From Barcelona, with Love by Elizabeth Adler Page B

while she cruised the Mediterranean on millionaires’ grand yachts with Jassy, and attended parties with rock stars in Bodrum, Turkey, and summered on South of France beaches, or traveled to L.A., or New York. She went with Jassy to buy clothes in Paris and London, and flew wherever and whenever Jassy wanted. Paloma always tagged along. Nobody even asked anymore what’s that kid doing here? They just accepted her as part of Jassy’s life, and some even suspected she was Jassy’s own child by a married lover.
    But Jassy never minded what anybody said. And that’s why Lorenza could never put Jassy down as a totally superficial spoiled beauty, sensual, wicked, and at thirty-seven still playing around in the resorts of the world. Paloma lived an extraordinary life in the grown-up whirl of social activity that fueled her aunt’s life. Lorenza knew it was not suitable and it certainly was not right, but without removing the child and breaking her heart a second time, there was nothing she could do about it.

 
    Chapter 8
    Paloma had followed Jassy into the big stone house in Las Ramblas and suddenly realized her boots squelched. It sounded extra loud in that big empty hall, kind of echoing to the rafters and those funny theater boxes that were plastered with small cupids. Or were they cherubs? Or possibly little fat gold angels, because she saw now they had wings. Small and not too fluffy, but definitely wings. Plus they had pink mouths pursed in what looked suspiciously like kisses. Angels blowing kisses? What kind of naughty place was this anyway? And this was her grandparents’ house.
    It was the first time Paloma had been inside the Barcelona mansion. Of course she’d passed it many times quickly on her way to some massage appointment in Las Ramblas with Jassy, where Paloma would have to wait patiently, playing games on her iPhone, or submitting to reflexology until her feet ached from the pressure. Paloma was definitely not keen on massage, but she was concerned about her boots.
    She was just glad they hadn’t floated off her feet and been lost in the Pacific. They were all she had of her mother. That, and the narrow gold charm bracelet she always wore, despite convent school rules against the wearing of jewelry. One of the few times she actually went to the school in Paris, she wore it tucked up under her shirt sleeve, or else in summer when short sleeves were the rule, attached to a thin gold chain round her neck, when everybody assumed it was simply a gold cross, the same as almost everyone wore. She disguised the telltale bump carefully, with the school tie, or a scarf, or else tying her sweater sleeves around her neck. Nobody was going to part Paloma from that bracelet, or from those boots. She would run away from school first, run like her mother had. Run away and no one would ever see her again, never know where she was. She just wished she were older than nine. Twelve would be good. You could do so much more, get away with more when you were twelve.
    Jassy had disappeared into the salón and Paloma wondered, with a pang of loneliness, whether anyone would even miss her if she simply left now. Her aunt was always so frantically busy with her own grown-up business and friends; always on the move, though she was really good about including Paloma in everything. But Paloma was sensitive to Jassy’s moods; she understood there were times when Jassy would rather be on her own. In fact, just last year, Jassy had left her for two whole weeks, at the Ritz Hotel in Paris.
    Paloma was eight then, and Jassy had simply told her to amuse herself while she went to visit a sick friend in the South of France.
    â€œCall room service for anything you want,” she’d said airily, hugging her a quick goodbye. “You understand this is urgent, and anyhow I know you’ll be perfectly okay on your own. It’s just a couple of days, after all.”
    Paloma had guessed she was going