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My head shook and said “no” before I could think better of it. I tried again. “Absolutely not. Show me where everything is, and I promise you that I can manage the rest by myself.” Another pulse of pain shattered the inside of my skull.
Then I processed Isolda’s words. Antonio Castillas’ home estate was called the Golden Rose? Any mention of golden things made me feel like losing the sparse contents of my stomach, and it was only after I wrapped my arm around my midsection that I remembered the costume jewelry in my pocket.
Isolda’s smile faltered. “Señor Castillas me dijo que usted necesitará asistencia.” She took one step back.
I scowled. “Antonio told you that I would need help because he doesn’t know me! I am a functioning adult,” I fumed. It was a mistake because my own voice rattled in my head. I winced, started to stand up, and got a whiff of my person. The clothes were wrinkled and, if I was being honest, smelly.
Isolda took another step back as I planted my feet on the ground.
“Necesito hablar con el Señor Castillas,” I demanded. When I spoke with Antonio, he was going to give me some answers. Maybe, if I was lucky, he would also get a black eye.
Then my blood ran cold when I remembered how he’d spoken to me after I slapped him at the audition.
The Trabajadora carefully looked me up and down, her mouth pinched dubiously. “I don’t think that’s wise before you have a bath. He is expecting you for breakfast.”
I let out a guttural sound. My mouth was bitter, and when I bit my tongue, my teeth felt a little furry.
Disgusting.
As much as I wanted to order her out of my room, I needed to scrub off the sticky sweat and wash away the cheap wine.
I took a deep breath. “Fine.”
Isolda beamed. “Right this way,” she said quickly.
For the first time, I got a good look at the room around me. Ultra-detailed wallpaper with gold leafing ended in ornate crown molding. The Élite who constructed this house must’ve been paranoid about someone spying on them from the shadows, because there was lighting everywhere. Aside from the two enormous windows on the eastern wall with thick velvet drapery, there were brass sconces on every wall, a lamp on every available flat surface, and a crown-shaped chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling.
Even imagining about the amount of money something like this would cost to run for one month put me on edge.
Everything felt a little surreal in this place. As my bare feet padded through lush forest-green carpets, I felt a little bit like I was floating.
When I looked at Isolda again, I found her sneaking glances right back at me. Observing my surprise. Watching me demonstrate that I wasn’t an Élite by any stretch of the word. This bedroom wasn’t a room so much as it was a work of art. It was a thing that belonged on a wall in a quiet building, not with someone actually living in it.
I was going to ruin everything in here.
“If you would follow me, Señorita Renata,” Isolda said. Despite her carefully practiced smile, her eyes were full of sharp, calculating thoughts. I wondered if Antonio Castillas knew that, and if that was why he sent her to me. “This is our finest guest room, which Señor Castillas thought was appropriate for such an important long-term guest.” She pointed at a button on the wall next to my bed. “Please press that anytime you need me, and I will come as quickly as I can.”
I nodded vaguely. The wallpaper behind it seemed to shine like gold. “Is that paint?” I asked unexpectedly.
Isolda paused. “Señorita, that is imported silk.”
I froze. Silk? On the walls? What the hell was this place?
Quickly learning my lesson, I followed the maid instead of acting like the lower-class bitch I was.
There was so much polished wood. It gleamed like glass. It was too perfect compared to the warped boards crammed into stone settings I was used to seeing in the Naranja District.
My stomach continued to roil while I followed her through a doorway that led to the bathing area.
As soon as we were inside, the wood changed to tile and verbena scented steam hit me in the face. There was a large clawfoot cast iron tub with a shiny faucet next to a small space with a glass door that held an inodoro. The toilet was shiny and white—matching the tub standing next to a shiny drain in the middle of the floor.
Soft tendrils swirled above the tub.
“Why is it already filled?” I asked apprehensively. It had been done a while ago, and the tile walls and mirrors were completely coated with foggy condensation.
Isolda’s face didn’t betray any emotion now. “I filled it earlier while you were asleep.”
A cold sweat beaded all over my body. “You.” I swallowed roughly. “You were in my room while I was unconscious. Intruded, left, then came back.” Why were the walls so thick that I couldn’t hear anything? It was excessive.
