Under the Spanish Stars (44 page)

El Jefe
puffed on his pipe and acrid tufts of smoke snaked up into the night. ‘Your grandmother, she dance flamenco. You paint passion and love like
gitana
. I see
gitana
in you. Maybe …' His eyes widened and he grabbed Charlotte's hand with warm, rough fingers. ‘Maybe your
abuela
my big sister.'

‘She just may be,' Charlotte said gently, loving the idea Abuela could finally connect with long-lost family, just not in the way she had originally expected.

El Jefe
smiled for the first time and Charlotte revelled in the warmth. ‘Maybe you my niece.'

‘I truly hope so. Thank you so much,
Jefe
. Abuela will be thrilled you're doing this. It means a lot to her.'

El Jefe
nodded and walked off, pipe in mouth, hands clasped behind his back. People parted like the Red Sea as he ambled to where Mateo stood with a group of musicians huddled over pieces of paper, their concentration intense.
El Jefe
interrupted and spoke for a moment with
Mateo who nodded and strode over to Charlotte.

He stopped on the other side of the painting, his broad smile warming her heart. ‘So you are finished?' He tilted his head to the side. ‘You are scared to show me?'

‘Not like before. The first time I painted this freely it scared the crap out of me but now it's different. It feels like someone is looking out for me and making sure I don't feel that way again. Does that sound weird?'

‘No, not at all.' Puffing out his cheeks, he said, ‘So, I have a meeting with my father tomorrow.'

‘And?'

‘And he is unhappy with the behaviour of my brother.' He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet. ‘It will be the first time I have seen him in many years.'

‘How are you feeling about that?' She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears.

Shrugging, he said, ‘I do not know what to feel but I hope my father can understand my point of view. I am not confident this will be the cases. It is like my old family is against the new.' He paused then said, ‘And now I will change the subject and ask you to show me the painting. I have been very patient, yes?' His dark eyes made it impossible to say no any more.

‘Okay.' She squeezed her eyes shut as she sensed him moving around the easel to examine her work. Prying one eye open then the other, she found him standing with hands on hips, his gaze transfixed. He remained that way for what seemed an eternity. Unable to stand his silence any longer, she said, ‘I want to ask what you think but I'm not sure I'll like your answer.'

‘You are doing the joking thing, yes?' He turned to face her. ‘This is beautiful. It has colour, movement, spirit. You paint like you have the blood of a
gitana
.'

She laughed. ‘That's what
El Jefe
said. He's going to do the DNA for Abuela.'

‘He is a smart man on both counts.' Looking at the painting again, he said, ‘You have found your place.'

‘With art?'

‘I hope with everything.' He entwined his fingers with hers. ‘I know you have a special place in my heart.'

‘And you in mine.' Resting her head on his shoulder, she looked at the
painting and asked, ‘Do you feel it?'

‘Feel what?'

‘
Duende
,' Charlotte asked, a tad embarrassed.

‘With this beautiful piece? I feel many things, but not
duende
. I am sorry. It may happen one day but remember,
duende
is personal. It cannot be manufactured or manipulated.
Duende
is magic, Charlotte, something for which there are no words.'

‘I know it's subjective but I was hoping my art would move someone to feel
duende
.' She shook her head to dispel her disappointment. ‘For once I finally painted without expectations yet now I've finished the piece, I'm fretting about whether people will feel the magic that I did when I worked on it. Geez,' she put a hand on her hip, ‘I need to lighten up.'

‘Perhaps some dancing will help.' Mateo raised an eyebrow.

‘You too?' She threw her hands up in exasperation. ‘I'm happy to watch and take it all in, thanks.'

‘With flamenco, you cannot be a bystander, you should know this by now. You must enjoy the music, the rhythm, the emotion. I have seen you do it before and you are capable of doing it again. Come,' he held out his hand and she took it, ‘I have a surprise.'

‘What is it?'

Laughing, he said, ‘You must wait to find out.'

