Fierce Pride (45 page)

“Is that a good thing?”

“We’ll see.” She opened their small refrigerator and took out a soda. “You want one?”

“No, I’m off sugar.”

“Good for you.” Libby had to hike up her jeans. Nothing tasted good to her anymore, and she’d lost weight she hadn’t needed to lose. The house was quiet. All the others were out on dates or at parties spending their weekends in carefree fun as she used to do. The noisy crowds would have only annoyed her now. She just wanted to graduate and find a good job coaching, where she could give teenagers excellent advice for winning teams. When it came to love, however, she was a washout.

Santos glanced around the sparsely furnished living room of Maggie and Rafael’s new apartment and shook his head. “Do you need a furniture allowance?”

Maggie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “No, we don’t, and don’t you dare say that to Rafael.”

“I’ll not risk being thrown out the window, but you’re an Aragon and should expect better.”

“I’ve already got the best, and furniture doesn’t matter. I’m glad to see you off your crutches. How does your knee feel?”

“Better every day, but I’m not ready to take up flamenco yet.”

“You’d be good if you did.”

Rafael greeted Santos as he came in and hurried to kiss his wife. “I’m glad you could come tonight. Maggie’s a great cook.”

“It’s difficult to ruin a chicken,” Maggie replied. “Santos brought some incredibly good wine. Would you like a glass?”

“Let me clean up and then I will.”

Santos waited until Rafael had left the room to whisper, “Is he always this nice?”

Her eyes sparkled as she laughed. “Yes. Did you think he’d shout and clomp around like a caveman?”

Santos shrugged. “With him, one never knows.”

Maggie came close to hug him. “We’re happy together. Why does that surprise you?”

“I surprise easily.”

Maggie stepped back to study his sorrowful expression closely. “Is that the problem? You’re surprised by how much you care for Libby, when you’ve never been serious about another woman? Is that what’s twisted you in two?”

He pulled away. “I’ll leave now if you’re going to torture me all night over Libby.”

He was well dressed as always, but his hair had grown too long, and he looked so sad and thin it broke her heart. “You’ve lived the life you had to. Now you have a choice. Don’t be like Grandfather Augustin and spend the rest of your days longing for the woman you let get away.” She raised her hand. “I promise not to say another word about Libby.” She returned to the kitchen to toss the salad.

Rafael came into the living room, rolling up the sleeves of a clean shirt. “Have you heard from Libby?”

“We’re not mentioning her,” Maggie called from the kitchen.

Rafael stepped close to whisper, “You look so damn good, but there’s nothing inside.”

Santos caught his temper at a controllable smolder. “Out of respect for my sister, I’ll ignore your ignorant opinions.” He took a step toward the kitchen. “Maggie, Cirilda sent a postcard from Tahiti. It took it a couple of weeks to get here, but she and Alfonso were married there and are in no hurry to come home. They might be back by now, but I’ll wait for her to call me.”

“I’ll wait too,” Maggie replied. “I feel sorry for Alfonso, but he behaved so badly at our wedding, maybe they deserve each other.”

“Maybe,” Santos agreed. He stayed by the kitchen doorway to talk with her rather than pretend to converse with Rafael.

He did his best to be a pleasant dinner guest, and the rosemary chicken was superb, but Rafael’s insult and Maggie’s attempts to be helpful echoed in his mind until his head ached badly by the time he left. He’d driven the SUV himself and felt totally and miserably alone.

He’d grown up missing the people who’d come and then disappeared from his father’s life, so the painful emotion was nothing new. He just hadn’t expected sending Libby home to hurt worse every damn day. He had to continue to strengthen his knee so he wouldn’t limp into a bullring. He had to make certain little Miguel Angel had a good home. He worried about the twins being pushed into the fashion world too young. Then there was Fox, whom he’d given the worst possible advice on women. Thankfully, Fox didn’t appear to be following it with Patricia, who’d probably tear out the kid’s heart any day.

With the problems he had to handle, he didn’t understand how anyone could marry and intentionally welcome the inevitable problems children would bring. It would be like committing suicide in tiny, excruciating increments.

He pulled his car into the garage and walked out onto the patio. The nights were cooling, and a chill wind blew off the water. Libby would be back at the university, probably dating guys who knew how to ski or dance in snowshoes or whatever guys did in Minnesota to impress girls. But no matter how many times he told himself he’d done the honorable thing, he wished with all his heart he hadn’t had to send her home.

Sunday afternoon, Patricia came running up the stairs and burst into Libby’s room. She waved the new
Cosmopolitan
magazine. “Have you seen this?”

Libby looked up from her computer. Her sorority sisters were more into their classes and sports than celebrity fashion, and she doubted any of them subscribed to the magazine. She knew what Patricia was going to show her, though. “I didn’t realize they were buying ads here.”

Patricia flopped the open magazine on the desk. “I wouldn’t have picked that pose, but you look awfully good.”

Patricia had seen all the photos soon after they’d arrived at the house. Libby saw only Santos. She bit her lip to stifle the threat of tears. “
Deadly
is the perfect slogan. It has a vampire touch to it, don’t you think?”

Marcia came into the room. “Hi, Patricia. Watcha got?”

“This is how Libby spent the summer. Did she tell you about Santos?”

Marcia picked up the magazine to study the ad. “Oh my God, you spent the summer with him?”

“A few weeks,” Libby admitted reluctantly. “He’s Maggie’s half brother.”

“Wow. We’ve got to put this on the bulletin board.”

“That’s my magazine,” Patricia said. “Go buy your own.”

“All right, I’ll go right now,” Marcia agreed. “Do you want me to buy one for you, Libby?”

“No, I’ve got the photos at home.”

“If I had photos of him, I’d plaster the walls here with them.”

