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Rafael checked the rearview mirror before changing lanes to stay with Manuel. “He admitted that?”
“Yes, and it’s not something a man ought to confide in his daughter.”
Traffic slowed, but they kept the Hispano-Suiza in sight. “No, it isn’t. We’ll have to make a point not to mention him. Your parents are here for the wedding, and we can keep Miguel out of it.”
Maggie reached over to squeeze his thigh. It wouldn’t matter whether they spoke Miguel’s name or not. He’d still be there in every breath and sigh.
Santos pulled another pillow behind his back and settled down into the sofa. He was clean-shaven and dressed in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts. A fabric brace had replaced the bulky bandage on his knee. “This might be our last chance to talk. Rafael’s been so damn helpful, I hate to plot against him, but I still don’t want him for a brother-in-law. I don’t trust a man with a past we can’t trace.”
Libby sat on the sturdy oak coffee table to face him. He’d come home from the hospital after a single night, and Rafael had seldom left his side. The house had an elevator for the servants in the back hall near the kitchen, and he’d used it to get upstairs and down without too much difficulty. He was in surprisingly good spirits for an athlete who’d be on the mend for the next few months, but she thought it might be more for show than real.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Look at it this way, Rafael won’t hide the fact he’s been in prison, and that makes it difficult not to like him, but I don’t want to be there when he tells my father he’s served time for murder. Dad’s never raised his voice to us, but I’ve seen him go off when he’s been provoked by a judge’s poor decision. Mother always calms him down, but this time she’ll be equally upset.”
He took her hand and drew it to his lips. “Come up to my room, and we’ll hide together.”
She laced her fingers in his. “Don’t tempt me. This whole situation is bizarre. There are lots of combined families, but this one is unusual by any standard. I can’t side against Rafael now that I know him, but my parents won’t understand. Poor Maggie will be caught in the middle.”
Santos drew in a deep breath. “We won’t have caused the trouble, which works to our advantage. Anyway, you’ll go home and may never see Rafael again. I won’t be that lucky.”
She hadn’t meant to bring feelings into it, but when he’d fallen in the bullring, it had been impossible not to care about him. He’d just dismissed her as a brief visitor, and she was embarrassed by how badly it hurt. She leaned over to kiss him, and he slid his fingers through her hair to hold her close. Tears came to her eyes as she pulled back, and she hurriedly brushed them away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She had no easy answer, and her anxiety rose as she heard the cars pull into the driveway.
Mrs. Lopez greeted Maggie’s family with a curt nod. “Your luggage will be taken to your rooms. Santos is waiting for you in the den. Would you care for refreshments, something to drink?”
“I’d like a Coke,” Patricia answered.
Peter surveyed the wide entryway. They’d eaten in fine restaurants that weren’t as large. “Do you have iced tea?”
Mrs. Lopez barely controlled a sneer. “We take pride in providing whatever our guests desire.”
“Iced tea for me too, thank you,” Linda responded.
Libby came from the den to greet them. “How was your trip?”
“Too long,” Peter replied. He hugged Libby and followed her into the den. The first thing he saw was the stunning painting of Miguel Aragon at the height of his career. The talented artist had caught the famed matador facing down a fierce Miura bull with a deft swing of his cape. Peter’s horrified gaze drifted to the man on the sofa.
“I’m Santos. Please forgive me for not standing.”
Linda stared at Santos, paled as though she’d seen a ghost and fainted. Peter caught her before she hit the rug.
“Mom!” Patricia cried.
“Bring her here.” Libby directed her father to a large black leather chair near the sofa. “Run to the kitchen, Patricia, and bring her a glass of water.”
Patricia shrugged helplessly. “Where is the kitchen?”
Rafael and Maggie walked into the confusing scene and looked to Santos for an explanation.
“I look too much like my father,” he answered. “I’ll go outside.” He reached for the crutches on the floor beside him. Rafael helped him rise.
“No, wait,” Libby begged. “She was just surprised. Look, she’s already coming around. We should have warned her how much you look like Miguel, and this wouldn’t have happened.”
Maggie brought a glass of water from the adjacent bathroom. “Here, take a sip, Mom. The trip must have worn you out.” She looked over her shoulder to send a pleading glance to Rafael. Any confessions he had would have to wait.
