Page 64 of Secrets of the Six

"You look lovely tonight, Elena." Remus' breath tickles my fingers, shooting goosebumps across my heating flesh. His familiar use of my alias's first name is breaking with high society formalities and will surely give Rogelio nightmares as to how intimately we know one another.

"Thank you," is all I say, fearing anything further will ruin my budding romance with the Murrieta heir.

Remus' companion clears her throat, breaking our concentration on one another. "Forgive me. This is my date, Señorita Rosa Jime – "

"Ramona," she corrects with a flare of irritation.

I bite my lip to stifle a laugh.

"Of course," Remus attempts to brush over the mistake, but the lady is clearly not having any of it. "Señorita Ramona Jimenez and I have enjoyed our time tonight, haven't we?"

Her bottom lip trembles as she nods her head in blatant defiance of the tears begging to slip down her cheeks. I wish I could sympathize with her over the lack of true interest on Remus' part but the wicked part of me rejoices knowing I have a hold over him.

One of the attendants makes his way toward us and informs us our carriage is outside. With a curt goodbye, Rogelio ushers me into the chilly evening. I can feel Remus' eyes boring into the back of my skull, but I refuse to turn around to test that theory.

Like a true gentleman, Rogelio assists me inside the parked carriage and claims the bench opposite me. He taps twice on the ceiling and the buggy jerks forward. I glance out the window, my treacherous heart wanting to catch one last glimpse of Remus, but he's no longer waiting in the doorway.

"I hope you enjoyed the evening, Señorita Elena." Rogelio's voice draws my gaze.

"I have immensely." I nod, pleased I can offer him one comment steeped in truth. I did have a great time. "Thank you for inviting me to join you."

He fiddles with his fingers a moment before inhaling a deep, steadying breath. "Would it be…" He clears his throat. "Would it be too forward of me to say I would like to court you?"

I can't help but smile, not only because the plan is working, but because he's a man of honor and carries himself with gentle manners. It's a far cry from what I'm used to from men in the Brogratto. "I would like that very much, Don Rogelio."

"Please call me Rogelio." He straightens in his seat, his confidence restored. "I'm not a big fan of titles. Makes me feel like I'm one of them."

I tilt my head to the side, my curiosity once again piqued by his choice of words. "What do you mean by that? One of them?"

His cheeks redden, as if he's realizing what his words imply and stutters, "Apologies, Elena. Sometimes I feel so comfortable with you my tongue speaks too freely."

"Please know you're welcome to confide in me, Rogelio. If I am to be your future wife…"

The word wife makes me pause. I've not thought of myself as someone's wife – at least not since I was carrying on an affair with Marco and that ended poorly. Rather, I should say, deadly. It ended deadly. Sometimes I wonder when my sin will rear its ugly head and expose me for not only being a thief and a gambler, but a murderer as well.

My sudden silence emboldens Rogelio to abandon his seat and claim the open spot beside me, tentatively placing his hand along my jawline. "What a wondrous idea. You being my wife."

It's well-known fact high society courtships move rather quickly into betrothal and marriage territory. There's not much time allotted to truly get to know your partner. If you don't solidify the relationship as more than platonic or mere interest, some other man will stake his claim on an eligible and desirable woman. There is plenty of time to get to know one another once the marriage certificate is signed and the wedding bed is open. So, for Rogelio, this quick timeline is to be expected, but it's still foreign for me.

Say what one will about the Brogratto District, the poor take their time in deciding to marry for the simple reason of taking on an extra mouth to feed. It's an expense most cannot afford. So, when a couple decides to marry, they are truly in love and are ready to weather the storms of life together.

Rogelio leans close with intent to kiss me, launching my heart into a rhythmic assault. I have an important decision to make that will either make or break this scheme. I can permit him to kiss me and further this charade, although I'd rather him not touch me, or I can recoil and spoil all the work I've already invested to earn my house in the Golden District.

The decision is easy.

When he hovers just above my lips, wordlessly asking for permission to kiss me, I close the gap remaining and press my mouth against his. His kiss is as respectful as he is and with a quick peck, he pulls back, retreating to his side of the carriage with a satisfied grin.

In a matter of hours, I've kissed two men, and they couldn't be more different. With Rogelio, I sense how sweet he is and if I was willing to test the waters and see what he could truly offer me and leave this rebellion behind, I'm sure he'd worship the ground I walk on to ensure my happiness.

But then there's Remus. He's all passion and angst, tension and fire. Kissing him set my soul aflame and for the first time in my entire life, I truly felt alive. The memory of what his tongue felt like sweeping inside my mouth sends a whisper of flutters to my lower belly. A future with Remus is uncertain but the danger proves stimulating.

"You are extraordinary, do you know that?" Rogelio's voice rudely pries me from reliving my kiss with Remus. "Truly. How did I get so lucky in finding you?"

I chuckle nervously. Luck played no part. It was painstakingly crafted plotting that sealed the Murietta's fate.

"It is I who am the lucky one," I say sweetly and want to wash my mouth out for the distasteful lie. That was a stretch even for me. "Will I see you again soon?" I ask as the carriage pulls up to Otero's circular driveway and comes to a halt.

He smiles brightly and an odd twisting of my gut has me feeling a twinge of guilt for toying with his emotions. I know what it's like to have someone say all the right things and convince you you're loved only to have them rip the rug out from under you and laugh as you fall flat on your ass like a fool. To be firmly put into your place as a lesser and not an equal.