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“What’s Mondragon wearing?” Santos asked.
“Black.” Maggie replied, grateful she wouldn’t have to see him wearing it. “I won’t be going on Sunday. I’ll stay here with Father.”
Carmen laid her fork across her plate. “When Santos is featured, we all go, without fail.”
“I’m not going on Sunday,” Maggie repeated. “The mere thought of a bullfight is too much for me. I wouldn’t be able to reach my seat without fainting.”
“And yet you sleep with Gypsies.” Carmen s
hook her head in dismay and left the table. Cirilda waited a moment, perhaps contemplating an equally rude remark, but apparently thinking better of it, she followed her mother from the room.
Santos finished his wine. “We can’t let this be the end of the evening. Do you want to go to the Caves? We can slip in a side door and remain in the shadows where no one will see us.”
“Do I have to dance?” Fox asked.
“Not unless you want to,” Santos assured him. “Please say you’ll go, Maggie.”
“I’d be happy to go anywhere tonight, but are you sure we can stay out of the tabloids?”
“The tourists won’t know us, remember. Mondragon might be there.”
Maggie doubted it, and he wasn’t, but early the next morning Carmen came into her room and threw a new tabloid on her bed. “I cannot wait for you to leave this house.” She slammed the door on her way out.
Maggie sat up, shoved her hair out of her eyes and read the latest story. She and Santos were shown seated at a table at the Caves, leaning close together and laughing, which was taken as blatant evidence of their romance. Fox was a shadowy figure in the background and not mentioned. The headline read: Where’s Mondragon?
The tourists might not have recognized them, but Santos had forgotten everyone who worked at the Caves would. Someone must have used their cell phone without attracting any notice, and all the photo really proved was that she and Santos had been there. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her father’s world was so different from her own. It was also Rafael’s world, which was even more disturbing. Unfortunately, there was no way to combat the tabloid’s absurd assumptions other than to ignore them. She tossed the paper on the floor and went back to sleep.
When she got up later, she thought her father might appreciate a more colorful guest at his breakfast table and put on her new outfit. When she opened her door, Rafael was waiting down the hall. He came toward her carrying the tabloid featuring the photo from the Caves. His dark scowl only peeved her now.
“Is it impossible for you to stay at home?” he asked in a sarcastic whisper.
Maggie grabbed his hand, drew him into her bedroom and onto the balcony where the wind would catch their words. “Why should I when my grandmother regards me as a whore? Cirilda can scarcely bring herself to speak to me. Santos is a marvelous big brother and works to keep Fox and me entertained. He looked after the twins too. We didn’t expect anyone to recognize us at the Caves, but it’s a lot more fun to listen to music and watch people dance than it is to sit here alone in my room.”
Unmoved by her scolding tone, he glanced at the photo and then her clothes. “Have you even been to bed?”
She hadn’t been up long enough for the maid to clean her room and pointed to her unmade bed. “No, I just muss up the bed to make it look as though I did. And while you’re being so damn critical, I want my white lace panties back.”
Even with his deep tan, she swore he blushed. “You’re not wearing them, are you?”
“No!” he shouted. He caught himself and looked toward the door, then lowered his voice. “I wanted them for luck, but I should have asked you for them.”
“Yes, you should have. Do lace panties bring especially good fortune?”
He laughed. “They have been so far.”
“You have a trunk full of them?”
“No, I was teasing you. I only have yours.”
Growing suspicious, she rested her hands on her hips. “Did you need an article of my clothing to cast a spell?”
“I don’t know any spells.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “The only ones I ever heard about were con games played on tourists, or anyone else foolish enough to believe Gypsies’ magic actually worked. Even if I did know a hundred spells, I wouldn’t use them on you. Some men say American girls are more difficult than bulls. Now I believe it.”
She poked him in the chest. “I’m not the one who started this.” She checked her watch. “My father’s day is planned with time for rest and visitors, and if I miss the breakfast shift, I won’t be able to see him today.”
Rafael crossed the room to open the door and caught Carmen Aragon listening on the other side. She took one look at him, and steam nearly shot from her ears. “You are not to entertain men in your room!”
“I wasn’t entertained,” Rafael assured her with a straight face, which upset her all the more.
