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“Touché, Alejandro.”
“I like the way you say my name.”
A touch of pink caresses her cheeks and she looks at me from under her lashes, an action I’m not sure she’s aware of. “What about you? What’s your favorite color?”
“Grey.”
Her nose scrunches a bit. “Like a cloudy sky?”
“Like your eyes.” Her embarrassment—reactions—are so refreshing. Honest. “Next question…”
“Keep them coming.”
“Favorite movie?”
“The Mummy.” No hesitation from her. “You?”
“Scarface, for obvious reasons.” I give her a wink, and the flush across her skin becomes more pronounced, the small smile on her face becoming a smirk. “Favorite childhood memory, Sol?”
She shrugs. “That’s a toughie.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t have a childhood when you’re being molded into the obedient child of a presidential family. You don’t get to go out and play or be ‘normal’ like other children.” Her voice is flat—no emotion—and I can almost hear her father spewing this bullshit. Drilling it into her head. “You’re forced to sit down and learn the rules, expectations, and the reality that what your father says goes, no matter how much it hurts you.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. No one should live that way.”
The smile she gives me is sad. “It is what it is.”
“Let’s skip that for now. Next—”
“There was this one time my mom put her foot down when I was seven, though.”
“Where did you go?”
“We took a trip to Disney World in Florida.” Sol is looking at me, but her eyes are miles away. At this moment she truly looks her age, young and impressionable. Sheltered and suffocating. “It was amazing to just be another kid in a crowd. To take goofy pictures and eat junk food and laugh with my parents as we rode every single attraction in the park. There were no crowds crowding or men in polyester suits trying to get my father’s attention or approval. For the first and only time in my life, we were just an average family on vacation.”
And as the last word slips past her perfect lips, the truth hits me in the chest. There’s more than lust and want and revenge singing in my veins. There’s an uncontrollable need to protect and take care of her.
To give her back what’s been taken.
I’m going to give this precious girl her freedom.
I’m going to make her crave me as I do her.
12
ONE, TWO, THREE.
One, two, three.
The instructor claps her hands with each count, signaling the three couples on the floor to start the rehearsed steps to a simple salsa choreography. And while they do so, while I play the part of the audience this afternoon, my mind lingers on my phone call with Alejandro last night.
I don’t know how he knew I needed him, but I’m more thankful for that call than he’ll ever know. Heartbroken and full of painful anxiety that made it hard to breathe, I’d been cursing my name when the phone rang.
He made me forget.
He made me laugh.
