“No.” Alejandro winked at Pilar. “I did.”
Her cheeks flushed as she glanced away, but I didn’t. I scowled at Alejo and grasped Pilar’s elbow to pull her up to the house. “What happened?”
“I was at the market getting milk,” she said. “I was making arroz con leche for Manu, and—”
“For Manu?” I asked, leading her through the foyer. “You bake for your family’s panadería for a living. Why are you making anyone anything when you aren’t working?” I waved my hand. “Never mind. What happened next?”
“He,”—she nodded behind us at Alejandro—“told me to get in the car. I recognized him from . . .” She lowered her voice as if someone might be listening. “The wedding.”
“And you got in?” I balked. “That’s one of the first things we learn as kids. Never get in the car or you’re as good as dead. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “You know me. I don’t have to be ordered to do anything twice.”
It was true. My sweet Pilar had no backbone, and she never had. I hated that Cristiano had dragged her into this, first by burdening her with being a witness to our wedding ceremony, and now by bringing her here. But I was glad Alejandro hadn’t been forceful, and truthfully, I wouldn’t actually think he’d be. “He brought you straight here?”
“My bag was already in the car when I got in. He packed it for me. I don’t know when or how.” Her eyebrows met in the middle of her forehead. “Now all the ingredients are just sitting on my kitchen counter.”
“Puta madre, fucking domineering asshole—” When Pilar shuddered, I forced myself to calm down. I would deal with Cristiano later. “Don’t worry.” I attempted to soothe her as we approached the house’s main room. “Alejandro is a good guy. I mean, as good as it gets around here.”
“I’ve been worried sick for you,” she said under her breath, then stopped at the grand dining table with brass candelabras. She took in the fireplace, wooden coffee table with wild dahlias, and the regal tapestry on the wall. Turning in a circle, she surveyed the majestic room. “I didn’t know what to expect. I thought it . . . I thought you would look . . . different.”
She’d probably been expecting wreckage and devastation. I wrapped the slinky, colorful cover-up I’d found in one of my drawers over my bathing suit and pursed my lips. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“Vengan.” In the doorway, Alejandro ordered us to follow and turned back for the staircase. “You’ll be staying upstairs, Pilar.”
“For how long?” I demanded.
I didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t get one.
At the second floor, I left Pilar with Alejandro and promised her I’d be back in a moment. I continued up to Cristiano’s bedroom and went to my nightstand. When I’d returned from La Madrina last weekend, I’d found a cell phone in the top drawer with only one number programmed in it. His.
I’d considered it some kind of annoying joke considering our last encounter with a phone, but now, I picked up and prayed it actually made outgoing calls.
He picked up on the first ring. “How are you, my beautiful bride?”
“You asshole.”
“Ah. I assume Alejandro delivered Pilar.” His shit-eating grin was unmistakable, even over the phone. “I thought you’d be pleased—you said you were bored.”
“I didn’t mean you should kidnap my friend.”
“Relax. It’s only for the weekend . . . unless she wants to stay longer, that is.”
“She has a life. A fiancé and a family business. You can’t just rip her out of it for no reason.”
“Not for no reason,” he said. “For you. I thought seeing your friend would make you happy.”
Pilar was like a light in the dark, but I wasn’t going to force this life on her for my own amusement. “She’s scared half to death.”
“So show her she has no reason to be,” he said over some static on the line. “You have free rein of the house. All I ask is that you continue your lessons with Alejo—and bring Pilar with you. I get the feeling she couldn’t tiptoe over an ant without shedding a few tears.”
Pilar might be prone to trembling, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t tough in her own way. My nostrils flared. “You—”
“I know, I know. I’m horrible.” He cleared his throat. “I’m also heading into a bad area, so I have to go.”
“Bad?” I asked, straightening as alarm jolted me. I’d be surprised if whatever mission he’d left on was legal or safe—after all, if this thing he wanted so badly was easy to get, he’d have made it his a long time ago. But for someone in this life to consider an area bad, it had to be dangerous. “What do you mean bad?”
“Er—bad for reception,” he clarified.