The Stranger

Chapter 23 - Cassandra

The flight from Berlin to Madrid felt like it ended before it began. I'd slept the entire way, the exhaustion from our late night catching up with me. Three hours compressed into the blink of an eye. The morning had been a slow struggle to leave the warmth of our hotel bed, but Alex had made it easier. Room service breakfast was already waiting when he woke me up with soft kisses and whispered buenos días. That Spanish lilt in his voice—something I hadn't fully noticed before—was as intoxicating as the tingles it sent through me.

By 1:30 p.m., we were walking through Adolfo Suárez Madrid–Barajas Airport, heading for the Europcar counter in Terminal 4.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked, nerves creeping in as I realised I hadn't asked this earlier. "Does your dad even know I'm coming?"

Alex smiled, his calmness unwavering. "I've hired a car, and we're driving to Aranjuez. It's about an hour from here." He paused as we approached the desk. "Buenas tardes, señorita," he greeted the brunette attendant, his voice switching seamlessly to Spanish. "He reservado un coche por el fin de semana. Mi nombre es Alejandro Domínguez."

I didn't understand a word, but the way he spoke—confident, effortless—was pure seduction. My mind wandered, and I wondered what else that mouth was capable of.

He turned back to me. "Okay, Cassandra, let's go." His hand found mine as he led me towards the car park.

The drive south on the E-5 was mesmerising. Though similar to England in some ways, the sun-soaked landscape and the open roads felt foreign, electric.

"So why Aranhooeth?" I attempted my best Spanish pronunciation, earning a laugh from Alex.

"Aranjuez," he corrected with a smirk. "It's where I grew up. My family owns a hacienda there." He hesitated. "I don't actually know the English word for it... it's like a ranch or an estate."

I nodded, trying to picture it.

"My parents bought it when Mum was pregnant with me. They wanted somewhere peaceful, but not far from Madrid. It was perfect for Mum's studio."

"Studio?"

"She was a dancer," Alex explained. "They met in Cuba. Mum was touring Latin America—salsa, cumbia, tango, vallenato. And then she discovered flamenco in Spain."

"I have no idea what any of those words mean," I admitted, laughing, "but it all sounds ridiculously sexy." And it did—so much so that I wanted to lean over and take him in my mouth right then and there.

He chuckled. "Flamenco is what made her stay in Spain. She opened a dance school here—a really popular one. My dad helped her run it while working the land and building the house."

When we arrived in Aranjuez, the scenery shifted. The buildings thinned out, replaced by stretches of greenery and rolling fields. Alex turned off the main road onto a dirt track and passed through a tall wooden gate set into a low, whitewashed wall.

The house was a vision of rustic charm. White brick walls with patches of red bricks decorating the door and window frames. Massive windows with wooden shutters, and a tiled roof that seemed to glow under the bright Spanish sun.

As we stepped out of the car, a sense of tranquillity washed over me. The air smelled fresher, cleaner. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and the warmth of the sun kissed my skin.

"Ready?" Alex's hand brushed against my back, waking me from my trance.

We hadn't reached the front door before it swung open.

"Alejandrito!" A middle-aged woman beamed as she greeted Alex with open arms. "¡Bienvenido!"

"Hola, mi Soledad," Alex replied, hugging her warmly before switching to English. "This is Cassandra. Cassandra, this is Soledad—the soul of the house."