I frown at the semi-familiar voice, unable to place it. “Who’s this?”
“Caterina De Vere. You might not—”
“My grandmother’s friend?” I ask abruptly.
I can hear the smile in her voice when she replies. “Yes.Dolores’s old friend. I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”
A pang sears near my heart at the memory of my grandmother. “Of course. How are you?” I ask, testing the waters. I have no idea why Caterina De Vere is calling me. I haven’t seen her since my grandmother’s funeral in Barcelona, and that was over five years ago. The memory of Caterina in her mourning black, laying her hand on her late friend’s casket, is something I’ll never forget. We all took my grandmother’s death hard—me more than anyone—but Caterina and Dolores were as close as two people can be. My grandfather used to joke that while he was my grandmother’s husband, Caterina was her true soulmate.
“Estoy bien.” She says, “Missing Dolores, of course. I think about her every day.”
“So do I.”
My grandmother and I were extremely close. She was a second mom to me and, in most ways, the only one who mattered.
“And you?” Caterina asks, her tone lightening. “From what I hear, you have Ibiza in the palm of your hand. I can’t imagine what your abuela would say.”
“She’d love it,” I tell her, clearing my throat of the emotion tightening it. “She’d be at my clubs every night, giving all the young women a run for their money.”
Caterina cackles with delight, then offers up her hearty agreement.
Mauricio and Juan Carlos wave impatiently for me to join them down on the water. I hold up my finger and turn away from the railing so I can walk closer to the bridge. There, I can pick up better reception. If Caterina is calling me out of the blue like this, it’s likely for good reason; I don’t want this call to drop.
“And your dad? How is he?” she asks.
I scratch my scruff. “Living in Paris. I’m not sure what he’s doing for work at the moment. I think he has a young girlfriend, though, last I heard.”
She tsks with disapproval. “¡Madre mía! Your poor mother.”
“She’s fine,” I promise with a hint of a smile. “Happier without him, believe me.”
My parents aren’t technically divorced—devout Catholics don’t divorce—but I’m glad they live separately. My parents were forced into marriage young and stuck it out for twenty years despite hating each other. Once the going got tough for my father and his company, it made sense for them to part ways permanently. Now, my mother lives among her friends in Barcelona, a veritable nun for all intents and purposes, and my father lives in Paris. They rarely call me to check in, and I’m fine with the arrangement. Work is my family, my first and only love.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m calling you out of the blue,” Caterina says. “I won’t keep taking up your time. I know you’re a busy man. This concerns my sweet Isabel.”
Isabel?I’m ashamed I don’t remember the name. Caterina’s daughter? I know she has a son who lives in America.
She continues before I can ask, “My granddaughter has decided to spend her summer on Ibiza.”
“You don’t say…”
I roll my eyes, glad she can’t see it. I already know where this conversation is headed. Spanish grandmothers are nothing if not overly protective.
“Mi niña is young.”
“How young?” I press. Surely the De Vere family isn’t allowing their teenage daughter to run loose on this island.
“Twenty-six.”
I stifle a chuckle as she goes on, oblivious to my restrained annoyance. “She’s a sheltered girl, you understand. Naive.”
“Young, naive girls come to Ibiza all the time, and they survive their trip just fine,” I point out drily. She doesn’t respond, and my guilt forces me to throw her a bone. “What would you like me to do?”
“Watch out for her.”
“How am I supposed to find this girl? The island isn’t that small.”
“She told me she was going to apply to work at Aura.”
