Page 42 of No Darker Temptation

He lifts his head and steals a kiss from my lips. “Dahlia, the credit cards I gave you are to use. What are you going to do? Never buy anything again?”

“No!”

“Then?”

“I…have to go back to work first?”

Even I don’t sound convinced.

Money is a sensitive topic. When it comes to the house and costs pertaining to its maintenance and renovation, I let Alejandro take care of those without protest. But personal things? It makes me uncomfortable. It was one thing when I lived in the villa last year and didn’t have a choice. I was angry and spending money was a good way to blow off steam but this is something else entirely. His money belongs to him and I feel almost dirty trying to take it.

He expels a deep breath. “How are you going to get a job if you don’t speak the language?”

“I speak Spanish just fine!” I insist. “In fact, Doña Ana and I were practicing.”

Alejandro casts me a skeptical look. “¿Entonces ya no tenemos que hablar inglés en la casa? Porque no creo que seas capaz de mantener una conversación completa en español sin ayuda.”

I squint at him, the gears in my brain working overtime.

“Yes…? No?”

His shoulders tremble with laughter, clearly delighted by my poor attempt at translating his rapid-fire questions. He kisses me again and I suddenly forget what we were talking about. “Practice. And until then, use the credit cards I gave you.”

“It’s not my money, Alex. We aren’t married.”

“Do you want to be?”

“No!” I smack his shoulder. “I’m twenty-two years old, what the hell do I look like to you? A child bride?”

He smiles and I think my resolve weakens. “You’ll be twenty-three next month.”

“Don’t remind me. Every day I get closer to a quarter life crisis.”

His brows furrow as if something has just occurred to him. “Have you been using your debit card when you go out? I thought I told you not to use your savings.”

My brows shoot up to my forehead, ready to fire back something witty but come up short. Instead, an awkward silence ensues while I choke on my words and Alejandro looks around, sparing a glance at the painting supplies around me in the gallery before spotting my purse on the windowsill Doña Ana previously occupied. He walks over and before I’ve registered what’s happening, he swipes my debit card out of my wallet and tucks it into the breast pocket of his blazer.

“Alex—”

“Use the Amex, Dahlia,” he says on his way out. “If you ever want to see your precious Chase card again.”

He’s so impossible sometimes.

Doña Ana comes up the stairs a minute later and extends a stack of letters to me. "Don Alejandro dijo que usted iba a salir. ¿Le pido a Dimitrio que traiga el coche?”

I cast her a playful look. “English.”

She huffs almost impatiently. “Dimitrio, bring car. For you. I call him now.”

There’s a white envelope with my name on it but no return address. I find it strange, especially since I rarely receive mail here that isn’t packages. The last piece of mail I received was my visa but that was ages ago.

When I open the letter there’s a single piece of paper inside and two brief lines written in tight, neat script.

My blood runs cold.

Doña Ana places a hand on my arm, brows furrowing with concern. “Hija, ¿que tienes?”

I quickly fold up the letter hoping she didn’t see. Doing my best to appear casual, I smile and say, “I’ll be ready in about an hour. Would you mind telling Dimitrio? I want to shower and get out of these dirty clothes.”