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Maggie pulled Libby into an exuberant hug. “It’s so good to see you. This is Rafael and my brother Santos.”
Rafael greeted her warmly. “Welcome to Spain. I’m so happy to meet you.”
He had a marvelous deep voice, and when he smiled, Libby understood why her big sister had fallen for him. Having a crush on a man and marrying him were two entirely different things, however.
She stared up at the chauffeur. Maggie didn’t resemble the rest of the fair-haired blue-eyed Gunderson family, but the dark-haired, dark-eyed Santos was clearly her kin. He was a handsome man with a charming grin, but his clothing choice struck her as odd. “I thought you were also a matador. Do you have to work part-time as a chauffeur to make ends meet?”
Santos laughed, grasped her shoulder and leaned close to whisper in her ear, “No, I merely wanted to impress you.”
His touch sent a sizzling jolt clear through her. While his warm breath tickled her ear, his seductive accent made her wish he’d say something more. She took a deep breath, and his spicy cologne wrapped her in a dizzying hint of mystery. For a moment, she was so lost in him she completely forgot why she’d come to Barcelona. Dismayed, she took a quick step back, and he did the same.
She played half a dozen sports and was fast on her feet, but she didn’t always catch jokes made at her expense. “Why would I be impressed by a chauffeur?”
“It’s not the uniform,” Santos explained, his voice still low, intimate. “Wait until you see my car.”
Libby didn’t care if he rode a bicycle when he’d look so damn good doing it. Embarrassed, she stood up straighter, got a hold of herself and looked to her sister. “What do you have, a stretch Hummer?”
“No, but I won’t even try to describe it,” Maggie replied. “Is that all the luggage you brought?”
“You’re in such a rush to get married, I doubted I’d be staying long,” Libby replied.
“I’m the one who’s in a rush,” Rafael interjected. He and Santos led the way from the terminal while the girls followed.
“Weddings shouldn’t be hurried,” Libby confided, “unless they have to be.”
“We don’t have to get married,” Maggie stressed. “But there’s no reason to wait either. I’m so glad you could come early.”
“I wanted to help, and this might be my only chance to see Barcelona.” She waited with Rafael and her sister while Santos brought up the car, but she’d never expected such an impressive vintage sedan. Long, low and black, the vehicle glowed with a high polish and the chrome trim sparkled. A graceful crane caught in flight ornamented the hood. The car was such a spectacular piece of mobile sculpture she could only gape.
Santos got out to open the roomy trunk and loaded her bag. “It’s a 1934 Hispano-Suiza type 68 saloon that belonged to our grandfather, Augustin. We have our own mechanic who takes care of it, and it’s well worth the expense.”
The interior leather upholstery was a buttery black. Libby slid into the roomy backseat with Maggie, while Rafael sat up front with Santos. “Are the Aragons rich?” she mouthed.
Maggie nodded. “It ta
kes some getting used to, but the family has invested wisely for several generations. They don’t do anything just for show, except for owning this extraordinary car.”
Not knowing what to expect next, Libby gazed out the window as they flew by the Mediterranean coast. The Hispano-Suiza raced along with a deep, throbbing hum. People driving by stared and waved, and Santos waved back. He was apparently well known in Spain, and his car was simply magical. She had the unsettling feeling she’d slid into a life unlike anything she’d known in Minnesota.
Santos caught Libby’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “You should attend a bullfight while you’re here.”
Wisps of fair hair had escaped her long braid, and she blew them out of her eyes. “Yes, I would like to see one.”
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.
“Blue.”
“Good, I’ll wear a blue suit of lights for you.”
Rafael turned to smile at Maggie, and Libby saw the teasing sparkle in his eyes. Clearly he adored Maggie, and that complicated matters, but she still thought she could convince her sister to show more sense. As for herself, she preferred to look out at the sea rather than the enticing way Santos’s dark hair curled over his collar.
The two-story beach house had a red-tile roof and the sensuous curves of a nautilus shell. Libby recognized the architect immediately. “Is this a Gaudí?”
Santos helped her from the car. “No, but it’s the closest thing to it. I doubt there’s a right angle anywhere, but you’ll get used to it. Don’t let Mrs. Lopez frighten you. She’s scary, but she’s been the housekeeper here too long to let go.” He walked around the back of the car to pull out her luggage.
He took off his hat, wiped his forehead on his sleeve and flipped his hair into place. Both he and Rafael had longer hair than Libby was used to seeing, but they were European men, and she couldn’t imagine them with buzz cuts.
“How long have you been fighting bulls?” she asked
