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He pouted, then brightened. “Taking any photographs in the meadow today?” he suggested sweetly.
She snorted, then turned back to the mirror and reached for her simple diamond stud earrings, which she put on one at a time. Her makeup and toiletries had already taken up residence across his private bathroom counter. Grabbing her small collection of tiny brushes, she put on her makeup, carefully covering the scar on her face. “Sadly, no. I need to go to the village. For my story.”
“Go to Algares? Why?”
“You grew up there—many of the young stablehands you now employ came from there.”
“So?”
“It’s the first village you helped with your charity foundation, long ago. I want to see how it’s changed. The village is part of the story. I have to include it.”
Stefano looked irritated, and was just opening his mouth to argue when they heard another loud bang outside, and the sound of a truck’s loud, incessant beep as it backed up in the courtyard. Men started yelling in Spanish and they heard a woman’s loud voice in French telling them they were setting it up all wrong. The men answered angrily in Spanish, and the multilingual dispute had the ranch’s dogs barking in a cacophony of noise.
“On second thought,” Stefano growled, “I’ll come with you.”
“You will!” Annabelle said, thrilled she didn’t have to leave him in order to finish her work. So much for guarding her heart, she thought to herself sourly.
Stefano swiftly showered and put on a cotton shirt and jeans that fit him far better than they fit her. He didn’t need a belt to keep the jeans snug against his lean hips. After he pulled on his boots, they walked to his six-car garage, where he climbed into an old 1950s Willys Jeepster. Getting in beside him, Annabelle looked at the rare open-topped truck with appreciation. “Nice,” she said. “Not flashy. Real.”
“Glad you like it.” He started the engine. Maneuvering his truck around the vans and trucks sprawled all over his lawn, past people unloading supplies from food to flowers to polo equipment, Stefano drove past the chaos and down the peaceful tree-lined avenue. They passed the old stone gate, crenellated and covered with moss in the shade, and Annabelle realized it was the first time she’d left the ranch for almost a week.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back into the real world, to be honest. But the village was only a few miles away, down the slender road clinging to the edge of the rocky green hills. All too quickly, they arrived at Algares, a tiny, prosperous village of whitewashed houses tucked in the valley.
The moment they arrived, a crowd of children appeared, rushing from the houses, running in the dust behind the Jeepster. They joyfully shouted Stefano’s name.
“Children are following us,” Annabelle said, looking back in amazement.
Stefano glanced back in the mirror. A smile lifted the hard edges of his mouth. “I know.”
Parking the truck on the street, Stefano climbed out and held out his arms. “¡Hola, mis amigos!”
The laughing children ran to him eagerly. Bending to their eye level, he patted one little girl on the shoulder as he smiled at another child and asked him something in Spanish.
Annabelle climbed slowly out of the truck. Children were bouncing all around Stefano, a little girl in pigtails and a pinafore tugging on his shirt to get his attention, an older boy excitedly telling him a story in Spanish about a football game. From nearby doorways, she saw mothers, young and old, coming out the doorways of their gleaming, tidy homes to smile at their children who held the total attention of the tall, powerful Señor Cortez.
Annabelle slowly looked around her. This was Algares, which ten years ago had been called the poorest village in Spain? Now, it was charming, picture-perfect, a scene of warmth and domestic happiness. With a slow intake of breath, she raised her camera and took pictures of the village, the children and the tall, handsome man smiling at them.
Stefano and Annabelle spent hours visiting different families in the village, all of whom clamored for the honor of making their lunch. The people were so warm and friendly, she thought. Both children and parents clearly thought the world of Stefano. Annabelle took tea in more than one snug house, and when they heard she was doing an article, they insisted on telling her all about how Stefano had saved their jobs or improved their lives, how his foundation had built a playground for the old park and bought supplies for schoolchildren. About how he’d helped their sons, after the boys had gotten into trouble with the law and started down the wrong path, by hiring them as stablehands and giving them not just a job … but a vocation.
Stefano had helped them, as he helped everyone he cared about.
Annabelle took pictures of everything. She took photos of Stefano most of all. When he looked at her, she lost her breath. When he smiled, her heart lifted to her throat.
After they’d visited practically every house in Algares, Annabelle’s arm was wrapped companionably around his as they walked down the street. He was so much more than a playboy, she thought, sneaking sideways glances at him. She’d known his charitable foundation was important to him, but she’d never realized what a difference he made.
What an amazing man, Annabelle thought. She swallowed. The way she really felt about him now.
Clumsily, she stumbled over her feet.
“Careful, querida.” Stefano caught her before she fell face-first into the street. “You seem tired,” he said, tilting his head at her. He pointed at the village pub. “Why don’t we stop and have a drink?”
Trembling, Annabelle looked at the building across the street. The tavern was two stories high, on a corner lot with a painted sign dangling cheerfully from the eaves. It was charming and cheerful and, as Annabelle stared up at it, she hated it on sight.
If I wish to, as you say, take a lover, I go to the village tavern and rent a room for the night.
“One drink before we leave,” Stefano suggested. “You can even take a picture or two, if you like. This place is a local landmark.”
“I just bet it is,” she muttered wit
