Page 11 of Secrets of the Six

"Well, Lupe Espinoza. I would say it's been nice making your acquaintance, but we both know that would be a lie. And if there's anything I value more than ill-gotten gain, it's blunt honesty."

The old woman finally cracks the smallest of smiles and nods. "Best to tell the truth at all times."

"Agreed." I point toward the dreaded – albeit it, stunning – dress. "If I'm to wear that ridiculous thing, then I'll need some help getting into it."

"Why else would I be here?" She plants her weathered hands to her wide hips. "It's certainly not for your sparkling personality."

I bark out a laugh. "I think you and I will get along just fine."

"I wouldn't hold your breath, mocosa." Little brat. She waves me to follow her to the changing area and for once, I obey without argument. "I'm no miracle worker, but let's see if I can make you look a lady."

That was the longest hour of my entire life.

Once Lupe assisted me into the dress, she brushed and fashioned my hair. Gone is the long braid I'm accustomed to, replaced by cascading feminine locks with strategic clips pinning my wispy bangs to the side, ensuring my eyes are visible to all who look my way.

"Eyes are the key to bringing a man to his knees," Lupe tells me. "If he senses your desire for him, he will do anything to win your heart. He might even offer up his own head to the executioner's block if you asked him to. That is the power of a lady."

But the only man's head I want plopping into a wicker basket is Salvador's. He has some nerve sneaking into my room whilst I slept to touch my weapons. He's lucky I'm cocooned into this dress hindering my mobility, otherwise I might have launched a pre-breakfast assault on him.

As I follow the old maid down the grand staircase, I can't help but fidget with my outfit. The white day dress is made of breathable cotton that sinches my waist with a red sash, but the cap sleeves are taking some getting used to. To me, they seem senseless. Either have a full sleeve or none at all. A slight curve over my shoulder is just annoying. But as impractical as the cap sleeves are, they are quite beautiful with the intricate detail of flowers stitched into them. The square neckline suits me fine but doesn't give me any cleavage. If I'm to entrap a man and learn his secrets, complete modesty might not give me a leg up. But then again, people of nobility take pride in conservatism. The skirt stretches the length of my legs, and the hem barely brushes the floor, allowing me to walk without fear of tripping. I'm pleasantly surprised despite the volume of the skirt, it's lightweight, and given a few days to adapt, I'm convinced I can learn to fight and climb walls if need be while wearing it. Plus, the billowing skirt gives me plenty of places to hide my knives or pistols.

"This is where I leave you," Lupe announces outside the archway leading to the courtyard, ripping me from my menacing thoughts. "They're waiting for you. Remember, you're supposed to be a lady."

I wink. "I'll do my best to disappoint them."

She rolls her eyes and swats at my arm. "Don't embarrass me," is all she says before she saunters inside the casita.

Abandoned to approach the breakfast table in the courtyard by myself, I do as Lupe instructed and roll my shoulders back, run my hands down the front of my skirt to make sure there are no unwanted creases in the pleats, and tip my chin higher.

Be a lady. Be a lady. Be. A. Damn. Lady.

There are so many things to focus on and I'm certain I'm forgetting most of them, but I can't stand here forever. So, I take a step around the archway and slip into the courtyard where the sky is visible above me. Anchored into the stucco walls are iron trellises adorned with brilliantly colored flowers weaving up toward the terracotta roof. The solid wooden breakfast table, large enough to seat six, is planted in the center of the square space and boasts a welcoming spread.

Ornately arranged on a white porcelain platter, there are three versions of tostadas: olive oil with salt, tomato with ham, and avocado. My mouth salivates the second my eyes settle on the heap of magdalenas – tiny sponge cakes – topped with orange peels. Freshly brewed coffee graces the table along with an array of ripe fruit. I have never seen this much food in one place for one meal. I was lucky if I had one whole meal a day, and most of the time, it's because I stole it.

"Good morning, mi querida, please join us." Doña Otero's sweet, raspy voice reminds me of where I am.

I smile, which feels foreign, and attempt to dip in a curtsey. Thankfully I have excellent balance, but the movement of slipping one leg behind the other and lowering myself a few inches to show my new employer proper respect makes my stomach churn. Ever since I was a child, I have always had trouble showing those in authority respect. Perhaps, it has something to do with them being corrupt that spurs me to rebel even now, but I accepted this job offer and if I am to be successful, I will need to relinquish my stubborn and prideful reservations and act the part of a quiet and dreadfully boring lady.

"Good morning, Doña," I say so sweetly it makes my jaw ache. "I would love to join you for breakfast."

Salvador slides out of his chair and walks around the Doña seated at the head of the table to pull my seat out for me. A devilish smirk snakes across my face. It must be eating him alive that he has to treat me like a true lady instead of the guttersnipe criminal he retrieved from the Brogratto. I brush past him to take my place and as I sit, he slowly pushes my chair inward.

"Thank you," I flick my eyes up at him. "Such a gentleman," I tease.

The black linen mask that covers half of his face gives me little insight to what he's truly thinking and feeling, but the danger in those molten brown eyes has me inspired to see just how far I can push him before he breaks.

"You're welcome." Is all I get out of him before he walks to the opposite side of the table and takes residence across from me. Without another word, he grabs the more traditional tostada with olive oil and salt from his plate and crunches his teeth into it.

Doña Otero waves her hand over the bountiful spread and bids me to, "Eat, Ines."

She doesn't need to tell me twice. I reach across my table setting and grab a magdalena but before I can take a bite or place it on my plate, Doña Otero smacks the top of my hand with her folded lace pericon fan. I hiss at the sudden disciplinarian contact and furrow my brows.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Language." Salvador growls.

"Ladies never grab food from the serving platters with their bare hands." Doña Otero explains with a sweetness in her tone, but a seriousness in her eyes. "Use the tongs."