Fierce Passion (Bullfighter's Daughter 3) - Page 51

“I’m simply quietly enjoying the moment. That smells so good.”

He gave her a taste on the spoon. “Does it need more salt?”

“It’s delicious now.” She licked her lips, and vowed silently to be happy the whole evening. With Alejandro’s very pleasant company, it wouldn’t be a challenge. She buttered a slice of the freshly baked bread, gave him a bite and took one.

He set soup bowls on the counter. “Let’s put the bowls on the table, and then I’ll fill them. I’ve never worked as a waiter, and I’d probably spill most of the stew on the way to the table if I filled them first.”

“Sounds good. I’ve never had any job other than modeling. Other than being a steward, have you done anything else?”

He brought the salads to the table so they could serve themselves. “Something useful, you mean? No, I’ve never done any other work. We’ll have to avoid becoming stranded on a deserted island, or we might starve before we figure out how to catch a fish and roast it over a fire.”

“I’ll add gaining survival skills to our list.” She loved the vegetable stew and said so often. “This is the perfect dinner. I hope it’s enough for you.” She heaped a second serving of spinach salad on her salad plate.

He sat back and smiled. “This is fine, but I wish I had a fireplace. A fire would make the dinner perfect.”

“I do have a fireplace, but I seldom light a fire unless it’s the dead of winter, and it isn’t cold enough to snow here.”

He broke off a bite of bread, scattered crispy crumbs from the crust and brushed them into his napkin. “Do you know how to ski?”

“Ski? I’ve posed in ski clothes in Switzerland, but I’ve never actually skied. Have you?”

“I learned as a child. My father thought I ought to ‘experience’ winter and learn to ski and skate. I prefer riding a bike.”

“I’ve posed with bikes.” She had to laugh. “There are photos of me looking as though I play tennis, or ice skate, so many things, but a big cardboard doll would be equally adept at sports.” She blotted her mouth with her napkin. “I’ve been modeling for twenty years, Alejandro. Standing around looking as though I’m having an absolutely wonderful time, or in haute couture where I must appear to be above it all, but that’s not really living, is it?”

He reached for her hand. “Think of the opportunity you’ve had to travel and see the world.”

Time and again, she’d told herself the same thing, but it still didn’t seem as though she’d lived a life that mattered. “Yes, I’ve the photos to prove it.”

He regarded her with an encouraging smile. “And you supported yourself and your mother.”

A spoonful of the vegetable stew filled her with a peaceful warmth, and, unwilling to complain any further, she nodded to concede the point. “True. I have an enviable life and should enjoy living it.”

“That’s a good piece of advice for me too. Would you like more stew?”

“Yes, I would.” She sat back as he refilled her bowl. “I wish I’d met you at a different time.”

He refilled his own bowl and returned the pot to the stove. “When I owned a home with a fireplace?”

“No, you’re fine the way you are. It’s just that I’m so unsettled. I refused to mention Jaime’s murder, but…”

“I’d rather forget it too. Are these pale cubes in the stew eggplant?”

She understood he was also sick of the subject of murder. “They are. I love eggplant. They’re a luscious color, aubergine, and they can be prepared in so many ways. When I learn to cook, I’ll bake them and broil them or whatever it is one is supposed to do with an eggplant.” She wiped away a tear with h

er napkin.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cut you off. My father often tells me I should be more appreciative of the life the Ortiz wealth affords me. I’m not, and you shouldn’t be satisfied with your life either, if you want more. Maybe you should change careers now and go after the jobs Jaime can’t do.”

Appalled, she laid her spoon on her plate and sat back. “That’s ghoulish.”

“True. It’s also an opportunity you didn’t expect, but maybe it shouldn’t be overlooked.”

She picked up a piece of bread and slathered it with butter. “Is that the way you think, or your father?”

“Some of his ideas have probably rubbed off on me without my consent. Just think about it.”

“I’d have to start with babies and weddings, Alejandro. I couldn’t just step into haute couture fashion. Designers consider me a model, maybe a bright one, but they wouldn’t take a chance on my doing any fashion spreads for them.”

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