The girl was in his arms, her hand relaxed against his partially bare chest, laughing. His apartment was pulsing with life another party, his usual style: blaring music, alcohol flowing without restraint, sexy girls in every corner, and friends from his university swaying and laughing, blissfully unaware.

He was busy flirting with the girl when his phone rang. He almost ignored it, but her hand shot out and snatched the phone before him, reading the name on the screen with a mocking laugh. “The senile old man.”

In less than a second, Santiago ripped the phone from her hand and stood up violently, making her fall back onto the couch with an annoyed groan. He shouted sharply, “Turn off the music! No one makes a sound!”

Silence fell instantly. The music stopped, and the guests exchanged puzzled looks. He raised the phone to his ear and, in a polite voice that had nothing in common with the chaos around him, answered in Spanish, “Grandfather!”

The voice on the other end boomed so loudly that he had to pull the phone away from his ear, squeezing his eyes shut in irritation, rubbing between his brows as he tried not to show the others that he was being severely scolded. He brought the phone back to his ear and let out a light, forced laugh. “I missed you too, Grandpa.”

He moved quickly toward the balcony to escape prying eyes, but the words that struck him like a thunderbolt made him wish he could throw himself over it. “You’re coming back to Spain tomorrow. No more fooling around.”

He tried to protest, but the line went dead. An angry Spanish curse burst from his lips as he dragged his hands roughly over his face. He had thought he’d hidden everything… but apparently one of those bastards tailing him had reported to his grandfather about the two days he’d spent locked up after starting a fight in a shady club no place befitting the grandson of de la Fuente.

He’d thought that fleeing to the United States under the pretense of studying, living off his grandfather’s fortune, would be easy. But he knew well enough that his grandfather’s word was unbreakable. And now… home. Spain was waiting for him.

Santiago had grown up spoiled, surrounded by everything money could buy especially after his parents’ death in his childhood, which only deepened his grandfather’s attachment to him and his desire to protect him. But time does not stand still. He was now twenty-two, and he was supposed to be training to take over the company. Instead, he was nothing but a scoundrel lost in parties and women, without the slightest care in the world… spoiled to the core.

“This senile old man must be joking…” he muttered to himself as he stepped out of the car, the wind stinging his face. He thought his worst punishment would be boring training in company affairs. It never crossed his mind not even by one percent that his grandfather would send him to Andalusia to manage the old land holdings. Panic seized him, and he nearly turned back to the car, but he remembered his grandfather’s blunt threats: cutting off his allowance. Leaving him without money. Forcing him to rely on himself.

He stood there in his expensive clothes, utterly unaccustomed to this. To him… this was hell. With a distracted mind, he listened to the old employee in charge of the land explaining the fields. The land stretched before him in green plains, endless farms, an open horizon utterly unlike his lavish world.

The man interrupted himself, saying, “I have some work to attend to now… my daughter will give you a tour of the land.”

Then the sound of approaching horse hooves rang out. He turned and saw you, riding the horse, wearing a brown cowboy hat, a leather belt cinched around your waist, jeans slightly dirty with signs of labor, and leather boots.

You dismounted, patted the horse’s neck, then walked toward him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over you with open admiration, and for the first time since his feet had touched Spanish soil, Santiago’s charming smile returned to his face.

“Señorita.”