After I finish my sausage and egg tostado, I drink the rest of my mimosa and then stand up, picking up the towel from the back of my chair.
“Do you know the code to the gates?” I ask both Mrs. Molina and Francesca.
“No,” Francesca responds without looking up.
“Yes.” Mrs. Molina sluggishly pushes out of her chair. “But I am not allowed to tell you the numbers.” She walks around the table, meeting up to me. “Come on. Let’s go.” She displays a gentle smile, walking past me to get to the french doors.
I start to follow after her, but Francesca reaches up rapidly to grab my wrist.
“Is he letting you swim?” she whispers, staring me right in the eyes.
“He said I could go to the beach.”
“Why?” she hisses angrily.
I pull my arm away and shrug. “I don’t know. He left a note in my room. I mentioned that I wanted to go yesterday.”
She bats her eyelashes wildly and then drops her hands, staring down at the table.
I look around for listening ears and prying eyes before focusing on her again. “Can’t you come with us?” I whisper in Spanish.
She shakes her head, her thick curls flopping. “No. And I won’t ask. He hasn’t spoken to me personally since he found out I helped you—besides the dinner last night, but that doesn’t count. He was just putting on a show for you.”
I frown. “For me?”
“Yes, you,” she snaps, glaring up at me. “He’s giving you way more freedom than I’ve ever gotten. He hardly punishes you. I’ve been here for three years. I’ve done everything he’s asked of me, but he’s never let me go out past the pool.”
I look away, focusing on the floor. “I—I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She shoves back in her chair, and the legs scrape the floor. “Like he said, a pretty girl like you is hard to say no to. A pretty girl like you is obviously hard to punish too.” She narrows her eyes, scanning me in my white T-shirt and beach shorts. “I never should have fucking helped you. Ever since he saw you naked, he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you.”
She turns around and storms through the kitchen. I watch her go, baffled by her harshness.
“Ignore her,” Mrs. Molina says when Francesca’s long gone. “She is simply in love with a man that will never be in love with her. Knowing that will always tear her up inside.”
I turn around to meet Mrs. Molina’s brown gaze. Wrinkles form around them. Waving a hand and gesturing for me to come her way, she says, “Let’s go, before my son shows up and changes his mind.”
“Right.” I follow after her, leaving the dining room but not without one glance back. Francesca doesn’t come back, but I feel awful. Guilty. I know she’s right. I’ve noticed it too. She was just being nice to me that morning. I took the breakfast that day. I should have refused it. Maybe Bain never would have told on her.
I could tell from the moment I met her that she loves Draco. She loves him immensely, and he treats her like some caged dog, tossing her the scraps, punishing her over the smallest things.
He is attracted to me, that is apparent. Ever since he kissed me the day he forced her onto me and told me that he wanted me, I knew it. He said it out loud so there is no denying it.
He’s doing all of this stuff—putting a tracker inside me, sending me flowers, and letting me go to the beach—but he knows damn well that I don’t deserve his attention.
He knows damn well that if anyone deserves his rewards, it’s Francesca. She is dedicated to him and she still has a heart.
And what he fails to realize is that my heart doesn’t, and will never, beat for him.
It still belongs to Toni.
He can have my body, but he won’t own my broken heart.
I rub the suntan lotion on my arms and legs as Mrs. Molina spreads her towel out. Her gray hair dances with the strong breeze. She gave me a pair of sunglasses and I’m rocking the hell out of them right now.
“It’s a beautiful morning,” she says, crouching down and then sitting. She bends her legs and looks towards the ocean. She has a pink straw hat on that matches her bathing suit. “I have to tell you, I think Draco is being very unfair with you.”
I look over at her quickly. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugs. “Considering how close I was to your family. Your mom and dad especially.” Her accent is thick as she forms a faint smile. Her voice is actually quite soothing.
“You were close to them?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say we were best friends or anything, but yes. I talked with them and visited every time I came to the U.S. I haven’t been there in years, though.” She looks sideways. “I was very upset when I heard about your mom’s diagnosis and then your father’s death.”