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He cared.
“Again, from the top.” The instructor’s eyes cut to the couple near the back mirror and sighs. “Please try to keep up. This isn’t a club downtown or for giggles; dancing is an art and should be respected as such.”
Beside me someone snickers, but I pay them no mind and try to refocus on the class.
These are new students. People of affluent wealth. Most are stiff as a board.
However, there’s one dancer that stands out—the son of a world-renowned surgeon who’s come to Colombia to participate in a medical exchange program before opening his practice in Uruguay.
I know this because it’s the first thing he shared with the class, pompous smile on his face. His eyes have also been searching mine out for the past twenty minutes, a tinge of frustration seeping through when I rebuff him.
I’m ignoring him. He’s annoyed. It’s a game I’ve learned to excel at with the unwanted attention that comes from my position as the first daughter.
“Very good, Gabriel. That’s exactly how you feel the music.” She looks pensive for a moment, her feet still moving to the beat. “I’d like to see you dance with a more advanced student. Solimar?”
“Yes, Señora Garcia?” I answer, a feeling of dread settling in. More so when Gabriel’s face gives a smug expression. He knows who I am. My family. “How can I be of assistance?”
“Come here and take your place with Mr. Castillo. I want to see what he can do given free reign.”
“Of course.” My smile is fake, but so perfected over the years that they can’t tell the difference. That, or they don’t care. Something that over the years I’ve come to understand.
If it benefits a person, they are willing to overlook another’s misery. Because who cares, as long as it doesn’t affect their end goal.
His smirk is nothing like the one Alejandro effortlessly wears. “You ready, beautiful?”
“It’s Miss Quintero. Please remember that.” My voice is low but he hears, and the smarmy smile only broadens as I take his hand and hold the position.
“Of course. My apologies.” His arm goes around my waist, pulling me in closer when the alarm in the studio goes off. Thank God.
“Everyone out. We’ll cancel today and reconvene tomorrow at the same time,” I hear her call out, but I’m already using the opening to step back, rushing away and toward my bag on the floor beneath the chair I’d been sitting on. The exit to the building is outside the room’s door and down the hall, and I curse my need to please others in this instance. My security’s usually across the street waiting for me, something that I’ve asked them to do so that others don’t feel uncomfortable, but as Gabriel calls out my name, I regret it.
“Solimar, wait up.” His shout catches the attention of the last stragglers still around. They look but continue on their way; not even the instructor seems to be around. One second I’m walking with the crowd, and the next, I’m alone.
Where the hell did everyone go? “Sorry, I’m in a rush. My guards will…hey!” I’m whirled around by a hand on my arm, the grip a little painful. “Let go.”
“What’s the hurry? I’d love to spend more time with you.” Gabriel doesn’t release me. Instead, he walks closer, body almost pressing, but I don’t let him corner me. For every step of his, I take one back, all the way until we reach the building’s main exit. “Maybe catch a bite?”
“No.”
“Don’t be like that, Preciosa,” he says, and I shudder, hating the use of Alejandro’s nickname coming from this idiot’s lips. “I’m in town for a few—”
Gabriel doesn’t get to finish as Carlos and a man I know works for Alejandro stand over his limp form. They kick him once, twice, before the sudden crack of a bone snapping rings through the air and I lean back against the nearest wall.
Gabriel’s arm is bent at an odd angle, his face a bloody mess as blood pours from a gash at the bridge of his nose. Each man is wearing an expression of anger. Each one positioned in front of me so I can’t see the full extent of the damage as a pitiful whimper slips past the overeager man’s mouth.
I should be afraid, but I’m not. I should be yelling at them to stop, but I don’t.
Something warms my body and the calmness that seeps through leaves me breathless for a completely different reason. He’s here. I know this. Feel it in the air around us, this dominating force that takes over every square inch of the room and my eyes dart around, looking. Searching. Needing to see his face.
To bask in the knowledge that he’s watching out for me. Doing what no one else ever has.
Footsteps come closer from another entrance, a private room that only those who work here are allowed inside. I’m counting down each one in my head. I’m vibrating with nervously excited energy—an overwhelming need to fling the door open and confirm what I know to be true.
Not that I have to wait long. All movement ceases the moment the door is pulled open and Alejandro Lucas steps through, his face and mouth set in an impassive expression as he takes in the man on the floor. There’s fury brewing beneath the surface of his calm. I see it, and it grows hotter as he takes me in against the wall, bracing myself.
He doesn’t say a single word, just holds a hand out toward me, one that I walk toward without hesitation. At this moment, I don’t care who’s watching or what they might say; I welcome the safety he brings.
My palm in his, he pulls me closer. “Are you okay?”
