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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 was 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?”
