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Maggie had seen her sisters eat, so she knew they did, but they were still growing and had the thin, leggy figures designers loved. When their shapes filled out in a few years, they’d be out of work. Cirilda was smiling, so clearly she wasn’t opposed to exploiting the girls while they could. Maggie leaned close to Santos. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“No, but Marina will use it for her own publicity and encourage it.”
After a brief conversation with their mother, the twins ran from the den, startled their aunt with a hug and danced around Maggie and Santos. “We’re going to be famous!”
Perry went over to the banister and struck a pose. “We’ll be doing print ads first. We could become as famous as Ana Santillan!”
Maggie didn’t dare look at Santos. “I hope you’re not forgetting about school.”
Connie’s shoulders slumped. “How can you think about school when we’ll be making millions? We can go to school when we’re old. Mother will come to get us this afternoon. We have to pack.” They rushed up the stairs, laughing and tickling each other.
“First, we must tell your father,” Cirilda reminded them and followed them up the stairs.
“What do you suppose he’ll say?” Maggie asked her brother.
He shrugged. “He avoids arguments, especially now, so he’ll say he’s proud of them and let them go with Marina. They expected to stay only a few days anyway. He’ll have too much excitement for today with the twins jumping around his bed, so I’ll talk to him tomorrow about taking you with me to the ranch. Marina is never on time and probably won’t be here for hours. I have some errands to run. Come with me, and you can see more of Barcelona.”
“Is there somewhere I could buy a journal and some postcards?”
“I’ll find one.”
Maggie enjoyed his company and was relieved she wouldn’t have to spend the day alone. She’d expected the twins to still be there when they returned, but the girls were already gone. She was sorry she’d had no chance to tell them good-bye or meet Marina. “I see what you mean, Santos; people just appear and disappear here, as though it were a stage for a play.”
He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “The ranch is our real home. You’ll see. I won’t be home tonight, but if you go out again with Mondragon…”
“I know. I’ll be careful.” Just how careful, she couldn’t promise. She checked her watch. Craig would be home now and probably not yet asleep. She took her cell phone out on the beach and called.
“Hello,” he murmured through a muffled yawn.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Maggie? Is that you? Where are you?”
She described her father’s home as an astonishing homage to Antonio Gaudí’s work. “You were right. My father sent for me because he’s ill. I’ll tell you about everyone I’ve met when I come home.”
“I didn’t think you were still speaking to me.”
“You’re the one who walked out.”
“True, which was probably a mistake.”
Maggie doubted it. “I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Sunday, unless I run off with a handsome matador.”
“What?”
“Good-bye.” He’d think she was kidding, but even in that brief exchange, she knew all she’d ever want from him was the friendship they’d already shared. Rafael, however, sparked far more than friendly interest. She wasn’t the type to fall prey to her own emotions, and it wasn’t that she couldn’t tell him no. She just might not want to. That was what frightened her.
She found a note from the twins on her bed. They’d left their home address and cell phone numbers so she could call them. They promised to practice their dancing and hoped she’d look for them in all the fashion magazines. She put the note in the leather-bound journal she’d bought, but now that she had it in her hand, she couldn’t decide how to record her trip. She didn’t want a dry list of places she’d visited, but while the twins were easy to describe, her comments on her grandmother and aunt wouldn’t be complimentary. Her father deserved thoughtful entries, and Santos, whom she liked better each day, did too.
She took a pen and walked down the beach to find a place to sit and make notes only she would read, but her thoughts turned quickly to Rafael. Even if he weren’t a full matador de toros, she wondered if there had been posters for his fights in Mexico. If strangers recognized him on the beach, there probably had been.
“Why can’t I forget the man?” she moaned. Craig had been wrong, and she wasn’t missing any important parts of herself. She simply hadn’t been the right woman for him. She made a few notes of her initial impressions of her newfound family and wrote Rafael’s name in the back of her journal to make him a separate subject in himself. She let the breeze whip her hair and wished she had something pretty to wear that night. The muted tones she wore for school just wouldn’t do here.
Rafael brought her a small present tied with a big bow. “You don’t have to buy me gifts,” she exclaimed.
