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“I was seven when she died,” I said. “I don’t remember her enough to miss her.”
We walked a little farther in silence. Then, “What do you remember?”
I shrugged. “Some of her cooking, like the milk truffles,” I said, “and her death.”
Emma’s breath came out in a shudder. “How—?” The words caught in her throat. “How did she die? Was she sick too?”
The lie was right there: she had given me an out. But even as I opened my mouth to lie, the truth came spilling out. “My mother killed herself shortly after Lili was born.” I glanced at Emma, who’s face had lost some of its color. “I found her in the bathtub; she’d cut her wrists.”
“Why?”
“Are you asking if she left some kind of note?” I asked snidely.
She shook her head. “Of course not,” she said, “but why would a woman with three small children kill herself?”
“Because she hated my father,” I said. “They weren’t a love match. My mother was…gifted to my father by her family in order to make an alliance. She wasn’t given a choice, but she tried to step into the role of matriarch as best she could.” We stopped walking, and I squeezed her hand, bringing her icy eyes to mine. “My father is not a gentle man; he won’t tolerate weakness, not even in his wife and children. My mother suffered at his hands for as long as she could before she couldn’t stand it any longer.”
Emma was horrified; it was written all over her face. I couldn’t blame her for it. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.
I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry,” I told her and cupped her face in my palm. “Be stronger than her, all right? Don’t let me down.”
CHAPTER13
Emma
So far being the matriarch — or soon-to-be matriarch — of a cartel was absolutely boring. I didn’t know what I expected after Angel and I came back from our honeymoon, but it wasn’t to be completely without a purpose. Angel, Omar, and even Lili all had jobs within the family, but so far, I wasn’t given a task. Mostly I stayed out of everyone’s way and explored the parts of the estate that Angel deemed “safe.”
I found alotof locked doors. The estate was beautiful, all marble floors and big windows and cream-colored walls, but there weren’t any pictures of anyone anywhere. The art that did hang on the walls reminded me of much nicer versions of what would hang in a hotel room: tasteful, but impersonal. Angel told me, in a roundabout way, that he’d grown up here, but I couldn’t imagine a house like this with young children in it.
“Good morning,mija,” Lara greeted me as I came into the kitchen. After hearing literally everyone mention her, I sought her out immediately to make friends. Lara was genuinely one of the warmest women that I had ever met, and what was even better was that she didn’t take shit from anyone.
“Buenos dias,” I said, and the older woman’s smile bloomed even larger. I wasn’t the most confident with my Spanish, but Lara encouraged me to learn and to use it as often as possible.They won’t switch to English for you, mija, and you’ll want to know what’s being said around you. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Lara sipped at the coffee in her hands. Unlike most of the house, who liked their coffee with a touch of condensed milk, Lara liked hers black. It smelled bitter and earthy, and even though I had no interest in drinking the stuff, I liked how it smelled. “It’s my day off today,” she said. “I’m going into town with some friends, and then I will go to confession.”
Getting out of the house sounded amazing. “Have a lovely time,” I told her.
Lara gave me a knowing look. “You’re not a prisoner,mija,” she said. “Tell Angel that you want to go somewhere; he’ll make arrangements.”
Those “arrangements” would include bodyguards and time frames and limitations. I couldn’t just explore the city like I could before. It made wanting to plan a trip anywhere a pain in the ass. “I still have so much to explore here though,” I said, although I wasn’t at all sure that was true. I’d pretty much gone everywhere that I could by now.
Lara sighed. “Promise me that you’ll ask Angel to take you out this weekend,” she wheedled. “A young married couple shouldn’t roost at home so much.”
“Yo te prometo,” I said, and she patted my cheek before putting her now-empty mug into the dishwasher. “Have fun today.”
“Si.” Lara floated out of the kitchen to gather her purse from her bedroom, which was located in one of the “no-go” zones that Angel had mapped out for me.
I stood in the kitchen, contemplating making a cup of tea or toast or something, and I realized that I hadn’t quite familiarized myself with the space. Lara took care of most meals, and the rest of the time, the Castillos relied on takeout.
The kitchen had a food pantry, obviously full of food that was immaculately labeled and organized, and on the other side of the large space was a door that led to a butler’s pantry that ran between the kitchen and a formal dining room. The butler’s pantry had a drinks’ station, but it was also where the crockery and small appliances were kept.
As I was rifling through the butler’s pantry, I found a tin box on one of the highest shelves. When I pulled it down, it was embossed with a floral pattern, and the name “Miriam” was engraved onto it. My heart kicked against my ribs: Miriam was Angel’s mother.I should put this back, I thought. It probably was put up that high for a reason.
But my curiosity wouldn’t allow me to put it back. I pried the lid open and found a collection of recipes, some written on notecards, some on paper towels, bound together with a faded, pink ribbon. I quickly shoved what I had pulled out back into the cabinets and then took the tin box back into the kitchen.
Perched on a stool at the island, I read through each recipe, treating each scrap of paper with delicacy. All of the recipes were written in Spanish, but Miriam had written them down to the minute detail. I could follow them fairly easily. Would that be an overstep? If I tried one of her recipes?
Would anyone even notice?
