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It didn’t really help.
A few voices filtered through the thin door and I flinched. My back went rod-straight and I shoved my chair away from the table. With the quiet clicks of my heels, I walked across both carpet and wood until I was back in the large hall which led outside to the orange orchard.
A deep voice got closer, and then faded. When I found the hall empty, my heart pounded faster.
Though I had been told I would have a meeting, I hadn’t been told where it would take place. I hadn’t really thought to ask. Idiotic on my part. Maybe I needed to go back to the breakfast room? I hadn’t so much as been given a tour of the place, so I was left with very few options. I wrapped my arms around myself in a protective barrier, and trekked along the ominously long cream and mustard hallways. The sheer number of options loomed before me like demons. Magda would’ve done better—she would’ve known how to handle this, how to ask for help.
Something I was clearly deficient in.
I quickly walked back to the breakfast room and checked the time. My meeting would start in two minutes. It seemed like punctuality wasn’t an abstract concept to the Élites.
A servant popped his head out of the door leading to the kitchen.
“Hola, señorita. ¿Con qué le puedo ayudar?” The older man who had asked if he could help was wearing a smart brown and white uniform and an apron. He was holding a glass in one hand, and a pristine white rag in the other.
I smiled. “Uhm, perdón. Do you know where I am supposed to meet with Señor Castillas?” It was mortifying having to ask for help, and my voice sounded strange in my ears.
The man nodded. “Permítame un momento,” he said and disappeared for a second.
I stood there, feeling foolish. My eyes flicked to the clock, only to confirm that I was indeed late. My stomach dropped into my feet, and my body felt detached from my consciousness.
The loud ticks of the clock representing seconds marching on made me feel dizzy and nauseous.
At last, Isolda appeared behind me. She wore a tight smile.
“Señorita Renata, please come with me. They are waiting for you,” she said with a cloyingly sweet tone.
Chapter20
Cruel Meetings
Ididn’t have room to feel upset because I was already feeling ill. I followed her without any other words passing between us. She led me into the hallway, but we maneuvered in a different direction. We ascended a set of stairs, which spit us out in a different wing of the house.
Slowly, the wallpapered walls gave way to natural stone. It was still very modern and extremely well decorated, but it didn’t feel like I was in the same home. I tried not to get lost staring at the dozens upon dozens of exotic plants that lined the walls—most of which I’d never seen before—and some were such a striking shade of emerald green it was hard to tell if they were botanic matter or carved gemstones.
I was hyper aware of every single one of Isolda’s quick, measured steps and the way she glanced over her shoulder disapprovingly.
When we stopped in front of a door, I could hear voices on the other side. All of them were male, which made me even more uneasy. The murmured words stopped abruptly when she knocked.
Seconds later, the door swung open and Antonio Castillas stood in front of me. His face was sculpted into a cool expression, though I swore I could see flickering embers of upset deep in his light brown eyes.
It unnerved me how easy it was for me to detect the microscopic shifts in his often stone-like expression.
“Señorita Valarde, please join us. We’ve been waiting for you,” he said graciously before stepping out of the way so that I could pass.
I swallowed hard. “Si, claro. Gracias.”
The room around me was larger than the area where we had eaten breakfast. There was a beautiful chestnut wood desk along the back wall organized neatly with books and papers. I spotted that odd small rectangle with buttons and a screen I’d seen several times during my play-acting as an Élite. In fact, it was the same one he used at breakfast.
The walls were a mix of blank space and expensive sculptures and paintings. The deep wood tones mixed well with the reds, blues, and burgundies which were dotted throughout the entire area.
There was an oblong table to my left with six chairs placed in equidistant stretches. Four of those spaces were already occupied with three men of varying ages and one woman. Their gazes snapped onto me the second I walked into the room, making my skin prickle with judgment. They were all smartly dressed in clean, classic suits, including the woman.
The door closed behind me after Antonio dismissed Isolda.
I swallowed again, trying to ease the dryness in my mouth.
Antonio cleared his throat. “I present Renata Valarde Bordón to all of you. Señorita, this is Alvaro Martinez, your public image curator; Felipe Cabrera, the man from Banco Arrebol tasked with allocating and managing funds; Joaquín Pérez Ortíz, your master strategist; and Ana Olguín Sánchez, your institutriz. You two have a connection—you auditioned alongside her niece Isabela.”
