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“I am now.” And I mean it with everything I am. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I’ll explain later, little flower.” Alejandro leans down, just enough so his lips can skim over my temple. “Expect my call.”
“Okay.” It comes out breathless and accepting and excited.
“Good girl,” he says it so low only I hear, before straightening to his full height. Those soft cognac eyes now burn with fury. And while his hold on my hand remains gentle, the tick of his sharp jaw gives away that the feared man most have nightmares about is very much present. “Carlos, take Miss Quintero home, and no deviations. Report back when it’s done.”
“Of course, Patron.”
There’s no protest from me when I’m led out. Nothing.
However, there is a smile of satisfaction that graces my lips when I see Alejandro’s fist connect with Gabriel’s face before the door closes and the lock is engaged. What does that say about me?
The faint sound of cutlery scraping against plates as those around the table dig into their meals grates on my nerves. So does the sound of multiple conversations happening at once. Everyone’s talking about inane subjects—stock market prices or who has the most expensive car—while I sit here and try to swallow the bite of chicken I’ve been poking at for the last thirty minutes.
My father’s enjoying the attention given by his campaign manager and the head of the political party our family is backed by, while the vice president and his wife listen. While they look at each other every few minutes as the others continue to wax poetry about my father. He’s a modern-day revolutionary in their eyes. The suit-wearing guerilla champion of the people.
And yet they don’t mention those in need. The poor of this country go without.
The citizens that have been set aside and forgotten because greed and excessive lifestyles are more important.
Every single person at this table outside of the president’s children have let Colombia down, and that’s only because we have no say. None. We’re mere props to make him look better. Give him the illusion of the approachable family man.
“How was class, Solimar?” the woman who’s been chatting with my mom asks, and I force myself to swallow before offering a smile. “I heard you’re quite the bailarina.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Salinas. And to answer your first question, not much happened today.” It’s the truth, but not enough it seems, and the minute purse of my mom’s lips tell me to elaborate. “We had new students today, six in total, and Mrs. Garcia had them run through basic steps. You know, just to gauge their ability and knowledge of counting notes and coordination.”
“Were they any good?” She leans toward me as if I have some kind of juicy gossip. As if I’ll divulge names and their lack of rhythm. “Or should they be on one of those blooper videos you kids love to watch?”
“They were okay.” My face scrunches up, thinking about Gabriel and what occurred after class. My lack of care for his well-being and the acknowledgment that there is a hint of depravity inside of me. “Nothing memorable, but they could improve significantly with some dedication.”
“Spoken like a true politician’s daughter.” The others around us laugh, the joke being me. “What about that fiancé of yours? Does he attend these classes?”
My initial reaction is to snort, but I bite that back when my father’s eyes turn our way. Now he’s interested. Wants to see if I’ll embarrass him. “No…” I add a small girlish giggle as if it’s preposterous that he’d be caught in one of my dance lessons “…he’s much too busy to join me. His business takes a lot of his time, and its success is all due to his hard work.”
The lie tastes like battery acid on my tongue, but the woman buys it and nods. “I know that’s right. These men are always busy.” She’s chuckling while playfully elbowing the man beside her, her husband, who’s a known real estate mogul and lobbyist. He’s also an adulterer with two children born outside of their marriage and five months apart. “Always starting something new.”
That “new” would be the affair made public by a national publication due to the lawsuit by the mistress after he demanded she entertains his associates.
Those around the table laugh at her ribbing. No one calls him out for being a pig, and I shudder internally. It’s getting harder and harder to bite my tongue, but I do. I sit dutifully and wait for the next uncomfortable question while my brother rolls his eyes and eats his dinner.
“Claudia, my girl is beautiful, smart, and has Signio wrapped around her little finger.” My father seems pleased with my mother’s response, entwining their fingers atop the table as she looks right at me. Daring me to not say a word. To follow her lead. What are you trying to pull? “So much so that Mr. Cortez is Solimar’s date for the gala next week. It’s their first public appearance as a couple.”
What. The. Hell?
My throat constricts and my chest feels tight as beads of sweat gather at my brow. I know my face is flushed, the heat across my skin making me look embarrassed by the attention when that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
I’m angry. Feel betrayed. Hurt.
“Oh, how marvelous! It’ll be the talk of every media outlet and society page for weeks.” Mrs. Salinas is giddy with the urge to spread the word. Gossip rules these circles. It’s how the women entertain themselves. “Have you picked a dress?”
“Yes, my daughter will cause quite the stir with this.” It’s the first time my father speaks to anyone on this side of the table. He’s watching my reaction while rubbing his thumb along the top of my mom’s hand. “She’s been begging for weeks to make things public, to ease up on some of my restrictions until marriage, and I’ve obliged. Isn’t that right, baby girl?”
“Thank you, Dad. You’ve been so understanding.” To my ears I sound normal, maybe even a little sweet, but on the inside I’m dead. Choking on the pain. “It’ll be wonderful to make our relationship public and spend time together.”
This appeases him, makes him beam with pride, while Carlos enters the room with a large box. It’s grand and all white with ribbons and a bow atop. A blank canvas I can embellish.
Could it be? Would he?
