The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (49 page)

The feeling surprised her. Had she lost all sense of reality?

Returning her glance, he seemed perplexed by her expression, which she had no doubt was a perfect depiction of Lucia di Lammermoor in her final descent into madness.

“Señorita Nicolette,” Alejandro confided to her in low tones, leaning toward her. “The production of the entire troupe shall be tomorrow night. A private showing for the royal family and invited guests. Are you disappointed not to sing tonight? I confess I thought only of myself. I did not wish to be separated from you when I am finally seeing you again.”

“I can remember when hearing me sing was of a singular importance to you.” Nicolette considered his words, feeling somewhat dismayed by them at the same time she was pleased.

“It was, and it is,” replied Alejandro. “But your music is now forever entwined with my heart.”

Stop!
When would he stop?

Again he stared at her, startled by her expression. He would soon learn that it was best not to upset Lucia.

“Your
Majesty
”—she smiled sweetly—“I only wish that you might offer some
proof
of your feelings instead of rattling them off, surrounded by one hundred and twenty-seven guests.” Oops. One hundred and twenty-six guests and one madwoman.

“Of course. What do you wish, Señorita?” He appeared most startled.

And yet, her feelings were justified. How easy it was to say such things when one had to deliver absolutely nothing. In fact had already assured her that he would not.

“Lady Nicolette,” the queen mother interjected as she cleared her throat somewhat more loudly than she needed to, apparently wishing to put an end to private tête-à-têtes involving her son. “And how do you find life on the stage after your proper upbringing?”

Oh, good
. Now the mother commenced. Nicolette was a bit taken aback and observed at once Alejandro’s discomfort. That was some consolation.

“I assure you, Your Majesty, that my upbringing, though strict, was anything but proper,” Nicolette replied with a bright smile. Without exception, she believed that her greatest chance of success lay in facing the negative inference straight on. She could see that the corners of Alejandro’s mouth tightened. She couldn’t tell if he was amused or if he disapproved of her bluntness.

“I fail to see the difference,” remarked the Queen Maria Katrina with raised eyebrows just as the wine was being poured and the soup set before them.

“Being the daughter of traveling diplomats, Lady Nicolette was exposed to every manner of person and experience,” Lady Elaina interjected, taking a sip of her wine. “Which I feel has given her a broader view, so important in a changing world, don’t you think, Your Majesty?”

A point for Grandmamma.
Nicolette was never so grateful for her grandmother’s company. Lady Elaina rarely withdrew from a challenge and generally showed to advantage. Nicolette thought that her chic gown suited her temperament perfectly. She was dressed stylishly in a ball gown of white satin hemmed in a six-inch band of black satin. The gown was trimmed in black velvet and white-gold lace, and she wore a six-foot scarf of gold-dotted black gauze. She was quite elegant and indisputably modish, to Nicolette’s way of thinking.

Queen Maria Katrina smiled with pursed lips but did not reply. Nicolette mentally placed a stroke on the chalkboard. Grandmamma, one. queen mother, zero.

“And may I ask, Your Highness, what festivities are planned for the coronation week?” posed Lady Elaina as she dipped her spoon into her soup, steam rising in the air above it.

“There is a bullfight on Thursday,” noted Alejandro, nodding to Rafael Ortega.

“A bullfight?” questioned Nicolette, taking a sip of the tomato bisque, rich and creamy and just spicy enough to tease the cream. She thought it was luscious. “I apologize for my ignorance. I don’t comprehend the relationship between a bullfight and the coronation of Spain’s king?”

“All major events in Spain are celebrated with a bullfight, Lady Nicolette”—there was a general murmur of surprise among the king’s entourage. Only Rafael smiled at Nicolette—“which signals the commencement of ceremonies and festivals. In the case of an event as important as a coronation of our king, there will certainly be a bullfight.” Rafael bowed his head to Alejandro.

Nicolette wrinkled her brows involuntarily but said nothing. The soup bowls were removed, and a salad with marinated artichokes, every variety of olive, cheeses, tomatoes, red onions, and cucumber was set before them, along with
tortas de aceite
, a sweet olive oil pastry, and mayonnaise of lobster. Nicolette put one of the olives in her mouth and sighed from the burst of flavor.

“Will you be singing prior to the bullfight as part of the opening ceremonies, Señorita?” Rafael turned his attentions to Nicolette once again.

“No one mentioned…I wasn’t aware…” Nicolette shook her head, embarrassed. It was not like her to lose speech, but she was seated with the royal family of Spain, most of her remarks were being met with raised eyebrows, and her natural confidence was consequently being worn down at an amazing pace. She did not wish to give insult at the same time she grew weary of empty promises and lofty verbiage without content or genuine feeling. It was all a masquerade! She had no real evidence of
any
genuine feeling here—only facade. And the idea of a bullfight was both consistent with meaningless bravado and repugnant to her. It was just more pontificating and showmanship. Be a man or don’t be a man, but to enjoy the suffering of another living creature was incomprehensible. She studied the charming matador across the table from her, so civilized, charming, and elegant.

Why was everything upside down here and nothing what it seemed to be? She tried to feel her usual amusement and had difficulty embracing it.
Alejandro mattered too much to her.
When had she allowed this to happen?

