if I was choking. The walls of the tavern were pressing in. Rising unsteadily to my feet, I pushed through the tables and headed for the door. I saw Theresa’s surprised face as I flung it open and headed outside.
In the quiet night, in the empty, cobblestoned alley, I fell back against the rough stone wall and looked up at the moonlight, shaking. I jumped when I heard the slam of the door behind me.
“So now you understand,” Alejandro said quietly behind me.
“You’re not the duke at all,” I choked out, hardly able to believe it even as I said it. “The real Alejandro died in that crash, didn’t he? Along with his parents. And your mother—the housekeeper.”
“I had to do it.” The only sign of emotion was the slight tightening of his jaw, the low tone of his voice. “Maurine had lost everything. And I loved her. Growing up in the castle, she’d always treated me like a grandson. And on that terrible day, the day of the crash, she lost everyone. When she came to see me at the hospital, she seemed to have aged ten years. She was so alone. I couldn’t leave her to die in the dilapidated castle, with no one to take care of her....” Swallowing, he looked down at the cobblestoned street. Moonlight left a trail of silver on his dark silhouette as he said quietly, “So I told Maurine I would be her family from now on. Her grandson.”
“How is it possible no one knew?”
“Alejandro and I looked very much alike. We were the same age, same build. And after the accident, my face was injured. We used that to explain the difference. Not that anyone asked. People had long since stopped coming to the castle. The duke and his family had chased most of the tenants away by harassing them over rents. Even their old society friends shunned them, since they were always asking to borrow money. Alejandro’s parents felt ashamed of how far they’d fallen. Just not ashamed enough to work for something better.” He looked up. “My mother was the only servant left, and she hadn’t been paid in a year.” Ta
king a deep breath, he said simply, “When Abuela claimed I was her grandson, and pawned the last of her jewelry to pay the transfer-of-title fees, no one questioned it.”
“But a few people knew.”
He nodded. “Pilar, our governess.” He glanced at the restaurant door. “My older sister. Theresa.”
My lips parted. “Your sister?”
“Half sister. She’s eight years older. She was working in Granada when the accident happened. She rushed to the hospital as soon as she heard, but Abuela convinced her to keep the secret. They have all kept it. Because they love me. And they love Abuela.” He looked away. “As I grew older, it felt wrong, stealing Alejandro’s title and name. I promised myself that I would never marry, never have a child. The family line, and the family lie, would end with me. I convinced myself that was redemption.”
I stared at him, tears now falling down my cheeks in the moonlight. “That was why you said you’re no good at keeping promises,” I whispered. “Because you had a child. And then you married me. I thought...” I shook my head. “I thought you meant you could never keep your promises of fidelity....”
“That I would cheat on you?” he said incredulously. He came closer, his face blazing with emotion as he reached out to cup my cheek. “From the moment we met, you’ve been the only woman I wanted. Even for the year we were apart—there was no one else for me. No one.”
“But...when I told you I loved you...”
He gave a low, humorless laugh. He shook his head. “You really don’t understand, do you? When I promised myself I’d never marry or have a child, I made sure I would keep that promise by only allowing myself to date women like Claudie...cold, sophisticated, heartless women I’d never be tempted to love. You were different. You were the woman I could not resist,” he said softly. “You made me break every promise I’d made to myself. I wanted to tell you everything. Where you were concerned, I had no self-control.”
I stared up at him, my lips parted.
“When I heard you were pregnant with my child, I was desperate to find you. But once I did, and we were wed, I suddenly knew I’d never be able to tell you the truth. At first, because I was afraid you’d use the information to blackmail me, and try to take my son away. Then because I owed it to Miguel. You were so proud our son would someday be a duke....”