while the girls provided a running commentary of directions.
"Maggie!" Perry called. "Come meet Fox. He's dying to meet you, aren't you, Fox?"
David Hyde-Fox was as blond as the twins but green-eyed. Edging toward six feet, he wore long navy blue trunks and a torn Oxford sweatshirt stenciled with the university's skyline. He paused to rest his arm against his shovel handle and regarded Maggie with clear disdain. "Yet another sister. This is indeed a pleasure." He spoke with the distinctive accent of the British upper class, as though he'd eaten breakfast with the queen that very morning.
Maggie smiled. "I'm happy to meet you too, but it's disconcerting to suddenly have a whole new set of relatives."
"We aren't related," he reminded her crossly.
Maggie saw no point in arguing a boy who'd been adopted by her father was a brother, no matter how heatedly he denied it. "What are you building?" she asked instead.
"The Bastille," the twins announced.
"The Taj Mahal," Fox claimed loudly.
"I admire your ambition," Maggie responded, "but why not create your own fantasy structure rather than copy one that already exists?"
Fox sneered. "What's the challenge in that?"
"Relying on your own imagination rather than history is the greater challenge by far," she said. "It's also a lot more fun." She waited for Fox to continue arguing, but his attention had shifted down the beach. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Rafael Mondragon twenty feet away.
"Do you know him?" she whispered to the girls.
"Of course," Perry replied. "He's one of father's friends, but he treats us as little kids."
That was certainly a point in his favor. Maggie stepped aside so Rafael could join their circle. He nodded to her and called the girls and Fox by their names. His manner was relaxed, as though they often met each other on the beach.
Connie propped her hands on her hips. "What do you think, Se?or Mondragon; which is the greater challenge, copying something or making something new?"
He glanced at Maggie. "Should I take sides?"
"Just offer an honest opinion," she asked.
"As if a Gypsy could," Fox muttered under his breath.
Maggie was shocked Fox would use such a disgraceful insult. Unfortunately, they weren't in her classroom where she had the authority to handle prejudice quickly. "That was incredibly rude," she cautioned.
Rafael raised his hand before she could continue. "He just wants me to twist off his head and kick it into the sea."
Perry and Connie laughed as though it were the funniest joke they had ever heard, while Fox managed only a distracted shrug. "Maybe I've had too much sun. I'm going to the house."
He handed the shovel to Perry, and Maggie watched him go, while the twins kept their eyes on Rafael. "I'm sorry even if he isn't," she said. "We'd just met, and..."
"He's always awful," Connie insisted. "It doesn't matter what we say or do. He must have been born that way. He's proud of the fact we aren't related by blood, and so are we."
Rafael took the shovel from Perry and moved to the other side of the sand heap they'd begun. "What are you building?"
"Hogwarts," Perry suddenly decided. "Do you know how it looks?"
Maggie recognized the panicked disappointment in his eyes and waved her arm. "High walls, steep roofs, towers. It'll be a challenge, but I'm sure you girls could do it."
Inspired, the twins dropped to their knees and began patting the sand into shape. Maggie turned her back to them and spoke softly. "I don't believe you walked out here to play in the sand."
"No. Tonight I'd like to take you to Bailaora, a place with the best flamenco dancing in Barcelona. Tourists never even hear of it."
"Can we go too?" Connie asked.
"No," he announced firmly. "My invitation is for Magdalena. Pretty children should be at home in their beds late at night."
Perry made a face. "No one will know we're underage if you don't tell them."
"I won't take you along, so there'll be no reason for anyone to lie," he scolded. "I'm an excellent tour guide as well as a fine dancer," he assured Maggie.
Santos had said their father welcomed Rafael's visits, but Maggie didn't feel comfortable standing beside him on the beach. It wasn't simply his height and obvious strength that warned her away; it was the sheer intensity of his manner. Some might call it charisma, but she searched for another word to describe his strong effect on her.
"Thank you, but I came here to spend time with my father, and I've only been here one day,"