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I longed for the comfort of Jorge, my plush monkey who kept me company every night. Andrés teased me about him sometimes, telling me I was too old to sleep with a stuffed animal. But Jorge was like a friend to me, and I’d whispered my secrets to him in the night.
Like the fact that I missed my mother, even though I’d never known her. I’d told him how I feared my father and Cristian. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else. Abuela provided a home for Andrés and me, and I didn’t want her to think I didn’t love her. I didn’t want her to think I sometimes wished I had loving parents, too.
Tears stung the corners of my eyes again, and I hastily blinked them back.
Stop crying, the boy had ordered.
Seeking the only comfort I could think of, I got back in bed and tugged the covers over my head, as though I could hide from the monsters that likely lurked in this unfamiliar house.
What are you doing in my house? The boy was definitely one of those monsters, and he lived here. He was close enough that he’d heard me crying.
I shivered at the idea of his nearness, and I burrowed deeper into the covers.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, trying to quiet my distressed thoughts. After a while, I heard the bedroom door open. I sank farther into the mattress, cowering from the stranger.
“Valentina,” a feminine voice called softly. “You need to wake up. We’re having breakfast soon.”
I didn’t emerge from the covers. I didn’t want to leave the relative safety of the bedroom, and I didn’t know this woman; another stranger who might hurt me.
“Valentina,” she said, more sharply. “Get up.”
“I don’t want to,” I whispered.
She sighed. “Don’t make me come over there.” The warning didn’t hold any venom, but it was a warning, nonetheless.
With trembling fingers, I pulled the covers down, poking my head out to peer at the woman. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice small.
Her pouty red lips pressed together, her delicate, tanned features souring as her brown eyes narrowed. “I told you to get up. Don’t test me.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and willed my shaking knees to support me as I stood. The woman eyed me up and down, examining me. She lingered on my monkey t-shirt, and I hugged my arms around me to hide my breasts. I didn’t like when people looked at them. It made my cheeks burn and my stomach drop.
The woman’s perfectly painted lips twisted downward, but the frown didn’t diminish her beautiful features.
“You are young,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself. She sighed again. “My name is Mariana. Come on. I’m supposed to help you get ready today.”
Hesitantly, I walked toward where she beckoned to the bathroom. As I approached, I realized she was a petite woman. She was barely taller than my five-foot four frame, but the way her tight green wrap dress hugged her curves couldn’t have made the age difference between us more obvious. Her eyes were framed by dark lashes, which were so thick that the effect could only be achieved with makeup.
I noted that she was perfectly polished, from her red lipstick to her crimson-lacquered fingernails. It seemed odd that she was so put together at this time of day, as though she was ready to go to one of my father’s dinner parties. Only, we were getting ready for breakfast. Despite her makeup, she was obviously a natural beauty, with a heart-shaped face and slender, straight nose. Her tanned cheeks seemed to practically glow.
I couldn’t discern her age, but she was definitely a woman. I felt awkward and disheveled beside her. Were all women this made up in the morning? I didn’t have a frame of reference other than Abuela, and I’d never seen her wear any trace of makeup.
My familiar longing for a mother tightened my chest. Abuela loved me, but she’d never taught me anything about becoming a woman. Maybe if I had a mother, I’d be a little more prepared to face Mariana.
As it was, I dropped my eyes and skirted around her into the bathroom.
“Take a shower,” she ordered, but the command was softened by her sultry voice. “I have something you can wear. We’ll get you clothes of your own later today, but we’re close enough to the same size that you can wear something of mine.”
The idea of wearing the beautiful woman’s clothes made unease stir in my gut.
Is she a woman yet?
I shied away from the memory of Vicente’s strange question. I didn’t want to contemplate it.
“Hurry up,” Mariana urged as she closed the bathroom door behind me.
Goosebumps erupted on my arms when I stripped off my shirt. Even though I was alone, I felt exposed in this unfamiliar place. The bathroom was opulent, with black and white checked tiles and a huge bathtub I could practically swim in.
