“No, I’ve got a dozen trajes de luces and they’re in a closet upstairs, not my room. Of course, if you’d care to see my room, you’re welcome.”
“Just the suits, please. Do you mind?” Libby asked.
“No,” Maggie assured her. “Go right ahead.”
Libby followed Santos upstairs to a huge cedar-lined walk-in closet. It was located on the side of the hall facing the street and had no window. When Santos turned on the light, he stood back to let her see the colorful array of showy garments carefully stored in clear hanging bags. There were neatly pressed white ruffled shirts, and the black flat-heeled shoes were on the shelf above the suits. Hats were stored in boxes.
“Are these all yours?”
“No, the ones on the left were my father’s. Fans would pay a great deal to own one, so I should probably rent a vault to store them. I go through five or six suits in a season. I can’t walk into an arena in a suit that’s torn or stained, so I always have a new one on order.”
The jackets were covered in ornate gold embroidery, and she recognized several of the suits from the photos on his website. “Which one is your favorite?”
He leaned back against the open door. “The one I wore last. Clearly it was lucky.”
“Don’t you think you’re the one with the luck, not the suit?”
He winked at her. “You’re right. I’m very lucky without a suit.”
Libby rolled her eyes. There was simply no end to his cocky attitude. He was a spectacular specimen from every angle, but he had more than enough fans, and she planned to appreciate him from a distance. “I bet that works on the chick of the week. Thanks for showing me your fancy clothes. I need to go shopping with my sister.”
Hoping she’d won that
round, she walked into her room and out on her balcony to call to Maggie. “I’ll get dressed and be down in a minute.” Maggie waved.
Santos closed the closet and locked it. He hadn’t ever shown off his clothing to another woman, but Libby had seemed only mildly interested. He’d expected the joyous admiration he received from Spanish women and was disgusted for being disappointed. Maggie was as serious as a stone, but Libby skipped over the top of things. Maybe he ought to take up flamenco if it would help him pick up American girls as easily as Rafael had.
In no real hurry, Maggie and Libby carried their sandals and wandered along the shore. “I’m donating all my black and gray clothes,” Maggie explained. “They were fine for school, everything mixed and matched, but here in Spain, I don’t want to be mistaken for a widow.”
“Of course not. I’ve always liked bright colors. I’m glad you haven’t picked out dresses with big bows on the butt, but do you suppose Patricia will like anything we choose?”
“You don’t have to dress alike. We’re getting married on the beach, so you don’t even have to wear shoes. I just like the tiered skirts and long-sleeved tops this place has. Whatever color you want is fine. If you don’t like them, we’ll go somewhere else.”
Libby picked up a smooth stone and skipped it over the water. “Mom’s disappointed you aren’t having the wedding at home.”
“I’m sorry if she is, and I know this might sound strange, but I feel at home here.”
“Maybe it’s your Spanish blood. I wish Patricia and I had grown up knowing your whole story. I suppose Mother did what she thought was best.”
“I knew who my father was, and that must have been all she thought necessary.”
“But it wasn’t. She hid a big part of herself, and we didn’t really know her,” Libby stressed.
“Maybe no one truly knows their parents. How did we become so serious? Let’s get back to the wedding.”
“Ah, yes, the wedding. I’d just as soon get married on a beach too, but Patricia will want the full frou-frou nuptials.”
“Definitely.” Maggie agreed. “Here we are.” She cut across the sand to the El Sol y La Luna boutique she loved and slipped on her sandals. “Don’t mention why you want the dress, or it will hit the tabloids by this afternoon.”
The salesclerk greeted her warmly. “Miss Aragon, where is El Gitano today?”
“He’s busy. This is my sister, Libby. She’s visiting from Minnesota and wants something new.”
“I’m Carmela. What a beautiful figure you have. Everything will look wonderful on you.”
Libby looked down at her narrow-legged jeans and cropped yellow sweater. “Come on, a pencil has more curves than I do.”
Carmela quickly disagreed. “Men love women with long legs. After a few babies, you’ll have pretty curves too.”