“No, those scars, they were terrible, certainly, but what it did to him inside. She tried, his mother, but it was too hard. You see—”
“Are you gossiping about my brother?”
We both turn, startled to find Mercedes slink out from one of those dark corridors. She looks stunning, like the last time I’d seen her. Dressed in a tight-fitting red dress that sets off her olive skin, black hair and eyes, her makeup is flawless and she’s wearing five-inch heels more appropriate for evening and more jewelry than I’m pretty sure my mom, sisters, and I own all together.
“I don’t think Santi would like to hear his wife was gossiping with the help.” She looks from me to Antonia, who lowers her gaze and wrings her hands. “I don’t recall him telling you to let her out, Antonia.”
“I have permission to be out of my room today,” I say, butting in, not liking Mercedes’s tone but also hating what I just said. I sound like a child.
“He gave you permission, did he?” She grins, eyebrows raised.
My hands fist at my sides as my blood begins to boil.
“There was no reason to keep her locked in that room,” Antonia says. I wonder if she feels my rage.
“That’s not your place to say, is it?”
“Not yours either, ma’am. Your brother’s made it clear I’m to look after his wife.”
Mercedes turns her sour expression to me. “Hmm. Did he? Well. I’ll take it from here, Antonia. You can go back to your kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Antonia says, voice tight.
I’m embarrassed for the older woman as she glances at me with a nod of acknowledgment before disappearing toward the kitchen.
“We weren’t gossiping,” I say, not wanting to get Antonia into trouble.
“No, I’m sure you weren’t. Is that what you’re wearing?”
I look down at my pale blue cashmere sweater and jeans. Mercedes is a bully. She reminds me of Maria Chambers. Entitled and rich and probably never been taught right from wrong. Never been told no.
“Yes, your brother bought it for me,” I say. “We’re going to the hospital, not a fashion show. Is that what you’re wearing?”
Distaste curls her lip, and she walks past me.
I follow her into what I guess to be the formal living room with the huge rose-shaped windows. Her heels click quickly as she walks through it while I stand there, gaping at the mural on the ceiling.
“Are you coming?” Mercedes asks.
I drag my gaze away. “It’s beautiful.”
She glances up, shrugs one shoulder in dismissal, and raises her eyebrows. “I have things to do apart from babysitting you.”
“I can take myself. I’d be happy to.”
“Then you and I both would incur Santiago’s wrath. This way.” She turns on her heel and walks away. I quickly follow her through the house and out the front door where a man drives up in a Rolls Royce. It’s James, I realize, from the other day. I’d thought he worked for Abel, but I guess it had been Santiago keeping tabs on me. It makes sense.
He opens the door for us, and I follow Mercedes in, then stare like a child out the window at the mammoth of a house and gardens that seem to go on for miles.
“Is that a maze?” I ask when I catch a glimpse of the high hedges.
“Yes.”
When we finally reach the iron gates that open for us, I crane my neck until I can only see one of the house's two spires.
I remember from the wedding night that it wasn’t too far from the center of town, but it’s tucked away on its own not so little parcel of land, and the room I’ve been locked in seems even darker now.
When I turn around again, I find Mercedes studying me, her dark eyes hard but also curious. Not in an I’m interested in finding out who you are way but in a what are your weaknesses to exploit way and I’m very aware of how I look beside her. Almost like a child.
I clear my throat and shift my gaze out the window. It’ll be about half an hour to the hospital. I anticipate an awkward ride, but Mercedes just gets on her phone and ignores me altogether.
James pulls the car into a parking space, and I look over at Mercedes talking to someone while studying her fingernails. He climbs out of the car and opens my door.
“You have fifteen minutes,” she says just as I’m about to climb out.
“What?”’
“I’m not coming inside. It’s too depressing.”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“We have a lot to do. My bother has tasked me with readying you for The Society. We’ll have to take care of, well, so much,” she says with a look of distaste on her face as she lets her gaze sweep over me.
“Are you serious?”
She grins, makes a show of checking her thin diamond wristwatch. “You’d better hurry.”