“It would be too distracting,” Libby responded with a forced laugh. Patricia left with Marcia, and she slumped back in her chair. Now the whole house would tease her about Santos, and she wouldn’t be able to shrug it off for long. “Damn.” Things were already bad enough without everyone asking about Santos when no words would do him justice. As for the way he’d treated her, all she’d need was a creative string of expletives.

Her mother called later that afternoon. “There’s a big package here for you from Santos. It has Aragon stamped all over it. Do you want me to open it and see what it is?”

Libby cursed under her breath. “It has to be Aragon cologne. Open it and give it to any homeless men you see.”

“Libby, really. We’ll save it for Christmas gifts.”

“Fine. How’s Dad?” He’d helped transfer Santos’s money back to his account without asking her reasons. Her parents could see how unhappy she was, but she wouldn’t worsen her situation by crying through a humiliating confession of how abruptly, and rudely, Santos had sent her home. After telling her mother good-bye, she grabbed her coat and left her room for a walk. She pulled on her mittens and cap. This was her last semester at the university, but as she lengthened her stride, the familiar landmarks passed by in a blur.

“Hey, watch out.” A young man in a University of Minnesota football jacket caught her arms seconds before they collided. “You stare at your feet, no telling who you’ll run into.”

Libby recognized Brad Matthews as one of the stars of the football team. He had curly dark hair and warm blue eyes, and there were girls who attended the games just to see him. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“So do I. Let’s walk in the same direction and avoid another near collision.”

Last year she would have flirted with him and gone out for a beer, but today, she was dead inside. “That was a great game last week. There are plenty of girls walking around who’d follow you to the moon. You’re sure to find one.” She took a step away, but he caught her elbow.

“I like a spicy lack of interest in a girl. Now where are we going?”

He was tall, good looking with a charming smile, but she wasn’t playing. “I’m seriously considering becoming a nun.” Her family wasn’t even Catholic, but he didn’t need to know the details. “I wouldn’t want you beating on a convent door.”

He laughed. “I like a great sense of humor too. Let’s go get some hot chocolate.”

“I thought you’d be more of a beer man.”

“You don’t know everything, do you?”

She sighed sadly. “You’ve got that right.” She let Brad do all the talking, as men loved to, but, seated across from him in Starbucks, she concentrated on her hot chocolate and heard every other word.

Libby and Patricia came home for Thanksgiving dinner. They helped their mother with the cooking and decorated the table as they had since they were small. The house was warm, had a luscious spicy smell, and a classical CD provided the perfect background music. It was a wonderful dinner as always.

“This is our best turkey ever!” Peter exclaimed.

“You say that every year,” Patricia responded with a teasing giggle. “But this is especially good.”

Libby took another bite of stuffing. “Yes, it really is.”

Her parents exchanged worried glances. “You look as though you’re spending too much time studying, Libby,” her mother remarked softly. “Are you having any fun?”

Libby chewed slowly while she searched for a believable answer. “Partying gets old after a while. I’m concentrating on finishing my classes and getting a good job.”

“That’s wise, of course,” her father agreed. “It’s also important to have a balance in your life. Maybe we can all go skiing after the Christmas holidays, the way we used to.”

“That would be so much fun!” Patricia replied. “Would you mind if Fox came along?”

Her father dropped his fork into his mashed potatoes, quickly picked it up and wiped the handle on his napkin. “We’re a long way from London, sweetheart. Does he even know how to ski?”

“He learned to ski in Switzerland, and he can afford to come. His school has a long winter break, and he’d rather come here than Barcelona.
Please
. He won’t be any trouble.”

“You sound like you’re begging for a puppy,” Libby offered.

“He’s not a pet,” Patricia argued. “But he can ski, and he’s a lot of fun, and why can’t I invite a friend to come with us? We used to bring friends.”

“When we were ten,” Libby reminded her.

“Let’s just savor this marvelous dinner and discuss Christmas later,” her mother suggested. “Although I’m going to miss Maggie.”

“Maybe we should all go to Spain,” Patricia suggested. “Why don’t we do that? Then we could see Maggie and Rafael and Fox and Santos.”

Libby’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ll need to stay here for interviews.”

“No one will be doing interviews over Christmas,” Patricia argued. “Please think about taking us all to Spain, Daddy. It would be so much fun.”

“I’ll think about it, but two trips to Spain in one year might not fit into our budget.”

“Take on a few more clients,” Patricia quipped. “Preferably wealthy clients in big trouble.”

“Then I’d be too busy to go,” her father replied.

Libby made a real effort to eat. She speared a piece of turkey breast and lifted her fork to her mouth, but swallowing was the difficult part. She took a sip of wine, one of her father’s favorites, but it wasn’t one she’d had with Santos. She couldn’t think of anything worse than seeing Fox and Patricia fawning over each other while she remained so incredibly alone. She rested her fork on her plate.

“Libby, aren’t you going to have more?” her mother asked fretfully.

Libby found a faint smile. “I’m saving room for the mince pie.”

Santos called Fox every Sunday afternoon. He had to look for subjects all week to find something in the news or sports Fox might possibly want to discuss. He’d met with little success with that strategy, but he kept calling. After Fox’s usual hesitant greeting, he surprised Santos by taking the lead in the conversation.

“I want to go to Minneapolis for Christmas. I know I’ve got my mother’s money somewhere. Could you move some into my school account so I can go?”

Santos had celebrated Thanksgiving with Maggie and Rafael, even if the day wasn’t a holiday in Spain. He’d promised to host Christmas dinner, but he’d thought Fox would be with them. “Did the Gundersons invite you to come?”

“Patricia did, and she said it was okay. If you’ll add some money to my account, I’ll make all the arrangements myself. It won’t be any trouble for you.”