her lips on her napkin. "You've grown up with certain traditions, while I haven't." Thank God, she thought. "Santos will understand why I'm staying here on Sunday."
"Will Rafael?"
"Yes." At least she hoped he would. She'd made her feelings clear, and he hadn't argued with her, yet.
"You should come here and be with me. I won't insist you watch, but I'd enjoy your company."
"If I may sit right here at the table and look out at the sea."
"Of course, whatever pleases you."
She kissed his cheek before she left him and nearly collided with his physician when she opened the door. "I'm sorry."
"There is no harm, Miss Aragon," he responded with his usual hurried smile and left her standing with Rafael in the hall.
Rafael had leaned against the wall to read and straightened up. "How is your father?"
"As fine as he can be. He complimented me on my colorful new clothes, and his opinion trumps my grandmother's. Besides, I don't think I look like a Gypsy." She turned to make her skirt swirl around her feet.
"Would that be so bad?"
"No, not at all. Do people stop you on the street and comment that you resemble a Gypsy?"
He shook his head. "No, people move past me as fast as they can."
"After Sunday, people may trail you, begging for your autograph," she posed.
"I'll look forward to it. Whose name should I write?"
She laughed with him. "Your own. Maybe you ought to start signing them now."
"I could use Post-it notes and peel them off as fans surround me."
"Yes, what a good idea."
"Rather impersonal, though." He reached out to curl his arm around her neck and drew her into a lingering kiss. "I've laughed more with you in a few days than I've laughed in years."
His compliment twisted her heart. She didn't need the certain sorrow of loving him, but this was the first time she'd considered how much he might need her. Maybe that was love, when his feelings mattered as much as her own. It was a troubling thought. They were running out of time, which was either a blessing or a curse.
Chapter Fourteen
That afternoon, Santos went home to his apartment. It was in a modern new building with air conditioning, but he preferred to open the windows and allow fresh air to circulate through the rooms. The view of the Mediterranean Sea from the broad expanse of plate glass in the living room showed a perfect day for sailing. He thrust his hands in his hip pockets and wished his father had kept the last of his sailboats. Maybe next week he would rent one to take Fox and Magdalena, if she were still here, sailing.
He'd gone running that morning and on the way home stopped at his gym to lift weights, but the day was still too long. He liked to cook for himself, but he didn't feel like eating. He was naturally lean, and didn't worry his traje de luces wouldn't fit on Sunday, but he never ate much for a couple of days before a fight. It made him lighter on his feet and far more difficult for the bull to gore.
On the way home, he'd seen a poster for Sunday's fight with a banner adding El Gitano's name. It was an example of his father's excellent grasp of details. Nothing escaped his notice, nor had it escaped Augustin's. Santos had grown up on the ranch, but his father had never mentioned his grandfather's journals. Now he thought he ought to begin writing his own. He sat on the couch with his laptop propped on a bent knee and started as far back as he could remember, when he'd chased his father around the ranch yard waving a baby blanket. He'd usually ended up being carried on his father's shoulders, but that was the start of his career as a matador, and he'd never wanted to be anything else.
He'd just gotten up to turn on the lights when Ana came to his door. She had a key but always knocked if she knew he'd be home. In a yellow silk blouse, tan leather pants and gold platform sandals, she looked as though she'd just stepped off a magazine cover, but her incredible looks no longer captivated him. "What a surprise. Were you hoping I'd pose without my shirt?" he asked.
"May I come in, please?" She opened her tooled leather bag to display the neatly organized contents. "I haven't got a camera. I just wanted to see you."