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“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,” S
tefano 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 with a surge of bitterness, and lifted her camera.
When she was done, they went inside. The pub was fairly empty and very well-swept.
Annabelle tried to hide the way her body was shaking as Stefano led her to the small table in the window. As she sat down across from him, she wondered how many women had already joined him at this very table. And how many more would sit with him here in the coming weeks.
“Your usual, señor? ” the bartender called in Spanish.
“Sí,” Stefano replied with a grin. “And the lady will have.” He turned to her, waiting.
“I’m not thirsty,” Annabelle said. “Come, you must have something. One drink.”
“What are you having?” she asked him listlessly.
“A beer.”
“I’ll have the same.”
He lifted an eyebrow in approval, then relayed her drink to the bartender. Turning back to her at the small table, he asked abruptly, “Can I see the new pictures you’ve taken?”
She bit her lip. “Will you tell me honestly what you think of them?”
“Do you really want me to?”
