“Santa Maria, no. But I have a… wife.” He cowered.
“A what, now?”
He inched back. “A wife. Two wives, actually.”
Those were, indeed, words. There was no room reserved for this concept in her mind hotel. Her eyes burned. She’d forgotten how to blink.
Fernando uncapped the schnapps, then wafted it beneath her nose. “Anyone home?”
She snapped back to attention. “When? Who?”
“In Spain. I was nineteen. As you recall, I entered—”
“Yes, my little mad scientist. You started university in Granada at sixteen and completed your graduate biochemistry degree in three years,with honors,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Fernando batted his lashes.
“What’s it got to do with the girl?” she said.
He toyed with his hat, turning it in his hands. “Classes bored me, I was desperate to escape Spain for somewhere I could date men without village gossips finding out. I read about this art program in Italy, but tuition was obscene.”
“Was this the floral-artistry thing?” she asked.
“No, that was later. It didn’t matter what it was, my parents wanted me to become a doctor and wouldn’t pay for anything else. Then I met Elena at a university fundraiser. She was a dancer and an heiress to a Greek fortune.”
“A dancer.Interesting,” said Sterling, her voice higher than normal. “She sounds… pretty.”
“Don’t be jealous.”
“I’m notjealous,” she said, distracted, pouring schnapps until it spilled over the rim of her glass.
He lifted the bottleneck to stop it. “She’s got nothing on you.”
Sterling flipped her hair back, “I said she sounded pretty, not prettier than me.”
“Of course. Well, Elena’s family were religious, richer than God, and had gay-dar as terrible as their daughter’s. A future doctor makes worthy son-in-law material, I guess? I was embarrassed about my family from a small village, so I lied that they were dead. Before long, her father offered me the family ring to propose with. It seemed like a way out. But while Elena was longing for me, I was crushing on her friend, a violinist name Antonio.”
“Ah, I remember, this was when you decided to be a luthier,” she said.
“No, that was earlier.”
She frowned, squinting as she searched her memory. “The painting course in Florence?”
“Bingo. It was Antonio’s plan. We’d run off to Italy, he’d playmusic, I’d paint. But we needed funds to get there, which Elena had. I went through with the wedding but escaped after the ceremony before we, you know…” he said.
“Okay,thatmakes sense,” she said.
“In the honeymoon suite, I slipped something into her champagne, and she fell asleep. Antonio and I took off with her grandma’s ring, the wedding presents, even her vintage lace veil. We fled to Italy and sold everything. Except the veil.”
“Honeybutt. Howcouldyou?” she said.
“It was exquisite handmade lace, so detailed you justknewthe seamstress went blind weaving it and—”
“Not that. How could you con poor, rich innocent Elena?The dancer.”
He sulked. “Connedsounds so harsh.”
“What should I say? Deceived? Defrauded? Hornswoggled?”
