Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Interlude: Mi Amor y Mi Vida (Part One)

March 12th 1699
The Past
Casi medianoche
Barrio de Triana
Seville, Spain

The Conde de Sevilla returned to Triana with, admittedly, one of the most selfish and pleasurable reasons, but Heaven must have a sense of humor that night, for whence before just this morning, young Antonio Del Santo tried to know this formidable barrios' ways with his disguises, business sense, and pure intent to help—albeit with crude methods—he has failed.

No one knew his triumph rests on his love for dancing, not even him, here, half a Conde and half a hopeless suitor, with his jewellry in his faithful servants' care but his fine clothes still marking him unmistakeably in the eyes of the townswomen and girls who flocked the square upon hearing the appearance of a handsome stranger with the gitanos.

They flutter their lashes up at him. They praise his dance. Anton bows his head. "Oh, gracias. Happy to have made your d–I mean, night. Haha." When he dares as much as move his head to see his next step, his glance falls upon more of them and quiet, happy giggles would resound. Unused to this attention, Anton shrinks and smiles. "Hola, hola."

"Pero!" A señora with her hair wrapped in a towel suddenly appears before him. "Where did you come from?!"

"You must be from across the river!" Another matron beams, clasping her shawl dearly as if she is fifty years younger. Anton nervously grins. "Yet no one could dance like that in Sevilla; this, what you have..."

"Ah, but I am from... Sevilla. Sí."

"Oh!" The crowd collectively gasps.

The abuela blinks. "Then why are you here?"

And now they have even more questions. Anton politely tries to answer all he could. Over time, the women make a game of it, and he could only wish to find an opening to slip through them. They think he is a gitano, maybe a merchant? Ah, no!

"Marinero!" A slender lady with a prominent nose and deep, dark eyes claps, and when he stiffens at that title, she pumps a fist to her chest and proudly tells her amigas how she correctly guessed, "That build, those arms!"

Ah, Dios mío.

Giggles and nervous laughter now spread among them. Anton sighs, but he cannot help but smile at their fascination. "I am really flattered, truly, señoras." He tries to stand atop his toes and peer at the tapas—now closed, but poor Malena, Paquito, Andres and Facundo are still faithfully waiting by the flickering street lantern, with only Facundo left awake, but yawning. "Perdon, I—"

"Where are you going?!" A younger woman dares, fan flicking fast—oh, that is not good. Anton purses his lips, but the girls echo that insistently... and perhaps some of their mothers too.

"Home! I have a home, you know. And it is getting late... and my, my Mama would kill me—"

"Por Díos!" The woman who outed him as a sailor gasps. "How old are you?!"

"I... do you really want to know that?" It is useless however, whatever he says, they nod and just find it more amusing than the previous ones. Anton turns around. At the other side, the gitanos are counting their money and drinking by the caravan, Theresa among them. She is too busy, she cannot even pull him out. Anton takes a deep breath. On one hand, he could take this chance to help Triana... "It doesn't matter." He grins, and one young girl dabs her kerchief over her forehead. "At least I have a grand tale to tell her once I return home."