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Quinn could not wrap her mind around making fun of the king, but Luis hadn’t appeared to mind.
Raul turned to her. “Quinn, I want to hear all about Kyran Redda. I use his music to pump me up when I work out. All Gabri could tell me about was the guy’s technique on the guitar.” The prince threw a laughing glance at his cousin.
Quinn described the rock star, the hotel suite, and as many of its occupants as she could remember. Raul put some names to her descriptions since he was familiar with the whole band. “Since Gabri talked Kyran into coming here, I’m going to pull rank to meet them all.” Raul gave Gabriel a sideways look. “Of course, it’s not the same as playing guitar with Kyran Redda. Will he give you credit on the song you helped him write?”
“I assume he would not do so without asking me,” Gabriel said.
“Why don’t you want credit?” Quinn asked.
“It wouldn’t help my credibility as a tocaor,” Gabriel said.
“But it would boost your fame with the general public.” Raul held out his hands, palms up as though balancing two weights. “Fame or credibility?”
“It is bad enough that I’m a duke,” Gabriel said. “I do not want to be known as a writer of rock songs as well.”
“You’re a Renaissance man,” Quinn said. “You can do anything!”
Gabriel seemed to remember his role. “You are blinded by love, cariño mío,” he said with an affectionate grin.
“You are talking about the music festival?” Odette joined their conversation. “Hélène tells me you brought off quite a coup, Gabriel.”
Luis put down his soup spoon. “Gabriel is going to put Caleva on the map of international culture. Now that he has Kyran Redda signed on, I predict a rush of stars begging to join the roster of performers.”
Gabriel’s face lit up at his uncle’s praise. The rest of the royal family jumped on the bandwagon to discuss the new project.
Odette listened without comment, her gaze skimming around the table as the enthusiasm sparkled. “Ah, but I thought it was to be a festival of culture,” she finally said with a note of faint disdain. “This sounds more like a common rave.”
Luis’s face tightened. “We wish to bring a broad audience to Caleva. Gabriel has also enticed one of the world’s best flamenco guitarists to come.”
“Ah, yes. Gypsy music.” Odette dismissed Marisela Alejo with a flick of her fingers. “I had hoped for something classical. Perhaps some ballet.”
Shock rippled across Gabriel’s face at his aunt’s rudeness, but it was Lorenzo who spoke. “We wish to look into the future,” he said, giving her a look down his ducal nose that would have terrified Quinn. “Caleva will be seen as a vibrant, modern arts center.”
“I’m surprised at you, Lorenzo,” Odette said. “You are such a lover of history.”
“As Jorge Santayana said, ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,’” the Duke of Bruma quoted. “I study history to understand where we made mistakes so Luis can avoid them. I care deeply about Caleva’s path forward.”
“Such a good team you are,” Odette said, but her tone was sarcastic, not admiring.
Anger blazed in Lorenzo’s eyes.
“My professor says that Caleva punches well above its weight on the international stage,” Quinn interjected in an effort to keep Gabriel’s father from exploding.
“Thanks, in part, to the money Archambeau pours into its treasury,” Odette said.
Gabriel looked stunned. Odette seemed to have discarded her beloved-aunt persona. But why now?
Odette picked up her fork and knife. “These lamb chops look delicious.” She bent so her nose was over her plate. “Ah, I believe I detect a hint of cognac in the sauce. Merveilleux.”
Quinn and Gabriel shared a baffled glance.
Luis was regarding his guest with a speculative air, while Hélène looked like she’d been smacked in the face with a dead fish. Good manners prevailed, however, as the diners tasted the main course.
Odette was right about the lamb chops. They melted in Quinn’s mouth, while the cream sauce made her want to groan with pleasure. Too bad she had to split her attention between the food and the Frenchwoman. She would rather focus on the lamb.
The rest of the meal passed without any ugliness, although the atmosphere had cooled several degrees since Odette’s criticism of the music festival. Hélène, in particular, was merely civil to her old friend, clearly annoyed that Odette had attacked the duchess’s son and his exciting new project.
Once they finished the selection of luscious French pastries, Hélène shepherded them back into the sala for after-dinner drinks. Quinn made herself settle close beside Gabriel on a green brocade sofa, feeling trapped in an exquisite hell by the warmth and solidity of his body.
