Him.
The next morning, after a fitful sleep, I was awakened by a knock and Este bringing me my breakfast. He was one of the last people I wanted to see.
“Thought you deserved this in bed, since it’s your last meal with us and all,” he said, shutting the door behind him with his foot and bringing the tray to the bedside table. He shot me a sidelong glance. “It’s only because you’re leaving that I can trust you not to bash me over the head with the bowl of fruit or something.”
I didn’t smile, I merely stared at him.
“No jokes today, hey?” he asked with a shrug. He sat down on the end of the bed, and I instinctively drew my feet toward me. “You know, Luisa, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here. But I just wanted you to know, I like you.”
I grimaced. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”
“It’s not anything,” Este said. “I can see how Javier is so obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed?” This was news to me.
“Don’t be too flattered,” he said wryly. “Javier gets obsessed easily. Though it doesn’t happen very often with women. Considering the way things have gone for him in the past and his devotion to building an empire, I’m actually surprised at the way things have turned out.”
“But you’re unhappy about it,” I said.
“I am. I think he’s letting his feelings for you cloud his judgment. But things could be worse.”
Feelings for me? I wanted to ask him to elaborate, to tell me more. But I realized how damn inappropriate that was, considering my dire circumstances, and internally chastised my heart for even skipping a beat.
Este studied my face. “Just so you know,” he said carefully, a knowing look in his eyes, “his feelings for you only mean that he’s not killing you. That’s all. You can’t get much more than that out of him. It’s like getting blood from a stone.”
“I know,” I said quickly. “I never figured otherwise.”
He nodded and patted the bed. “Good. Well, I suppose I should be off. I hope all of this is worth it, you know. You could just as easily disappear and get a new identity, a new life, a new everything.”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t do that. I have a conscience.”
“And that will be the death of you,” he said. “Juanito will come up and get you in an hour. It’s a long drive, as you know.” He got up and paused, as if remembering something. “Oh, and sorry again about Tasering you.”
I stared at him coldly. “Really? I’m still thinking about hitting you in the head with this tray, just because.”
He grinned. “I figured as much.”
He opened the door.
“Esteban,” I called after him. “Could you please send Javier up here?”
His face twisted doubtfully. “I’ll try.”
The door shut and I waited. When the hour ticked closer, I put on my dress and my running shoes, the only things I would be pretending I escaped in. I would have nothing else. No money, no ID, nothing. I stared at my face in the mirror. I wondered if Salvador would see the horror in my eyes and mistake it for where I had been, not where I was going. I hoped so.
Eventually, five minutes before the sand in the hourglass was up, Javier came to me. He wore a mask of elegance and indifference, his unusually handsome features taking on the appearance of a sculpture. But I had no idea what the artist was trying to say: Here’s a man in denial? Here’s a man without a soul? Here’s a man who will build empires and legacies, whose pride shaped the land? Or here is a man who for once in his life, doesn’t know who he is?
Whoever the man at my door was, it was apparent this was the last place he wanted to be.
“You wanted to see me?” he said so formally that it cut worse than his blade.
“You weren’t going to come say goodbye?” I asked him. He remained at the door. I remained near the bathroom. Neither of us moved.
“I was,” he said, an air of defiance to him. “At the door.”
“Oh,” I said caustically. “How very kind and proper of you.”
“Luisa,” he warned.
“So after all you’ve put me through,” I said, folding my arms, “you’re just wiping your hands clean and pushing me out the door.”
Indignation flared in his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched, but he managed to keep his voice hard and steady. “This was your choice. You chose this.”
“Because it’s the only choice I have,” I said. “Isn’t it?”
Our eyes fastened on each other. I wanted him to come closer. I wanted to see something that wasn’t there.
“Can’t we go back in time?” I asked, my voice softer now. “When I believed I meant something to you?”
He swallowed and looked away. “You were always my captive. I was always the man holding the knife.”
And again that knife was buried straight in me. I took in a sharp breath, willing the pain away. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Esteban said getting feelings out of you was like getting blood from a stone.”
“Esteban doesn’t know shit,” he snapped, glaring at me. “What the hell do you want me to say? Do you think anything I say will make any difference to you? To me? To this fucking situation? Huh?”
“You could tell me not to go.”
“I did!” he cried out, marching across the room. He grabbed me by the shoulders, his reddening face in mine. “I told you not to go. I told you there could be another way. You could go free, away from certain fucking death. But you’re like this…”
“This what?” I goaded, watching his eyes spark and flame. “What am I?”
“A martyr,” he said, spitting out the word. “You wear your nobility like a goddamn crown. I am so sick and tired of it, especially when I know there is a strong, unapologetic woman in there just dying to come out. I’ve seen her. I’ve fucked her. I want that woman to win.”
“That woman will have to live with regret.”
“That woman,” he said, giving me a shake, “will live.” His eyes sought the ceiling, trying to compose himself, but when he looked back at me, the fire was still there. The mask had slipped. “I know you love your parents, Luisa. But is their safety—not even guaranteed—worth your own life? Do you really think your parents want you to do this? Do you think this will make them fucking proud? If they’re anything like me, they’ll be angry as hell. They will live their lives with regret instead. Is that what you want to give them? A dead daughter and a lifetime of fucking sorrow?”
I was stunned. He grabbed my face with both his hands and stared at me with crazed intensity. “Be fucking selfish! Save your own life.” He let go of me suddenly, turning his back to me, his hand on the back of his neck. “Lord knows I can’t save it for you.”
I watched his back, the strength of it underneath his navy suit jacket, wondering if it ever got tired of shouldering this world. It seemed all so easy for him to give orders, tell people what to do, and never have to give an ounce of himself.
“You gave me a reason to run,” I said to him. “Give me a reason to stay.”
He paused and slowly turned to look at me. “Give you a reason to stay?”
“Yes,” I said, walking up to him, refusing to break my gaze.
His eyes softened, just for a moment. “What can I say to make you stay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Tell me you love me.”
My boldness shocked him more than it shocked me. He stared at me, unhinged and absolutely bewildered, like he didn’t understand. “I can’t do that,” he managed to say.
I had nothing to lose. “You can’t because you don’t.”