Under the Spanish Stars by Alli Sinclair Read Free Book Online Page A

tried to tell him about her experience, but found it impossible. His relationship with her mother was tenuous at the best of times and he already had one secret from his wife—the painting—so Katarina didn’t need to burden him with more. Not that it mattered anyway, as she’d abandoned any hopes of pursuing flamenco after Julieta kicked her out.
    Now the artwork only served as a reminder that her father’s life had been cruelly cut short and with his death, the story behind the painting would never be revealed. Although the artwork made her sad, she couldn’t part with it because, like it or not, it had become her talisman.
    After her banishment from Julieta’s flamenco bar and Raul’s departure for Seville, Katarina had lost faith in the dance that had brought her so much joy. A ball of misery without flamenco, she’d suffered the torment of not feeding her soul, and she suffered alone until the death of her father had urged her to publicly declare her love for flamenco. As she’d predicted, her mother, grandfather and younger brothers didn’t support her dreams. They’d pushed her out the door of the family house, penniless and still grieving for her father. Even if Katarina wanted to make amends with her family, she no longer had any idea how to contact them. She’d heard they fled Granada as soon as World War II began, and that they were now settled in the safe haven of the Spanish Protectorate of Morocco. No one really knew for sure and Katarina didn’t care enough, or have the funds, to investigate.
    The door clicked open and she turned to find Salvador stepping into the small room. His broad shoulders took up most of the doorway and his head nearly hit the top of the doorframe. Running his hand through his thick, salt-and-pepper hair, he asked, ‘Ready?’
    â€˜Yes, yes.’ Katarina adjusted the seams on her stockings then smoothed down her pale green dress. ‘Another dance, another peso.’
    â€˜Or three.’
    â€˜If we’re lucky.’
    â€˜That’s my girl.’
    Katarina gave a half-smile. She’d met Salvador when training with Julieta and they’d instantly become steadfast friends. When her mentor passed and Katarina had nowhere else to go, having been disowned by her family, Salvador and his wife had taken her in and provided a nurturing environment, encouraging her to find a deeper connection with flamencoand to fully immerse herself in this world she had grown to love.
    She followed him out the door and down the short hallway, halting at the side of the stage. Katarina glanced at the crowd. Before every performance her heart beat rapidly, concerned she’d run into someone from her past. Although she dressed, walked and talked like a gitana , her fiery red locks made her stand out from the other dancers with dark hair and skin. Being identified by someone from her old life only reminded her of the years she’d spent at frivolous gatherings and partaking in inane chatter while the rest of Spain crumbled around her. With flamenco she had a purpose, there was meaning. She knew worrying about seeing an old acquaintance was ludicrous as she doubted anyone from that circle would frequent an establishment such as this but the fear remained the same. One of these days she’d overcome this anxiety. She had to or else it would make her crazy.
    Striding onto the stage, Salvador’s confidence attracted attention and the audience let out deafening cheers. If only she possessed the self-assurance of Salvador. Perhaps then she could reach the great heights Julieta had always envisioned for her. When the cancer struck, Julieta’s demise had been quick and, once again, Katarina had a date each year to mourn the loss of someone she had cared about deeply.
    Hernán rushed past, clutching his guitar, his hair a ruffled mess. He sat on the stool onstage, took a deep breath and gave Salvador a nod. Hernán