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Ten minutes later, Maurine was giving me a speed tour of the castle, on the way to the dining hall. “The foundations of Rohares date from the times of the sultan,” she said happily. “But most of the building dates from the early seventeenth century. It was bombed in the war, then when we came back we had no money and it fell into disrepair.” She looked sad, then brightened, smiling up at her grandson. “But Alejandro made his fortune in Madrid, then restored every part of it, made Rohares better than it had ever been before! And here’s where we’ll have lunch....”
I stopped in the huge doorway of an enormous dining hall that looked as if it came from the late Renaissance, complete with soaring frescoed ceilings, suits of armor beside the ancient tapestries and a stone fireplace tall enough to fit a person inside. And at the center of the huge, gymnasium-size room, there was a long wooden dining table, large enough to seat forty or fifty people, and groaning beneath the weight of the luncheon spread, flower arrangements, and place settings carefully designed with fine china and the brightest decor.
My mouth dropped as I stared at it.
“Cold and drafty, sí?” Alejandro said smugly, grabbing a marinated green olive and piece of cheese off the platter on the table. “Just as you said.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I breathed. “And the food...”
He gave a low chuckle. “Abuela believes food is love.”
“I can see that,” I said faintly, staring up at his face.
I left because I was falling in love with you.
My knees were still weak at what he’d said in the car. It was so far from everything I’d ever imagined, I couldn’t believe I’d heard him right. “Alejandro...”
“Abuela can be bossy about it, but she loves nothing more than taking care of people, along with her garden and home.” He grinned, shaking his head ruefully. “She now has an unlimited budget, a clear schedule—now she’s given up her charity work—and infinite time. When it comes to the domestic arts, she is unstoppable.”
“Amazing.” I looked at him hesitantly. “But Alejandro...”
“Yes?”
“Did you mean what you said?”
His dark eyes met mine. He knew what I was talking about. “Don’t be afraid. As you said—much has changed in this past year.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, but at that, I exhaled, like air fizzing out of a tire. “You’re right,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Everything is different now.”
“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....”