“We can discuss the ceremonial repertoire at a later time,” Alejandro stated, coming to her rescue.

“I can see from your expression that you do not approve of our customs, Lady Nicolette,” remarked Rafael with a dazzling smile.

“But for the grace of God, Señor Ortega, you might be that bull and the situations reversed,” replied Nicolette.

“Señorita Nicolette”—Rafael laughed—“to experience another country you must leave your own at the door. You cannot condemn another culture from the perspective of your own. For the bull, who was born and bred for the fight, the bullring is a more noble end than the butcher’s block. And the bull’s odds are better—the bull can win. Several matadors are gored each season.”

“Just as the matador lives for the duel, so does the bull,” Alejandro added.

“Possibly the bull likes to be stabbed, and that is the reason that he cries as he dies,” she murmured, but she immediately wished she hadn’t said it. Being raised by a diplomat, she was familiar with the idea that words could make anything acceptable. But she was certainly not going to change the mind of anyone here, and she did not wish to cause Alejandro any embarrassment. She owed him more than that for successfully saving her image in Paris, rescuing her when she was a lost cause.

“You have not seen a show until you have seen Rafael fight in the bullring, Lady Nicolette.” Alejandro studied her, but she was unable to read his opinion of her. There was nothing new in that. “I am certain that it is not as you might picture.” He began chuckling, even as the queen mother smiled—a rare occurrence in her experience.

“Why do you laugh, Your Majesty?” Lady Elaina asked, saving Nicolette once again.

“Rafael has perfected the unique fighting technique of
espantada
,” Alejandro explained.

“
Espantada
?” asked Nicolette, startled as the translation ran through in her mind. “Sudden flight? I don’t understand.”

“Very good.” Alejandro smiled warmly, and she felt her heart flutter. “Yes, when the bull enters the ring, Rafael flees. That is his method.”

“Don’t you see, Señorita?” Rafael burst into laughter. “If you give it a name, it becomes a method.”

“Rafael sometimes fights with a chair.” The queen mother’s eyes danced, but she reduced her smile, an action that apparently placed a great burden on her energy reserves. “He is considered the most amusing of Spain’s bullfighters.”

“Once Rafael spared the bull because he claimed that the bull winked at him,” continued Alejandro. “The audience roared with laughter.”

“So the bull lived?” Nicolette beamed at the bullfighter who had shown compassion.

“No, sadly not.” Rafael shook his head. “My brother was concerned about the family honor and hopped into the ring and killed the bull.”

Nicolette studied Rafael with new eyes as his unique stance amidst this culture’s definition of masculinity became starkly clear. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to remain aloof.

“Señorita Nicolette, let me escort you tomorrow to the
tienta
, a testing of the young bulls being chosen for the bullring.” Rafael smiled, and he was indeed dashing. “Several of Spain’s matadors will be present, and you will find it very informative and enjoyable.”

“Oh, no. Thank you, but I could not bear to see an animal killed for sport.”

“The young bulls are never killed, Señorita. They are two years old rather than the four-year-old bulls who fight in the ring.”

The queen mother finally displayed a genuine smile, it seemed to Nicolette. “Rafael bestows a great honor upon you, Lady Nicolette. You will be the envy of all of Spain’s señoritas.”

“I thank you, Señor Ortega, that is most kind of you. But I must prepare tomorrow for my first concert. Otherwise I would be sorely tempted, I assure you.”

Nicolette observed the queen mother’s disappointment, but the slight tension in Alejandro’s expression seemed to drain instantly.

Dinner continued, with her favorite dishes being poblano peppers stuffed with cheese and potatoes, meat strips sizzling with mushrooms, onions, and green peppers, and broiled red snapper covered in succulent shrimp and a lemon white sauce. Dessert consisted of a fresh fruit salad of strawberries, melon, and cherries and a cake soaking in rum and drizzled in chocolate.

Caruso sang during dessert, followed by dancing in the royal ballroom. As promised, Alejandro claimed the first dance from Nicolette. They walked to the center of the grand ballroom, the only couple on the floor in a huge room at least sixty feet high. The orchestra began to play, and he took her into his arms as everyone watched.

She looked up into his eyes, even more intense than usual in all the candle lighting. His almost-black hair was long in the front with a tendency to fall across his forehead, especially as he bent down to look at her.

She tried to control her beating heart by reminding herself that it was just one more staged production. Certainly everyone was as attentive as in the grandest theatre, but even the opulence, the mesmerizing lights, and the glorious costumes could not confirm the illusion.

This was
real
. She was dancing with the king of Spain, all eyes on her. And the most important eyes—the only ones which truly mattered to her—were
his
.

As she whirled in his arms, the force of his gaze thrilled her. Up until now, her experience had been anything but a fairy tale.

“Did my mother disturb you, Nicolette?” As if to read her thoughts, Alejandro murmured into her ear, his breath warm on her cheek. It felt glorious to hear her name on his lips.

“No more so than anyone else,” she replied truthfully with an involuntary giggle. Warmth whirled up through her body as she was whizzed through the air as if she were on a cloud. She wouldn’t allow anything to interfere with this heavenly moment.

“Nicolette.” He pulled her closer to him as he twirled her through the waltz. “I have missed you so much. I have never felt so alive as when I was in Paris with you.”