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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.” Taking 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....”
