I’d always wanted to go to Europe, particularly to my father’s homeland, but I doubted I would ever go. Not unless I married a native. Where had my father gone anyway? I spotted him sitting in his favorite chair, his throne, with a glass of jerez, surrounded by friends. But he was staring at me. Excluding his botched attempt to marry me to Don Fernando del Río and form some kind of medieval alliance with that arrogant rancher, my father had never been interested in my social life. He certainly hadn’t introduced me to a man before, nor had he looked so pleased with me or attentive to my every move.

And now he was smiling at me. The evening couldn’t be more perfect.

Someone greeted him. Someone wearing an old brown jacket.

Juan.

Self-consciously, I shifted in my seat. Laurent and I shared the same settee as we waited for dinner to be served. He’d been discussing modern art for at least twenty minutes and I could barely get a word in. Not that I would even know what to say, I’d only studied until the sixth grade and then concentrated on my harp studies with a private tutor.

My father turned his attention to an elegant couple who approached him. Juan looked as out of place as a polar bear in the middle of the desert. He stood by himself, nestling a glass of champagne between his hands. I averted my gaze before he could see me. What had I been thinking when I considered it a good idea to apologize to him at my party? To even be seen around him by all my friends? Juan was badly underdressed—his outfit would belong in a government office better than a dinner party such as this one—and he didn’t seem to fit in with anyone here. People kept bumping into him and excusing themselves. For a moment, I felt sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have the money to afford newer clothes. It was odd how years ago he’d been so popular among the kids in the area, but tonight nobody gave him the time of day.

I ought to approach him and introduce him to some of my friends. He never let me stand by myself when we were children. Too bad Alberto had entered the seminary; otherwise, he could’ve kept Juan company right now.

A cold hand touched mine. I unglued my eyes from Juan.

“Angélique, are you listening?” Laurent glanced casually at Juan. “Do you want to go talk to him?”

“Oh, no.” My father would’ve disowned me if I’d chosen to converse with the poor neighbor rather than his refined compatriot.

The quartet of violinists stopped playing and my father made a toast in my honor. For the first time in the evening, Juan looked directly at me. My ears burned.