That was how it began—much to the delight of Señor. Oh, he feigned outrage, knowing full well that nothing threw two lovers into each other’s arms more swiftly than the knowledge that their love was opposed by a patriarchal figure.
Secretly, however—so secretly that he barely allowed himself to savor the experience for fear of breaking the spell—Señor thrilled to the idea of the proud, accomplished daughter of his archrival hurling herself at the illegitimate child of his faithless mistress—a backward boy who would never amount to anything and so would bind her to his mediocrity—weighing her down, wearing her out, wasting her life.
Señor relished every morsel about the couple’s cozy dinners at the inn and long walks down the winding gravel paths of the sculpture gardens. If only there ha
