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As Vincent opened the trunk to get the guitars, one of the carved wooden doors swung outward and was held open by a ponytailed man dressed in black.
Gabriel stood on the sidewalk, his head tilted back to gaze at the marquee. She wondered if he was imagining his name up there.
Vincent joined them, a guitar case in each hand, saying, “Let’s move inside.”
The lobby was small but ornate, with mosaic-covered columns rising to a high ceiling.
The driver passed the guitars to Gabriel. “Good luck, sir.”
A surprised smile flashed on Gabriel’s face. “Gracias.” He lifted one case to indicate that Quinn should precede him through the theater door.
The stage was spotlighted in a blaze of white, leaving the semicircular rows of velvet-upholstered seats in near darkness. It was a relatively small space, seating only about five hundred people, she’d been told.
Gabriel stopped at the top of the sloping aisle and stared at the empty stage. Since his hands were full, Quinn wrapped her hand around his upper arm, the leather of his black jacket smooth against her palm. “Mucha mierda!” she said, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheek. “Break a string!”
He turned his intense gaze on her. “Thank you for being here.”
“Don’t be stupid.” She deliberately insulted him to lighten his nerves. “I got to sleep in the king’s airplane bed and stay in a hotel so exclusive no normal person has heard of it.”
He huffed out a single laugh. “That’s why I wanted you to come.” He hefted the guitars. “Come meet Marisela.”
“Later,” Quinn said. “You need to talk with her, musician to musician. I’m going to be the audience for now.”
“Near the stage so I can see you,” he said, nodding toward the front row.
“I’ll be front and center.”
She gestured for him to go first. As they got to the fifth row, a slim woman dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt, a flaming red braid falling over her shoulder, walked onto the stage. “Gabriel, buenos días, guapo!”
“Qué bueno verte, Marisela!” He lifted the black leather case higher. “I brought the Torres for you.”
“I can’t wait to hold it in my arms,” she said, coming to the edge of the stage with her hands flung dramatically outward.
Gabriel placed both guitar cases on the stage before he vaulted up onto it. He and Marisela did the European double air-kiss and then moved into a genuine hug.
Quinn slipped into the fourth row of seats.
“Who’s your friend?” Marisela shaded her eyes to peer in Quinn’s direction.
“My girlfriend, Quinn Pierson. She came with me from Caleva.” Gabriel turned toward Quinn and projected his voice. “Quinn, meet Marisela Alejo, the greatest flamenco guitarist in the world today.”
Marisela laughed. “Depends on who you ask, but I’ll take it from one who knows his stuff. Un placer, Quinn.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Quinn said.
As she watched Marisela and Gabriel chatting while a stagehand set up a couple of chairs onstage, Quinn saw what Gabriel had meant. Marisela did not treat him like a duke. She hadn’t curtsied or called him Don Gabriel or Duque. She behaved as though they were equals. That must spring from the confidence of being the best at what she did. Quinn liked that about Marisela. And envied it.
As the two guitarists settled on their chairs, Quinn realized they were wearing almost identical outfits, even down to their black boots. But Gabriel’s long legs and sculpted musculature made his black jeans and T-shirt stretch in ways that drew her gaze like a magnet, especially since she knew how his bare skin looked underneath.
When Gabriel reached down to flip open the latches on his brown guitar case, Quinn burrowed into the cushioned velvet seat, her grip on the arms whitening her knuckles.
“Aren’t you going to play the Torres?” Marisela asked.
“No,” he said as he settled his guitar on his thighs. “That’s a classical instrument. Today, I am playing flamenco. Besides, the Torres is yours now.”
“Te has vuelto loco!” Marisela shook her head in disbelief as Gabriel bent to tune his guitar. When he was satisfied, he straightened and looked at Quinn. She saw him take a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling.
Then his fingers flew across the guitar strings, and wild music filled the theater.
