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There were a few moments of quiet before Antonio spoke again. “But I am curious why on earth you would leave the house without shoes?”
The rustle of dying leaves and a low cooing hum of a mother grouse gathering her chicks served as excellent place-holders for my answer. Until they didn’t. “I’m comfortable being barefoot. I’ve preferred it most of my life.”
“Is that because of the Bendiciones orphanage? Or dancing?” he asked as if it were nothing, as if knowing the name of where I had been raised was a casual fact I’d shared over wine and cheese, and not a memory soaked in blood from the bombings.
I hesitated before saying, “Sí.”
“Both it is.” He nodded. “You left soon after my tour there.” It wasn’t a question. He said the words as if he understood how heavy they were, how the events surrounding his visit had irrevocably altered my life’s course.
Moisture was already collecting in my eyes as I thought of how afraid we’d been, the agony of losing my friends, of losing Pablo. Embarrassment came as well when I thought of what I’d written to Antonio.
Some of my words played through my mind.
I know you don't know me, but I saw the strength and power it took to scale La Dama. Everyone calls you the best competitor in the history of the Blood Tournaments. I can't help but hope that someday, you'll use that power to save me, too.
He stopped, but I kept walking, trying to hide the tears threading to fall. “Does it… bother you I bring these things up? That I know so much about your life?” he asked.
Shit. He had saved me.
I shook my head, and one tear fell. I was so glad he was behind me.
That gratitude was short-lived when he came in front of me, instantly catching the tear streaking down my cheek. He studied my face like he was reading a page in a damned book, listening with his whole body—once again.
“I’m not mad at you. Or upset with you. I—it’s nice that I don’t have to explain these things to you. You, Magda, and Maestra Cecelia are the only ones who really had an idea what I’ve lived through,” I said through a tight, wobbly voice. My throat burned.
“The dance teacher, and the one you call your sister,” he said.
“We lived in the orphanage together. She’s…” I trailed off as the tears flowed down my face faster than I could stop them. And I wanted to staunch both the hot tears and the snot coming down my nose. Taking the corner of the shawl, I scrubbed at my face.
Then, two arms wrapped around me and pulled me in.
The hug was not warm or suave. It was kind of awkward and unsure, and I froze up at first.
Then Antonio said, “You have come so far since then. I still think you are the strongest person I know.”
And I broke down. I leaned into the hug, so grateful for human contact. Grateful to be seen, to be held for a moment.
My body shook with tears while I tried to hold myself together, and Antonio held me. My feet were cold and sore, and the sun burned the back of my neck.
I didn’t feel strong.
But I was alive.
As soon as my shuddering breaths had slowed, Antonio released me and stepped back. I immediately started wiping at my face, trying to ignore the wet tear stains on the shoulder of his cream-colored night shirt peeking out under his coat.
He said nothing more, just waited for me to move again so that we could walk back to the hacienda.
The weight of the day and its expectations for me hadn’t quite lifted, but I felt better. I hadn’t expected such sweetness from a man I’d thought to be so bitter.
Chapter35
Cómo Ser Bella
It turned out that Isolda had been right.
The person staring back at me from the mirror was elegant and my natural features were both highlighted and perfected.
I studied myself with the critical eye of a mastermind determined to succeed in her mission to get married, to inherit my “estate”, to win the tournament, and, most importantly, to get Magda out of the Naranja District, and somewhere the Withering would never touch her.
