Half an hour of mutual admiration with her two-year-old niece restored a little of Pia’s equilibrium.

      Despite the circumstances, she looked forward to motherhood, she realized with a small bubble of optimism. She wouldn’t be a distant, coldly practical woman like her mother, even though she already knew La Reina would judge her harshly for showing affection toward her child. She scolded Sorcha and Poppy for it often and Pia could still hear her mother rebuking her own nanny for hugging her.

      Don’t spoil her. She’ll become dependent.

      Yes, it must have been the early hugs, not the lack of them thereafter that had turned Pia into the withdrawn, insecure, social-phobic person that she was.

      “Will you go with Nanny while I talk to your mamà?” Pia asked Lily.

      Lily gave Pia’s neck a fierce hug and said, “I yuv you,” in English, bringing tears to Pia’s eyes as the small girl waved bye-bye on her way out the door.

      She would have that soon—someone who would say those words and mean it, every day.

      “I think I got some good ones,” Poppy said, setting aside her camera as they entered the lounge. “Thank you. I’m making an album for Rico for Christmas. I don’t know what else to get the man who has everything.”

      Pia’s brother Rico had been in a bad place after his brief first marriage had ended in tragedy. Then he had discovered that Poppy had had his daughter in secret. Since locating them, he’d become more like the brother Pia recollected from her earliest years, before he left for school; the one who was patient and protective, willing to sit with an arm around her so she felt safe as she watched an evil witch in a children’s movie.

      “Coffee? Wine?” Poppy offered.

      Pia faltered as she realized she was off alcohol and likely coffee, as well. Good thing she had barely touched what her mother had served.

      “I came from lunch at Mother’s. Nothing for now, thank you.”

      “Did she say something about the auction? Is that why you’re here?” Poppy winced as she sat. “When you said you wanted to ask me about it, I thought you wanted the auctioneer’s card.” She picked it up from a side table. “Am I in trouble?”

      “No. But I would like that, if you don’t mind.” Pia pocketed the card. “No, Mother is quite pleased you broke records on the fund-raising, even if she doesn’t agree with your methods.”

      “Because of the painting,” Poppy said heavily, shoulders slumping.

      “I meant the costumes. Mother thinks that sort of thing is a gimmick. What are you talking about? Which painting?”

      “The one from the attic. The young woman. She’s the reason I raised so much. The bidder paid a ridiculous sum.”

      “I remember it. Who bought it?” She held her breath.

      “That’s the trouble. I don’t know.”

      “The auctioneer didn’t tell you?”

      “Wouldn’t,” Poppy said flatly. “I tried. The previous owners were upset and wanted to know.”

      “Baron Gomez?”

      “And his brother, yes. Do you know them?”

      “Only vaguely by reputation.” Not a good one. The family had fallen on hard times after the previous baron’s death. One brother was a womanizer, the other a gambler. Neither was particularly adept at business. Both were too old to be her mystery man and too young to have fathered him. “Why were they upset?”

      “Good question! They sold us the property as is, with all sorts of furniture and other items left behind. When I found the painting in the attic, I thought it was rather good so I called the family as a courtesy, to be sure they wouldn’t mind my auctioning it for the fund-raiser.”

      “Did they say who she was?”

      “Their stepsister, the daughter of their father’s second wife. She lived in a cottage at the corner of the property. It burned down after she died. She must have passed at a young age. She looks about fifteen in the portrait and it was painted thirty years ago. In any case, the new baron struck me as rather callous when he laughed and said, ‘Sure, see what you can get for her.’”

      “Was he at the ball?”

      “They declined the invitation. But he asked me to note that he had donated the painting.”

      Pia wanted to roll her eyes at the man’s “generosity,” but was too well-bred.

      “I should have told Rico that something felt off, but I thought I was being sensitive.”

      “Why? What happened?”

      “The painting went for a hundred thousand euros! Someone quadrupled the final bid to ensure they would get it.”

      Pia hadn’t known it had gone for that much. “What was the painting assessed at?”

      “Five hundred euros.”

      “I see.” She didn’t. At all. But it was nice to know her baby’s father had a generous streak.

      “I know. I wanted to thank him personally, but the auctioneer said the purchaser specifically requested I send my thank-you to the Gomez family for donating it and that I should tell them how much I got for it. Your mother said it was crass to mention the figure, but that since it was such a substantial donation I should honor his wishes.” Poppy’s eyes went wide again. “Huge mistake.”

      “Why?”

      “For starters, I don’t think the Gomez family would have let me sell it if they’d realized I would get that sort of money for it. First the younger one, Darius, called me and went crazy. He was swearing and making threats, trying to get me to tell him who bought the painting. He wouldn’t believe I didn’t know. I was upset and told Rico. He called the older one and tore such a strip off him. My Spanish vocabulary was deeply enriched, let me tell you.” Poppy was making light of it, but Pia could tell she was still unsettled.

      “I wonder if the purchaser knew what kind of hornet’s nest he was stirring up,” Pia said, even though she instinctively knew he must have. The man she’d met had seemed extremely sure of himself.

      “I’m quite sure I was pushed into the middle of a battlefield. When Rico hung up, he asked if someone named Angelo Navarro had been on the guest list. I guess that was the name of the person the Gomez brothers suspected was behind the purchase. I checked and he wasn’t on it, but anyone could have placed that bid on his behalf.”

      I was never here.

      A cold prickle left all the hairs on Pia’s body standing on end.

      “Angelo Navarro,” she murmured. “Do you know who he is?”

      “Rico did some research. He’s a tech billionaire who came up very recently. Quite predatory. He’s targeting the Gomez interests... ‘Picking off the low-hanging fruit,’ Rico said. Rico told your mother’s assistant to bar all of them from any future events. I didn’t realize there was a central registry for offenders.” Poppy chuckled dryly.

      “Sorcha set it up when she was Cesar’s PA,” Pia recalled, trying to hide her shock and alarm. “It’s the kiss of death.” A firmly closed door by the Monteros was a firmly closed door against the social and financial advantages that came from circulating in Spain’s wealthiest