One Night: Latin Heat: Uncovering Her Nine Month Secret / One Night With The Enemy / One Night with Morelli

“The past is past. Now we are partners, parents to our son.”

“Exactly.” I looked away. The bodyguards, apparently accustomed to being fed lunch like this by the dowager duchess, were already at the table, filling their plates and murmuring their appreciation.

Maurine suddenly reappeared in the solid-oak doorway, holding Miguel with one hand, a small card in the other. Going to the table, she snatched a card off a place setting, then replaced it with the new card. Turning back, she patted the chair, beaming at me. “You’re to sit here, dear.”

“Oh. Thank you, Maurine.”

Smiling, she looked at Miguel in her arms, and started another peekaboo game. She’d been lost in baby joy from the instant she’d picked him up in her arms, and the love appeared to be mutual. I watched, smiling, as Maurine hid her face with her hand, before revealing it so Miguel could reach out to bat her nose triumphantly, leaving them both in hopeless squeals of laughter. Alejandro watched them, too.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

His dark eyes met mine. “For coming to Spain like you promised.”

“Oh.” My cheeks flooded with shame to remember how I’d initially refused. “It’s, um, nothing.”

He turned away, watching his grandmother play with his son. “It’s everything to me.”

My blush deepened, then I sighed. “I was wrong to fight it,” I admitted.

“You? Wrong?” Alejandro shook his head. “Impossible.”

I scowled at his teasing tone. “Yes, wrong. I’m woman enough to admit it. After all, Maurine is Miguel’s family, too.” I looked around the huge banqueting hall, filled with antiques that seemed hundreds of years old. I had to crane my head back to see the wood-timbered ceiling, with its faded paintings of the ducal coat of arms. “And this is his legacy,” I said softly. “This will all belong to him someday....”

Alejandro was no longer smiling.

“Yes,” he said. “It will.”

For some reason I didn’t understand, the lightness of the mood had fled. I frowned.

He abruptly held out his arm. “Let’s have lunch, shall we?”

Even through his long-sleeved shirt, I could feel the warmth of his arm. The strength of it. From the end of the long table, I saw the bodyguards looking at us, saw one of them nudge the other with a sly grin. To outward appearance, we must have looked like goofy-in-love newlyweds.

Alejandro pulled out the chair Maurine had chosen for me, waited, then after I sat down, he pushed it in and sat beside me.

Looking down at the table, I saw three different plates of different sizes stacked on top of each other in alternating colors. At the top of the place setting, there was a homemade paper flower of red-and-purple tissue paper, very similar to the paper flowers my mother had made for me when I was young. Beside it was a card that held a small handwritten name, with elegant black-ink calligraphy.

The Duchess of Alzacar

my darling new granddaughter

Looking at it, a lump rose in my throat. “Look what she wrote.”

Alejandro looked at the card, and smiled. “Yes.”

“She’s already accepted me in the family. Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He made me a plate with a little of everything, and poured me a glass of sparkling water, then red wine.

“Wine for lunch?” I said doubtfully.

“It’s from my vineyard by the coast. You should try it.”

“All right,” I sighed. I took a sip, then said in amazement, “It’s delicious.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Is there anything you’re not good at?” I said a little sulkily. He smiled.

Then the smile fled from his handsome face. His dark eyes turned hollow, even bleak.

“Keeping promises,” he said.

The blow was so sudden and unexpected that it felt like an anvil hitting the softest part of my belly. The moment I’d let my defenses down, he’d spoken with such unprovoked cruelty it took my breath away. Reminding me.

Did you lie to me in the past? Or will you lie to me in the future?

Take your pick.

“Oh,” I breathed, dropping my fork with a clang against the twenty-four-karat-gold-rimmed china plate.

He’d done me a favor reminding me, I told myself savagely. I couldn’t start believing the pretense. I couldn’t start thinking we were actually a family. That we were actually in love. I couldn’t surrender!

And yet...

“Are you enjoying yourself, dear?” I looked up to see Maurine smiling down at me from the other side of the table, with chubby Miguel still smiling in her arms. “I hope you see something you like!”

“I do,” I replied automatically, then realized to my horror that the exact moment I’d spoken the words I’d been looking at Alejandro. Quickly, I looked down at my plate. “What’s this?” I asked, looking at one of the dishes, some kind of meat with leeks and carrots.

“Pato a la Sevillana, a specialty of the area. Slow-cooked duck roasted in sherry and vegetables.”

I took a bite. It was delicious. “And this?”

“Rabo de toro. Another classic dish of Andalucía. Vegetables, slowly braised with sherry and bay leaf.”

Bull’s tail? I tasted it. Not bad. I tried the fresh papayas and mangoes, the albóndigas, the fried-potato-and-ham croquetas. I smiled. “Delicioso!”

“Muy bien,” Maurine sighed 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.