They strolled over to the fire and Mateo motioned for her to sit. Leila shuffled over, opening up a space between her and Cristina. Charlotte spied a piece of metal on the ground and bent over to pick it up. It was a silver earring in the shape of a butterfly. Holding it in the palm of her hand, Charlotte asked, ‘
¿Tuyo?
—yours?
'

Cristina looked ready to give the stink-eye but when she glanced at the rescued earring, she offered a small smile and took the jewellery from Charlotte.

‘
Gracias
.' She wiped the earring on her skirt then popped it through the hole in her earlobe.

‘
De nada,
' Charlotte said, a little ball of happiness in her belly. She and Cristina weren't ever likely to be besties, but if they could get past the distrust, that would be a most excellent start.

Mateo motioned for the musicians to gather and they readied themselves while Leila got up and stood just off to the side of the small stage. Cristina glanced sideways at Charlotte, her expression neutral.
Everyone appeared to be clued in on Mateo's plan.

Man, she hated surprises, yet Abuela loved them. Smiling, Charlotte recalled their last phone conversation when she told her grandmother she'd typed out all of Raul's poems and was emailing copies to Steve to give to her. Abuela still wasn't keen on Charlotte couriering the book so it remained with her until she returned for a visit. Despite reservations as to how Abuela would handle the news about Raul, her health had improved slightly, but not enough to warrant going back home. It had taken a lot of convincing, but Abuela had finally agreed a permanent nursing home was the best option. Initially reluctant, her grandmother had settled into the place relatively easily. She raved with delight about the food and quality of staff and accommodation, and, according to Steve, Abuela had already made some good friends. A wry smile formed on Charlotte's lips. Abuela never failed to surprise.

Mateo leant over and placed a red carnation behind her ear, saying, ‘Charlotte, I have a dedication for you and Abuela.'

‘Really?' she asked, aware all eyes were on her.

‘It is a gift from me,' he adjusted the guitar on his lap, ‘and Raul.' Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I know you are trying with the Spanish but I have translated one of his poems for you. I hope the meaning is not lost. He was a beautiful poet.'

Mateo nodded to the
palmistas
and Leila straightened her back in readiness. He grinned at Charlotte, his sparkling eyes making butterflies flutter against her belly.

The
palmistas
clapped out the twelve beats and the way they emphasised certain
compás
, Charlotte instantly recognised it as
alegrías
—her favourite flamenco
palo
. The name of the
palo
means happiness, and that is exactly what Charlotte felt every time she heard it.

Leila flicked her skirt, made her entrance and
llamada
, while Mateo's fingers danced across the strings of Raul's guitar as he started the
letra
, singing the words Raul had written decades ago about the woman he never stopped loving.

As the musicians and Leila followed the pattern of the
alegrías
, Charlotte felt an overwhelming urge to join in. As if sensing her need, Leila held out her hand and helped Charlotte up. The audience shouted encouragement as Charlotte allowed Mateo's music and Raul's words to flow through her body, guiding her hips and legs, her arms reaching for the sky as her hands wove in patterns that sang with the music. Closing her eyes, she imagined Abuela and Raul, Syeria and her great-grandfather, living and loving, embracing the heart and soul of flamenco and finding that moment of personal
duende
they'd once experienced but had found impossible to hold onto.

Leila guided Charlotte through the succession of footwork, their stamping sending dust flying from the small wooden stage. Charlotte faltered, lost balance and almost fell face first to the ground. Leila grabbed her arm and whispered, ‘Do not try so hard. Let it flow from the heart, your body will do the rest.'

Charlotte nodded and gave her body permission to move to Mateo's beautiful music, Raul's magical words and Leila's expressive choreography. A sudden wave swept through her, as if washing away the fear of risk, the doubts surrounding her abilities and place in the world. Instead, she was left with a sense of finding home, of being with people who understood her, a place where her creative soul and her heart would be content forever.

Twirling on the stage, the flames of the fire drew her in. Images of Syeria's painting sped through her mind—the woman's flowing skirt, the flames, the red carnation in her hair—
La Leyenda del Fuego
. A magnetic pull tugged at Charlotte, the orange and red and yellow flames beckoning her to leap, to open her soul, her heart.

