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‘What time would you like to eat lunch?’
‘Lunch? I don’t think I’ll need it after that delicious breakfast.’
‘You must eat! This is Spain—the food is too good to refuse. I have some marinated octopus and rice. I’ll put together something light. Say one o’clock?’
Alicia could see it was pointless to argue so she nodded.
‘In the courtyard.’ Isabella nodded with satisfaction, pleased with having won Alicia over.
That gave Alicia a few hours in which to properly tour the house and surrounds, and she didn’t intend to waste a moment of it. Pausing only to fill up her water bottle, she started with the house, peering into rooms with open doors, avoiding those that were closed or locked, not wanting to stumble upon Graciano’s bedroom or anything else too personal.
The house itself was quite fascinating, obviously old, but beautifully preserved, as though someone had spent a fortune renovating it at some point—as evidenced by the new wiring and air conditioning—while preserving the original features. Parquetry floors, mosaic tiles, elaborate murals and wall carvings... It was ornate and beautiful.
It was also the last place she could ever have imagined Graciano.
But then, as she walked, she remembered snatches of conversations—when he’d admired the sconces of her father’s home, or explained the history of the building to her from the arches to the windows.
Where had she imagined he might live?
Had she thought he would always be homeless and penniless?
No. She simply hadn’t thought that far ahead. She had imagined, in some strange way, that they would be always together, and at sixteen, hadn’t been able to foresee a life distinct from her father.
Bitterness flooded her mouth and she wilfully pushed those thoughts from her mind.
The upper story of the mansion could easily be repurposed. A large dining hall could be used to house a band. With the doors open, four musicians could be on the balcony itself, and the rest would add depth to the songs. The magnificent staircase would have flowers wound around the railings, and party lights could be strung over the whole courtyard to create the feeling of a carnival.
Tables and chairs would be in the centre, with floaty white cloths and flower arrangements to play up the colours of the vines. It would easily accommodate the number of tables required, she thought, imagining round tables at first before changing her mind and envisaging two lengths, a classic banquet setting, to capture the drama of the perfectly square courtyard.
Ideas came to her as she walked, so when Isabella appeared in the courtyard at one, she was startled out of her reverie.
‘Lunch time already? My goodness, that went fast.’
‘Graciano has asked you to join him on the terrace.’
‘Graciano?’ She went from relaxed to anxious in the flash of an eye. ‘I thought he was in Barcelona?’
Isabella shrugged, nonplussed. ‘His meetings must have finished early, eh? Do you know the way?’
She was tempted to ignore his request, but she was a professional and this was, first and foremost, a job. She was being paid to be here—or the charity was—and her personal code of ethics refused to allow her to give anything less than her best.
‘No.’ She flattened her lips. ‘Would you mind showing me?’
Graciano seemed to be deep in thought when she walked through a set of wrought iron gates framed with bougainvillea and onto a delightful terrace that overlooked the ocean. The view was so breathtaking she had to pause a moment to appreciate it, to inhale the fragrance of sea salt and tropical flowers, before turning back to him and then, immediately, wishing she hadn’t. He wore another suit, navy blue this time, but he’d discarded the jacket and tie over the back of a chair and undone the shirt at his throat so her eyes immediately dropped to the thick column there and the sprinkling of hair that was revealed. Her mouth went dry and her legs felt hollow.
Graciano stood, and the action broke the effect of her concentration. She wrenched her gaze away, drawing in a breath, trying to calm her scattered nerves.
‘I’ve been exploring the house,’ she blurted out, willing him not to make one of his sarcastic remarks about the way she was staring at him like a lovesick teenager.
‘Isabella mentioned.’
‘Is she spying on me?’ Alicia asked with surprise, moving to the seat opposite Graciano but pausing before easing herself into it.
‘Not at all. She likes to talk. Perhaps you noticed? She mentioned you’ve been poking around in all the rooms.’
‘Not all of them,’ Alicia was quick to refute. ‘I’ve been careful not to open any doors.’
‘There is nothing you cannot see,’ he dismissed with a shrug.
