One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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on the edge of the estate, where she grew organic peaches and persimmons, aubergines and artichokes, and raised goats that produced milk and cheese. Frail and wizened, barely as tall as my shoulder, when she answered her door she looked at me with critical, beady eyes. But by the end of the visit, she was smiling and pushing more of her homemade butter cookies toward me.
“Eat, eat,” she pleaded. “You must keep up your strength if you are to give your husband more children.”
I felt Alejandro looking at me, and blushed.
“Gracias, Pilar,” he said, putting his hands on my shoulders. “We wish for more children very much.”
“Of course you do,” she said, pouring him tea. “I know it was always your desire to have a larger family, growing up so lonely, up in that huge castle, with your older sister off working in Granada. And your mother,” she sniffed, “working night and day, when she wasn’t distracted by the duke....”
“Sister? What sister? Alejandro is an only child,” I added, frowning up at him. “Aren’t you?”
He cleared his throat, glancing at his old governess. “You’re confused, Pilar,” he said gently. “You’re thinking of Miguel. Not me.”
Her rheumy eyes focused on him. Then she nearly jumped in her chair. “Yes. Yes, of course. That was Miguel. You are El Duque.” She abruptly held out a plate to me. “¿Más galletas?”
“Yes, please.”
She beamed at me. “It makes me so happy you like my cookies. Alejandro—” she looked at him severely “—barely ate one.”
He laughed. “I had three.”
“Hardly any,” she sniffed. She smiled at me. “You should take the example of your wife, and eat four or more.”
“Gracias,” I said happily, and took another one, buttery and flaky and sweet. “I will need this recipe.”
“I’ll be delighted to send it to you!”
Shortly afterward, as we rose to leave, Alejandro hugged the widow’s small frame gently and looked at her with real love. “Take care of yourself, Pilar. We’ll see you soon.”
“You, too, M—Alejandro.” Shaking her head with a wry smile, she reached up and patted his cheek, then looked down and kissed the top of our baby’s head. Looking among the three of us, she said, “I’m so happy for you, my dear. How it’s all turned out. You deserve a happy life.”
Leaving her cottage, we got back into his open Jeep, tucking Miguel into the baby seat in the backseat. As we drove across the bumpy road, I exhaled in pure relief. Closing my eyes, I turned my face up to the warm morning sun, feeling happy that I’d somehow—I had no idea how—passed the first test. Instead of her tossing me out, she’d fed me cookies. And I’d pretty much eaten all of them. What can I say? They were delicious. I really did need that recipe.
Smiling, I turned to look at my husband. “She was nice.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He was looking at me with a strange expression, as if he wanted to say something. I frowned, and I parted my lips to ask what he was thinking. Before I could, he looked away.
“We’ll visit the Delgado family next.”
For the rest of the day, as my confidence built, I spoke with all of the tenants on his estate. They seemed relieved and happy that I spoke Spanish, though they took pleasure in teasing me mercilessly about my accent. They adored the baby, and all of them praised my new husband to me, even when he was out of earshot. One after another, they told me stories of his noble character, his good heart.
“The land was neglected, and El Duque brought it back from the brink....”
“My roof was falling apart, but El Duque helped me fix it....”
“When the crop died, I thought I would have to leave. But El Duque gave me a loan, enough for seed and animals. He saved us, and he himself was only eighteen....”
“He gave my son a job in Madrid, when there were no jobs to be had. José would have left for Argentina.” The old woman wiped her eyes. “El Duque kept my son here in Spain, and I’m so grateful. I’ll never forget....”
By the time we visited the last house in early evening, I was no longer even nervous. I was relaxed, holding our baby, laughing and chatting with the farmers, complimenting them on their well-cared-for fields and animals, complimenting their wives on their delicious tartas. And seeing how they admired Alejandro, how they treated him with such respect. His people did love him.
And by extension, I realized, they were willing to love me, for his sake. And for the sake of our child.
On the drive back home over the dusty road, back to the castle at the top of the hill, we didn’t speak in the open-air Jeep. Miguel was sleeping in the back. Finally, I smiled at Alejandro. “That went well, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” he said shortly.
What could he possibly be mad about now? Biting my lip, I looked at the passing scenery. I was already starting to love Spain, especially Andalucía. The air was warm, dusty from our tires on the dirt road. The sun was starting to fade to the west, leaving a soft golden glow across the fields. I felt the warm breeze against my skin, the air scented by honeysuckle and bougainvillea and the jacaranda trees in bloom.
But Alejandro didn’t say a word. He pulled the truck in front of the garage. Getting out, he opened my door. When I stepped out of the Jeep, he pulled me into his arms. I looked up at him, biting my lip. “Alejandro, didn’t I do—all right?”
“All right?” he said huskily. I saw the warmth in his deep brown eyes. They held the same glow as the soft Andalucían morning. “I am proud of you beyond words, mi corazon. You made them love you. As...”
He cut himself off, but as I looked up at his face, my heart started to pound. “They loved me for your sake.”
“No.” He shook his head. “They loved you only for yourself. Your warmth, your smile, your...” Reaching down, he stroked my cheek. Something seemed to stretch tight between us, making me hold my breath. His hand trailed down my hair, down my back. “Come upstairs with me,” he whispered. “Right now...”
“But dinner...”
He lowered his head to mine in a deep, passionate kiss, taut and tender, slow and sweet. I clutched his shoulders, lost in his embrace.
Miguel gave a plaintive whine from the back of the Jeep, and Alejandro released me with a rueful laugh. “But Abuela will be expecting us for dinner.”
“Yes.” I shook my head with a snort. We’d been fed at literally every house we visited. “I won’t be able to eat a bite. I’m not the least bit hungry.”
“Funny. I’m starving.” He gave me a dark look that made my body burn, and I knew he wasn’t talking about food. He sighed grumpily. “But you’re right. Dinner has been arranged. We wouldn’t want to disappoint Abuela....”
“No. We wouldn’t.” I took our baby out of the truck, and we went upstairs to give Miguel his bath. Alejandro left to dress for dinner tonight, as Maurine had requested. I fed our baby, cuddling him in the rocking chair as he drifted off to sleep, plump and adorable in his footsie pajamas, holding his soft blanket against his cheek. I finally tucked him into his crib, then went to the master suite next door.
I felt dusty from the road, and was tempted to take a shower, but feared that would make me late, which would be rude. Especially since Maurine had insisted tonight’s dinner was special somehow. So I just brushed out my hair and put on a long slinky dress and high heels. She’d asked us to dress up for dinner tonight, though what made tonight different from the other nights, I had no idea. I put on some red lipstick and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked so different, I thought. I barely recognized myself. I tossed my hair, seeing the bold new gleam in my eye—and liking it.