The music grew in intensity and with a flick of her skirt, her arms wove a complicated pattern that led to the heavens, reaching for the stars. The muscles in her legs tensed, propelling her forward as she leapt across the fire, soaring above the flames, landing upright in a cloud of dust. Halting, she leant forward, trying to catch breath, unable to comprehend what she'd just done.

The music and clapping stopped. Raul passed his guitar to Leila, who stood with eyes wide, mouth open. The rest of the clan wore similar expressions. Skirting the fire, Mateo reached her side and grabbed both hands.

‘What did you just do?' he asked.

‘I … I don't know. I couldn't help it … I just …' She couldn't stop shaking, but it wasn't from nerves. Instead, her body felt alive, as if lit by a force that could never be extinguished.

‘
La Leyenda del Fuego
,' Mateo muttered.

‘No,' Charlotte shook her head. ‘It was a mistake, I got carried away in the moment, I—'

‘Only a true member of the Giménez clan—a chosen one—will dance
La Leyenda del Fuego
.' His dark eyes studied hers. ‘
Duende
in its purest form. You felt it, yes?'

‘I guess …' She leant over and put her hands on her knees, every molecule of her body buzzing. ‘That's what
duende
feels like?'

Placing his finger under her chin and guiding her to a standing position, Mateo said, ‘Some people spend a lifetime hoping, wishing, praying they will experience
duende
but it never happens. Yet here we are experiencing our own personal
duende
for the very first time.'

‘The first of many, I'm sure.' A rush of love coursed through her body as Mateo wrapped his arm around her and she leant her head on his shoulder. Staring up at the night sky, Charlotte smiled. She'd grown up on the other side of the world looking up at this expanse of universe with no idea of the journey she would one day take to the land of her ancestors. Along the way she'd discovered a new self, connected with her past and found a future she'd never expected. In the inky sky above, a powder spray of stars twinkled, welcoming Charlotte to her new home under the Spanish stars.

Life is a series of journeys that take us down many roads—some bumpy, some smooth. Even with a compass, it's easy to get lost and sometimes a turn leads us to an experience we could never have imagined. When I first embarked on the journey of writing books, I never expected to meet such a caring, fun and inspirational community of people who love the written word. Every day, I'm thankful to share this journey with those who love stories as much as I do.

Under The Spanish Stars
wouldn't be the book it is without the guidance and help of so many special and talented people.

A super-big thank you to the magnificent team at Harlequin Australia. What an amazing group of people who know how to make stories sing and are so very good at ensuring readers get to experience them. Working with all of you is such a joy. Special thanks to Jo and Annabel who are experts at wrangling words (and authors!) and creating ways to make stories sparkle.

A special thank you to my literary agent, Jacinta di Mase, for your unwavering support and patience. You truly are wonderful.

Thank you so much to Christa Moffit of Christabella Designs for my beautiful, beautiful cover. I am one lucky gal.

Of course, this journey is much more fun with people who think it is totally normal if I talk to myself or the characters in my head. Thank you to: Dave Sinclair, Di Curran, Heidi Noroozy, Juliet Madison, Kathryn Ledson, Louise Ousby, Natalie Hatch, Rachael Johns, Supriya Savkoor, T.M. Clark, and Tess Woods for brainstorming and cracking the whip when needed. Big hugs to the MTW gals—who knew a group of writers meeting online ten years ago would lead to such wonderful friendships? Massive thanks to my AWSOM gals—our writerly lunches are a highlight throughout the year.

Extra big thank you to the Romance Writers of Australia and Australian Romance Readers Association. The support you have given me, and countless authors, over the years is absolutely phenomenal and I am forever grateful to be involved with these wonderful organisations. RWA and ARRA have introduced me to many people who are now very good friends. I wish you all endless hours of happy writing and reading.

Mil gracias
Carolina Lagos for making sure my Spanish translations were spot on. There may be a big pond separating us but you're always close in my heart.