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Carlos swore under his breath and darted a protective arm out. He tried to jockey in front of me, but I refused to let him. I wasn’t going to hide. I wouldn’t give my father the satisfaction of seeing me cower in fear. I wanted him to believe I’d forgotten him and everything he’d done to me.
He casually smoked in my favorite chair. It infuriated me to see him making himself comfortable in my home. He had aged, though he still appeared young for a man in his sixties. His hair was salt and pepper rather than the jet black it used to be. He was finely dressed in a black button-down shirt and charcoal gray slacks, and he still had the gold chain he’d worn in my childhood around his neck.
When he looked at me, I saw an anger that no doubt rivaled mine, but I also sensed he felt I’d betrayed him by staying away. That only stoked my fury. I was the one who was betrayed. I was the one who had the right to be angry. Not him.
“You look just like her, yet you surpass her beauty,” he murmured almost to himself in our native language. When I didn’t respond, he addressed me directly.
“A miracle has happened. My daughter has been raised from the dead.” He puffed on his cigar, and I showed great restraint by not ripping it from his lips and stubbing it out in his eye. “You have nothing to say to your papa after all these years?”
I bristled as it occurred to me he was actually happy about this reunion. In his eyes, he’d probably done nothing wrong. Had he blocked it from his mind? Forgotten the things he’d done to me?
He rose to his feet, and though he wasn’t as tall as he’d seemed when I was a child, he towered over me when he approached. I looked up at him defiantly, blatantly disrespecting him, but inside, every step he took toward me made me want to scream at the top of my lungs. He didn’t acknowledge my reaction to him, simply bent to kiss my cheek. His touch burned my skin. Bile rose in my throat, but I didn’t back away from him. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him believe I was afraid of him.
The plan. You must execute the plan.
I fashioned my features into something I prayed resembled a soft smile. “Papa.” It pained me to speak the word in such a way, as if I’d missed him when I did nothing but hate him.
When he reached to caress my face, I caught his wrist and held it away from me. My instincts overrode what I was supposed to do. I could never have fully prepared for this part of Daniel’s contingency plan. I heard Carlos’s soft gasp behind me. My father didn’t even flinch. He hadn’t forgotten a thing.
He was still too strong for me, and he ran his knuckles down my cheek as I struggled to keep his hands off of me. “My sweet girl. Papa has missed you so. I prayed every day for your return. When they told me you’d drowned, even showed me proof, I never believed it. I knew in my heart you were alive. Now you will return to your rightful place in our home.” He was almost cheery as he spoke, though there was steel in his voice.
Still I said nothing, keeping my eyes fixed on his, fighting to stifle my hatred.You have to do this so he doesn’t take you away.The reminder did little to help.Lord, give me strength.
He seemed to sense and enjoy the discomfort I struggled to hide. “Always such spirit, my Camila.” He patted my shoulder and smiled, and though it seemed innocent enough, I saw the danger in it. “Have a seat,” he offered graciously, as if it were his home instead of mine. I didn’t move as he sank back in my chair and propped his shoes on the ottoman.
He continued as if I had done as he asked. “Carlos, you are not with the Colombians. I don’t tolerate liars.”
“I saw this.” He handed the newspaper clipping to my father. “It looked like her, but it had been so long, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up, Papa. I came to find out if it was Camila, and if it was, to bring her home.”
My jaw clenched at my brother’s words, then he tapped me twice on my lower back. That was the signal we’d had when we were younger and needed to cover for some mischief we’d been in. It meant to go along with the story. A trickle of relief went through me until I realized it could all be part of a plan.
The fact was I didn’t know Carlos anymore.
My father’s eyes flicked from him and back to me, assessing. “Of course,” he finally said. “My dutiful son has always looked out for my best interests. You’ll come home with us.” Carlos gave a sharp nod, and I bristled at how easily he complied. “Well, since you’re too surprised to talk, Camila, we should be on our way.” He slapped both hands on the arms of the chair and began to rise.
“I made a mistake,” I said quietly. If I could stall, maybe my chances of getting away would increase.
He hesitated before slowly lowering back to his seat. I nearly exhaled audibly in relief. Suspicion clouded his gaze as he stared at me.
“Stop speaking in that filthy language,” he demanded. While they’d conversed in Spanish, I refused to. My father had made certain Carlos learned English perfectly for the business, yet I hadn’t been allowed. By speaking with no accent whatsoever, it was another insult to him and the culture he revered.
I swallowed hard, the words thick in my throat as I forced myself to comply. “I—” I dropped my eyes to the floor before I lifted them again. “It was hard when—” I couldn’t complete the sentence, and for a brief moment, understanding flitted across my father’s face at the unspoken sentence.
I cleared my throat. “I shouldn’t have run away. It was an adolescent mistake.” I clutched the hem of my sweater and quickly released it. Standing in front of him, pretending I regretted ever leaving was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done.
“Why didn’t you return?”
“I was afraid,” I said hastily before taking a breath to slow down. “I saw what you did to people who upset you.”
His jaw went rigid. “You are my daughter.”
Then how could you do what you did to me?I screamed at him in my head, biting down on my lip to keep the words from escaping.
“Papa, I thought you’d see me as a traitor.” I shifted on my feet, pretending to be nervous that I’d made him angry as a child. “And then I found a good life in New York. I never tried to go back, even though I wanted to.”
Silence weighed heavily as he stared at me. It was impossible to read his hardened features, to see if he believed my lies.
“I gave you everything, Camila,” he grated. My father was a powerful man. It would be nothing for him to put me in my place, even in front of Carlos—especially in front of him—to show who was in control.
