Page 19 of Eternal Craving

The grand ballroom opened up before us, where two hundred or so guests mingled. An extensive gathering of family and friends shared in the festivities.

This was the first time I’d been surrounded by so many people – it was overwhelming, and I felt they could somehow see the shame I carried from my past.

My uneasiness relented when Señor Moran’s wife, Renée, hugged me warmly. She introduced me to Cornelius, her eldest son, and then her youngest, the man of the moment, Salvador.

Wearing his captain’s uniform, Salvador cut a striking figure. Both brothers had inherited their mother’s features instead of their father’s – something they both must be grateful for. That thought made me inwardly chuckle.

Despite Salvador remaining seated, his majestic height was clearly evidenced by his long legs. He had one of them crossed over the other, his left foot resting on the lower rung of his brother’s chair. He had been blessed with rugged good looks, and by the way he raised an eyebrow during our introduction, Salvador knew it. But the playful smile with which he greeted me made up for his spirited loftiness.

He gestured for me to sit beside him, and I accepted the large goblet of plum wine he handed me. His air of confidence would have flustered me in the not-too-distant past.

Part of me still questioned whether I deserved to be here, but another part whispered that I did.

This dashing captain appeared to be the quintessential man’s man. I found myself staring at him and in return he stared back, until his intense, brown-eyed gaze forced me to look away. I mirrored his charisma, having learned early on that I, too, could mesmerize.

My attention turned to his mother, Renée. Sipping my third glass of wine, I easily conversed with her. It seemed that every member of the Moran family had an easy charm. Her kindheartedness reminded me of my own mother.

Fearful of spiraling into melancholy, my attention returned to Salvador. Something about him fascinated me. His unassuming demeanor reflected wisdom. His eyes carried the weight of a thousand lives.

A tap on my shoulder caused me to turn.

Señor Moran smiled. “Señor Velde, may I introduce a dear friend.”

I rose up, biting hard on my inner cheek, feeling a gut-wrenching sense of danger.

I knew this face, though I’d never met the man.

Senator Felipe Grenaldi’s likeness to his image in the portrait I’d found in Roelle’s cellar was uncanny. The artist had captured his crooked mouth and his receding hairline. Time hadn’t softened his arrogance. He’d aged well, easily hiding his fifty years. When we shook hands, I felt moisture on his palm. Felipe offered a smile that quickly faded.

Moran patted my arm. “The senator’s interested in purchasing an Andalusian.”

I nodded, my gaze still on Felipe.

“Business should never be discussed in front of a lady,” Felipe said, gesturing towards the garden. “Shall we?”

As Felipe led me away from the table, he said, “They’ve certainly picked a good evening for their party.”

Stone-faced, I concentrated on keeping my jaw relaxed, not wanting to give away the tension I was feeling. In a single night, I’d mastered his signature and used the skill to deprive this stranger of his inheritance, and I wondered if he knew.

The gardens were sprawling. Two gentlemen passed by us, heading back into the house.

“How’s the ranch?” Felipe asked casually.

“Excellent.”

“Affluence agrees with you,” he said.

I gave a nod and changed the subject. “I have a good stallion for you. He’s temperamental, but fast.” Hopefully the horse would throw him off and then stomp on his head.

He shrugged. “Señor Moran misspoke.”

“I thought he suggested?—”

“I have a proposition,” he said. “I’d like to invest in your ranch. Help establish your business.”

“It’s a generous offer, but?—”

“My influence could further your reputation.”