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The more of them that saw me dressed like this exponentially increased the danger of the situation.
Trekking down the steps didn’t take much time, and I spit out in front of a long stretch of space with cushioned benches lining the walls. Around fourteen young men and women were pressed together with their arms crossed.
All of them were beautiful in a way that only came from good bloodlines, virtually no sickness, and a life of proper alimentation. Their clothes were pressed and spotless, which made me even more anxious for the singed, slightly golden burn running about five centimeters down the fabric of my right pant leg.
“It is my pleasure to announce Renata Valarde Bordón. From…”—Mateo glanced at me quickly and furrowed his brow,—“Puerto Dolores.”
I smiled as razor sharp gazes cut toward me. No one spoke, but all of the young men in the room stood and did a little bow. Their movements were stiff and forced. I nodded demurely in return for each one, trying to avoid them taking too much notice of my face. “Thank you, Mateo.” I nodded graciously—something I’d seen other Élites when addressing servants—and walked forward.
I did not wait for anyone to tell me where to sit, instead opting for the seat closest to me. My gaze was focused on the space above the heads of everyone else lined up to meet with the ex-Campeón.
After checking on the imperfection in my cream-colored suit, I promptly crossed my leg. One of the girls on the other side looked at me and the corners of her mouth turned down. I smiled at her and broke eye contact. Directly in front of me was the boy who I’d seen getting out of the car before me.
One of his legs was also crossed over the other, but his arms were folded. His face was twisted into a look of total boredom, as if this place and everyone in it were beneath him.
As if it was a waste of his time to be here waiting for one of the most successful tournament champions alive.
I instantly didn’t like him.
His eyes snapped up to see me staring at him, and it took only a half a second for me to see that the sentiment was returned. He pulled out a small device from his pocket and popped it open.
I looked down at my hands, which were folded in my lap.
Another young man sat next to me. He shifted, and I could feel him watching me. I looked up.
He flashed a crooked smile, and leaned in a fraction of an inch, causing his hair to flop in his eyes. “Renata,” he said the name like he was savoring its taste. “I’m Isaac. Isaac Monroy. Mind telling me why that valet was looking at you like a fresh piece of meat?”
I blinked. “What?” I was taken aback. My first and last day as an Élite had dramatically changed my perspective on what it was like to live as one of them. There was a mix of extreme propriety and unwanted familiarity.
Isaac’s eyes narrowed, though he didn’t stop smiling. “The Trabajadores at this place are going to be the ones leaking all sorts of details to the betting houses about who would be the best contenders for the tournament. Based on his enthusiasm toward you, I imagine that you must have some special talent. Care to enlighten me?”
The corners of my mouth turned down. My first impression had been incorrect. He wasn’t friendly, he wanted information.
My throat tightened when I opened my mouth to respond. “I-I might’ve flirted with him on my way down.” The driver had been gossiping with Mateo before I got out. Giancarlo had told the valet about my golden-skin.
That was why he had been so… ravenous.
The young man huffed a laugh and straightened the black tie around his neck. “Very well. It’s wise of you not to be honest, I suppose.” His eyes flicked to me. “Though I would be interested to know what your particular brand of flirtation looks like.” His crooked grin was an invitation.
I could feel my cheeks growing hot. To say that I was severely under-equipped to handle this kind of situation would have been an understatement. I didn’t want to date anyone, least of all some power hungry eighteen-year-old that could never understand who I was or what I had lived through.
From the age of six, I’d been taking care of myself. Though I was only eighteen, my soul felt tired and worn out. I was as good as a wrinkled spinster.
“Maybe some other time,” I said weakly and smiled. Hopefully, he would accept my rejection gracefully.
Isaac quirked up an eyebrow. “How did you find out that Antonio was going to come here?” He smoothed over what I’d said seamlessly.
I raised my eyebrows. Of course former champions were assigned candidates from the upcoming tournaments, but I hadn’t realized that the information was so secret. Maestra Cecelia had said it like it was nothing.
Now that I thought about it, I realized that the Quinta Isla wasn’t the best option by far. It was strange that he had chosen this one. I never really tried to make sense of Élite affairs.
Perhaps it had been assigned to him?
The smile was still frozen on Isaac’s face while he waited for a response.
I cleared my throat. “I’m a distant cousin of Ayesa Juárez.” My insides twisted into elaborate knots when he drew his eyebrows together.
“Doña Ayesa?” He said slowly and my blood froze. He studied my face for a long moment before nodding. “You do have the family cheekbones. She competed in the tournaments two years ago. She scored well. Already married, and pregnant. Is that right?”
