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“That is kind of you, Father. Let us also pray this talk of civil war does not reach us here in our peaceful valley.”
He leaned toward her and whispered, “I’ve heard rumors. Perhaps I should share this information with your husband, as I have shared with your uncle? He would know if something should be done.”
“Please don’t, Father Etienne. He’s only just returned and isn’t familiar with the current politics of Spain. And my father isn’t strong enough to stand up to the pathetic men who call themselves rebels. Everything will sort itself out. The people are tired of fighting.”
“Everyone,” Roman called. “The food is ready.”
Those who weren’t already at a table gathered. The household servants had laid out a feast, including the platters of roasted chicken, already sliced into servings. There were two cast iron pots full of paella with chorizo and seafood. The mussels, clams and shrimp were mixed in with flavorful rice and peas, onions and peppers. The smell was mouth-watering. There were several types of empanadas and bowls of tomato-based sauces. Thepadronpeppers were charred and blistered and topped with a sprinkling of sea salt and goat cheese. And the fresh bread was piled on platters and surrounded by churned butter along with several hard cheeses.
Shelene was impressed not because she wasn’t used to a generous Spanish food spread, but that it rivaled anything she’d put on her table since she’d been home. But it was more than that. With Uncle Francisco at her table, there was an air of tense expectation, not this easy, relaxed atmosphere where friends could laugh and gossip and talk of good times and great exploits.
She sat beside her father, and Roman took a seat next to her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She couldn’t believe he’d only been home for one day. His presence was always larger than life and he took up much of the space in his own home. He listened and laughed at every story her father told; was solicitous with his brother; and everyone loved him.
And Shelene refused to hate herself for sticking to her word.
She glanced around the table. Roman knew them all and they all trusted him with their lives and their dreams and their safety.
The well of self-pity was an easy one to fall into, but she wasn’t going to have it. She was happy. She was home. She had her beautiful son. And she would act like it, in spite of Roman’s return. In spite of his betrayal. She took a deep breath, thanking God and fate.
“A toast everyone,” she said, lifting her glass. Everyone stopped talking, reached for their glasses and waited for her to speak. She gave her best, most sincere smile. “Today is an amazing day. I was saved from becoming a bigamist.” There was a burst of laughter. “My father has returned to me. Oliver is alive. My son has his father. How thankful I am and how overflowing the joy in my heart. To Roman and his helper, Joaquin. You have our gratitude and love.”
Several shouted in agreement and the conversation started up again, louder than before.
She leaned toward her father. “Are you well, Papa? Can I get you anything?”
“What more could I ask for?” he asked, then kissed her cheek. His face was ruddy as always; his smile bright. Oh, yes, he was indeed happy.
And for the first time, she thought he might be content as a landlubber, living his remaining years strolling the hills and valleys, seeing to the horses and wines and cheeses. Drinking wine with the community elders and local dons and passing on his wisdom to his grandson.
She glanced toward Oliver again to see that he was in pain. His brow was drawn and his smile tight. He’d aged during the ordeal more than her father had. How long must he suffer for saving her father? She was certain that it was Oliver who had given his all to save Papa.
Joaquin stood, hitching his drawers and intending to relieve himself, Shelene thought, but she delayed him, catching his arm as he walked by. “Joaquin, could you see that my carriage is prepared? I need to return home to Antonio.”
“Sí, Señora Forrester.”
Roman was sipping at his wine, listening. “I can take you. You don’t need to return alone.”
“You have guests, and I am only a visitor.”
“It doesn’t need to be that way.”
“But it is. And it was your choice.”
Shelene returned to her plate and enjoyed more of the paella, licking her fingers and astounded all over again at the luscious fare. When Joaquin returned, she stood and imparted her farewells. “I’ll see you at home, Papa. And Oliver, I will find that bark for you. Thank you, Roman. Everything was delicious.”
She couldn’t refuse his escort without seeming like a shrew. She saw him wave to Joaquin to follow. Outside, Roman said, “Joaquin, why don’t you drive Shelene home?”
“Nonsense. I am quite capable of returning home on my own, and Joaquin shouldn’t have to walk back afterward. Stay, and enjoy what is left on the table.”
Once Joaquin walked away, she said, “I thought you were leaving for a few days.”
“I had planned to see Mr. Fisk in Cadiz, but since he is here, we’ve already conducted some of our business. Perhaps later in the week. I will let you know.”
She laughed. “There is no need. I no longer need to know your comings and goings and I don’t plan to share mine with you.”
“But what if I feel the need to share your bed now and again? That might require some notice.”
“None is required. If you knock on my door, I shall vacate my bed and sleep in one of the other sixty beds at Las Colinas. But that seems such an inconvenience for everyone, so it would be best if you continued to sleep here. In your home. I will sleep at mine.”
