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I get it. This dinner is a setup. They feel bad for my lonely heart, and they want to set me up with a nice, handsome man. I don’t even have the energy to be angry with them. A part of me is curious to see if this mythic Alejandro can stir something within me that other men in Spain have yet to evoke. I’ve seen enough men to write a Dr. Suess book about it: tall men, short men, rich men, poor men…clergymen, firemen, postmen, doormen. None of them have made me feel even a sliver of what I still feel for James.
I curse, angry that I’m still playing this game with myself. James isn’t in Spain. He’s in Austin, and likely married now. My stomach twists at the thought of Lacy. It’d be easy to figure out if they were together. Ellie asks periodically if I want an update about him, and I always, always turn her down. It’s a slippery slope, and we both agreed early on that it was best if she stopped telling me what she knows about him.
So far, it’s proven successful, because if I don’t know whether or not he’s married, I don’t have to come to grips with the fact that I’m just as hopelessly lovesick over him as I was when I first left.
I take a deep breath and open the door.
Alejandro stands on the doorstep with a bottle of cava in one hand and flowers in the other. They’re sunflowers wrapped in butcher paper with a thin ribbon tied around the middle. When he sees me standing on the doorway, his brows rise in shock. Apparently, I’m not the only one who’s being set up.
In the two seconds I stand there before I greet him, I come to the conclusion that he is indeed the most handsome man I’ve seen since arriving in this country. He’s everything you’d want in a Latin lover: thick hair; dark, smoldering eyes; olive skin; a strong, muscular frame; and a smile that widens as he watches me assess him. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and nice-fitting jeans with boots that look entirely too stylish for most men to pull off. He’s a danger to all womankind.
I reach out my hand in a friendly greeting. “Hi, I’m Brooke,” I say in Spanish.
He accepts my handshake with a firm grip and I wait for the butterflies to kick in. “I’m Alejandro, but my friends call me Alex.”
“Ah, you speak English?”
He nods and releases my hand. “I do, but my accent could use some work.”
It’s true. He speaks well, but it’s clear it’s not his native tongue. As I lead him through the entry and toward the kitchen, he explains that he’s spoken the language for a few years, but he doesn’t have many people he can practice with here in Spain. Once we join the others, Diego rushes forward to accept the flowers and wine, promising him I am the perfect person for the job.
“She’s been helping our girls keep up with their English and has even started to teach them French!”
As proof, Luciana, who is sitting at the table, groaning in protest at having to wait before starting appetizers, says, “J’ai tellement faim. Ils m’affament ici.”
Translation: I’m so hungry. They starve me here.
I smile innocently and turn to the adults. “She means to say she’s pleased to meet you.”
Alejandro smiles appreciatively at Luciana, and then Nicolás ushers us all to the table. A large glass of wine is placed in my hand just before I’m pushed into the chair beside Alejandro. I feel like a marionette.
I shoot him a death stare over my shoulder, but he’s oblivious, too focused on his crusade to make Alejandro fall in love with me. As they start doling out appetizers, I’m forced to sit as Nicolás performs the role of a mother in the 1800s trying to marry off her eldest daughter.
“Did you know, Alejandro, that our Brooke is an excellent chef? She just recently took a class with the girls.”
I smile sheepishly. “Chef is a strong word.”
Diego leans forward. “And she’s very accomplished in languages. She speaks English, Spanish, and French fluently.”
Alejandro nods at me, impressed.
“Not to mention,” Nicolás adds impatiently, “she’s an angel with our girls. I mean, they’re impossible to handle on a good day—”
“HEY!” Luciana cuts in.
“But Brooke quells their worst tantrums with great aplomb.”
Alejandro’s smile fades gently. “Aplomb?”
Nicolás waves away the language barrier. “Oh, it just means she’s calm in tough situations.”
“Oh.” Alejandro’s gaze cuts to me as he nods and smiles tightly. “Okay.”
They take his lackluster response to mean they haven’t played up my attributes enough, so for another 10 minutes, I sit in silence as they continue to regale Alejandro with all of my talents and skills. Apparently I am “an avid reader”, “a world traveler”, and “a laundry expert”, and when that’s still not enough to convince him, they turn to a cheap tactic: outright talking about my looks.
