Fierce Pride by Phoebe Conn Page A

asked.
    “No, thank you. I’m fine.” The taunting painting of Miguel was the size of a museum exhibit. Peter turned his back on it and sat on the sofa. “While I appreciate the effort, there’s no need to ask for my blessing. Maggie has always known her own mind, and I respect that, but you’re not the man I’d have chosen for her.”
    Rafael would have been more comfortable standing, but rather than tower over Peter, he took one of the black leather chairs so their eyes would meet. “I understand, but Maggie and I love each other, and I’ll make her happy.”
    “You can only try,” Peter advised.
    Rafael smiled. “I intend to succeed. I want to tell you a story. You’re an attorney; perhaps you can offer advice.”
    “I’m not familiar with Spanish law.”
    “Nevertheless, hear me out. There was a young man who was very close to his younger sister. They had no parents, and their grandmother raised them. When the sister was sixteen, she was raped by a young man, who made a joke of it. The brother called him out. The rapist pulled a knife, and in the following fight, the rapist was killed. The brother was charged with murder and spent six years in prison. Is that what would have happened in America?”
    Peter sighed wearily and looked down at his hands. “It’s a difficult question, and I wish I could give you a definitive answer, but a lot would depend on the identities of the dead man and the survivor and how much sympathy could be generated for each. A talented prosecutor might convince a jury the defendant was lowlife scum and guilty. An even more talented defense attorney might convince a jury the deceased was a scumbag and the defendant a hero for defending his sister’s honor. Unfortunately, justice isn’t always meted out fairly.”
    “Whose side would you take?”
    “I’m a defense attorney. I would have made the brother a hero and given him a parade when he was acquitted.” Peter’s eyes were an intense blue and filled with apprehension. “Please tell me that isn’t your story.”
    Rafael shrugged. “I’m afraid it is. I worked in the prison hospital and discovered I have a talent for medicine, so those six years weren’t wasted.”
    Peter winced. “Does Maggie know?”
    “I told her when we first met. She took my side too.”
    “I could use a drink. Is there any scotch?”
    “Chivas Regal.” Rafael got up and poured him a drink.
    Peter tossed it down in a single gulp and set the glass on the coffee table. “There’s no reason to tell Linda. She already feels as though we’re losing Maggie to a world she rejected twenty-five years ago. At least Miguel’s dead. I wouldn’t have come with her if he’d still been alive.”
    “That would have been a very serious mistake.”
    Peter stood. “Maybe, maybe not. Don’t believe you can predict a woman’s behavior. They veer off on tangents without warning, usually when you least expect it.”
    Rafael rose and offered his hand. “Thank you.”
    Peter shook his hand firmly. “What would you have done if I’d forbidden the match?”
    “Maggie and I would have married anyway.”
    Peter shook his head. “It wouldn’t be wise to confide that either.”
    “I understand.” Rafael opened the door and stood aside. There was still a whole lot he wasn’t revealing, but for now, his murder conviction would be enough. Having survived that onerous chore, he left and would wait to see Maggie later.
     
     
    Linda had brought a tailored suit in a luscious apricot shade, but she looked through the clothes at the boutique and pulled out the skirt with the floral pattern Libby had tried on. “This is pretty.”
    Patricia was holding a dress with alternating bands of white and bright pink eyelet mixed with a pink floral fabric. “Why don’t you buy it? I want to try on this.”
    “Is that too bright, Maggie?” her mother asked.
    “No, not at all. We’ll be on the beach with the ocean for a backdrop, and whatever Patricia wants will be