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A Season for Wishes
A Season for Wishes
A Season for Wishes
Ebook55 pages50 minutes

A Season for Wishes

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After A Summer For Scandal comes A Season For Wishes...

Alba Reyes has returned to Arroyo Blanco after six long years away—and so has Marcos Ramirez. Though the circumstances surrounding their parting were more bitter than sweet, their reunion promises to be more agreeable than they expected when a holiday game brings them together and shows them that all they’ve ever wished for is each other.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 10, 2015
ISBN9781311534521
A Season for Wishes
Author

Lydia San Andres

Lydia San Andres lives and writes in the tropics, where she can be found reading and making excuses to stay out of the heat. A Summer for Scandal is her first novel.

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    A Season for Wishes - Lydia San Andres

    Chapter 1

    ARROYO BLANCO

    DECEMBER 1910


    It was almost three weeks until Christmas, and a light December breeze moved through the trees, cool enough that some of the girls had wrapped silk shawls around their shoulders as they sat in Maria Teresa’s terrace. Alba Reyes was glad enough for hers; it was soft and warm and its pale café con leche color, only a shade or two lighter than her own skin and embroidered in ivory to match her shirtwaist, made her brown hair look darker and her pearls more lustrous.

    Or so Maria Teresa had told her when she’d persuaded Alba to purchase it the day before. It’s been years since your father died, she’d said as she held up the silky material. "It’s about time you came out of mourning. You can wear this to the musicale I’m hosting tomorrow—it’ll be a nice change from all the black you’ve been wearing."

    Though she still missed her father dreadfully, Alba's reasons for wearing black after the six-month mourning period had more to do with practicality than grief. She’d fingered the embroidered shawl, thinking it had been a long time since she’d worn lighter colors, and her things were a trifle shabby. So she’d bought the shawl as well as a lace-trimmed shirtwaist, wincing slightly as she always did whenever she parted with the money she’d earned during five years of keeping books for an importer in Ciudad Real. As it turned out, she was happy to have something nice to wear when she realized Maria Teresa’s cousin Marcos had been invited to the musicale.

    Six years had passed since they’d last seen each other. During that time, Alba had visited Arroyo Blanco every few months, but Marcos, who had gone away to university, and then to work with his uncle in Chile, hadn’t returned to town. Until now.

    She’d thought about this moment so often she could hardly believe it was really happening. But there he was, framed by the dark wooden doorway, clasping Maria Teresa’s hand and saying something that made his cousin reach out to grasp him into an affectionate hug.

    Alba’s palms grew damp, and a sudden flutter in her chest made her lift a hand to her lacy shirtwaist. She would be lying if she said her anticipation hadn’t been colored by anxiety. After what had happened when they’d last seen each other, he had every right to refuse to talk to her or even see her.

    Seized with an impulse to flee, Alba made herself remain by the balustrade, watching from a safe distance as Marcos continued to walk into the terrace, tall and lean in his pale linen suit. He looked a little older, of course, his features a little more chiseled and his shoulders broader, but he still parted his dark brown hair on the left and he still smiled the same half smile that didn’t match the mischief in his eyes.

    Alba was so busy drinking in the sight, she failed to notice two things: the first, that the people clustered around her were attempting to draw her into a conversation—and had been for some moments—and second, that Marcos had brought someone. A woman.

    Her hand was tucked into his arm and she was smiling at Maria Teresa as Marcos introduced them. Alba's heart sank, but she managed a coherent reply to something Miguel Fung said before excusing herself from the group with the pretext of getting a glass of mandarin juice from the housemaid, who had just come out of the house. She helped herself, then retreated to a corner near the steps.

    In the years they’d been apart, she’d imagined, time and time again, what it would be like to see him again. She’d gone through every possible scenario, but never had she imagined he would return with a wife.

    And why wouldn’t he have made an attachment? Six years was a very long time.

    Although she was doing her best to look as if she hadn’t noticed him, and despite the half

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