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Aziel keeps his hand on my waist as we walk through the main room. Small circular tables and chairs are spread far enough apart throughout the room to keep it intimate enough if the couples prefer. But the tables fill most of the room, save for the small space for people to dance. That wooden square area usually stays vacant until the late hours of the night, when alcohol has warmed the veins enough and people finally let loose.
Or celebrate their purchase.
Ugh.
Every time I notice someone who knows me by name, I lower my gaze and keep it cast to the floor. I may not look like myself, but on the off chance that someone recognize my appearance, this will be a huge game over for all of us.
I pull Aziel over to an empty table near the right hallways. This table is not usually reserved like the ones on the left side of the room. Those tables are reserved for Santiago’s plus one (me), Mr. Lourve from France, Mr. and Mrs. Slavik, and Mr. Sullivan from Ireland. There’s also the gentleman from New York and some guy from Canada, but I don’t recall their names. Aziel pulls out the chair for me and I slide into the highbacked, wooden chair. An ivory table cloth covers the table, with a skull centerpiece and two matching ivory candles on each side. A single rose sits in front of the skull and candles. I reach out, grabbing onto it and brushing my thumb across the silky red petals. I realize that is the sweet scent that is in the room. So far, everything has been the same.
From the guards, to the decorations, to the table placements.
Except for this rose.
I bring it up to my nose, closing my eyes as I breathe in the thick red wine smell. Lilah loves Roses. Why did he put them here?
“What’s going on?” Aziel takes a seat in his chair, adjusting his coat as he scoots in close to me. He mumbles his words lowly, as to not have anyone hear him.
I set the rose down, placing it in the exact same position as I found it. “I’m not quite sure.”
He lifts his eyebrow.
“I’m fine.” I mouth to him.
He nods, raising his hand as a waitress walks by. Her name is Shantell, and she was Alexia’s good friend. She was not in Tijuana when it was overrun. She is a nice girl but hardened to this lifestyle. She is past trying to escape, rather, having adjusted to her new world.
“Sir? What may I get for you?” Shantell asks, a lilt of sex in her tone. Her floral scent clings to my nostrils in the same way possessiveness clings to my insides.
“I’ll take a scotch.” Aziel says with a twang in his words.
“And you, Miss?” I glance up at Shantell with distaste in my gaze. Her eyes narrow back and then widen in confusion. “You look… familiar. Do I know you?”
I lower my gaze, shocked at her brazen tongue. We are forbidden from asking questions or speaking out of turn. If Santiago had heard her speak or question us, her tongue would have been ripped from her mouth.
“She’ll take a sangria. Thank you.” He waves her off perfectly, like he’s sat her and ordered around slaves a million times before.
I can feel the heat of Shantell’s gaze on the top of my head for a few moments, then her heels click as she walks towards the kitchen.
I keep my face lowered, only shifting my eyes to meet Aziel’s. “This was a bad idea.”
Aziel lifts a hand and brushes my cheek. “I should have known. Once someone looks into these eyes, they’re impossible to forget.”
My lip pulls up. “For such a dark man, you say some swoony things.”
A dimple pops out in his shadowed cheek. My heart trips over itself, skipping a beat.
“I am a dark man, but you bring out the light in me.”
I look down at the skull on the tablecloth and send a prayer to my parents. I don’t want anything to happen to me or Aziel.Please keep us safe.
“What do we do? If she noticed me, anyone might. Not only that, but she mighttell someone.”
He looks around, scoping out every corner and every person. I can see him calculating, formulating another plan. “Do you know a quick exit?”
I give a barely noticeable nod. “Behind you. There’s a terrace. A tall fence lines the property, but I think we could get over it.” I whisper.
He nods. I watch as his eyes mentally picture every detail and creating an escape route if needed.
“I’m going to the restroom.” I whisper. “I don’t want to be here when she gets back with our drinks.”
