Page 14 of Game of Revenge

I, on the other hand, remained frozen. I tried to speak, but my throat was dry. I couldn’t think of what to say in this situation, with him being so frustratingly close. My captor had just apologized to me for being rude.

That wasn’t what I expected. Brutes didn’t apologize; they just took. Even Richard had never apologized to me, not when he had called my mother a slut, not when he told me it was a shame my skin wasn’t as light as his, not when he reminded me that I was a poor excuse for a daughter.

I searched Alejandro’s deep eyes, wondering what game he was playing. He seemed sincere, but then again, he was a criminal.

“Buenas noches.”

Both Alejandro and I took a step back. We had been completely unaware that Dolores likely had been knocking. She entered the room, seemingly ignoring us, and proceeded to put the food on the table from the cart she had rolled into the dining room. She was serving pozole as the entree dish.

Alejandro and I silently sat down at the table. I was avoiding eye contact, while Alejandro was staring at me with inquisitive eyes. After setting down the pozole bowls in front of Alejandro and me, Dolores uncovered a plate full of chiles en nogada. I could not believe my eyes.

“I haven’t had these chiles in so long,” I exclaimed to Dolores, warmth filling my stomach. “Thank you!”

“My pleasure, señorita,” said Dolores, proud of seeing her dishes bring a smile to my still very pale and bony face. Dolores rolled her cart out and closed the door.

I started savoring her pozole without waiting for Alejandro. He smiled and proceeded to eat as well. We both enjoyed the soup in silence. I was too ashamed of my slight attraction to this man earlier to say anything, and frankly, I was too hungry to care about anything other than my food.

If there was one thing that generally improved my mood, it was good Mexican food. When I was done with my soup, Alejandro stood up, moved the bowls away from us, and served the chiles en nogada. I was surprised but held back any snarky remarks. My kidnapper was literally serving me food.

“My mom painted that piece,” he said in between bites, shifting his eyes to the artwork I had been observing earlier.

I was getting more confused by the second. This man, for some reason, wanted to share information about his life with me. What exactly was I supposed to do with that?

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted. “She must be very talented.”

“She is. Her work is fairly famous around here.”

He looked so proud, his eyes suddenly filled with love and tenderness. It seemed he was capable of some human emotion and had a good sense of family values. Although, it didn’t stop him from destroying mine and who knew how many others.

This was the first time I had seen him smile, a real full and happy smile. It almost looked honest, making him look younger than he generally seemed. I couldn’t help but notice his white, straight teeth and admire the look of sensuality he had with every movement he made. The way he moved his hand, the way he looked at me.

Why would a man like this, who seemed to have it all and could really have the love of anyone he wanted, remove someone from their home against their will for money?

“Does your mother live here?” I inquired. Be polite, I reminded myself. Don’t rush this. Get to know him. Take advantage. The plan was to be civil, avoid provocation.

“At times. She is a citizen of the world, she says.”

“Where is she now?” I pushed.

He stayed silent for a second but continued, “Hawaii.” I didn’t know if that was true or not.

We managed to keep a friendly and comfortable conversation for the next hour, as if we were just two old friends enjoying a nice meal. I felt my anxiety reduce a bit, and I went from pretending to care about what he had to say to actually wanting to hear more. I savored the sound of his voice, deep and strong.

I bit my lip every time I wanted to scream that he should let me go home, that this was the most confused I had ever been in my life. I had to make him think I was going to comply in order to gain some trust.

Dolores walked back in to clear the table and served some wonderful tres leches cake.

I, surprisingly, did enjoy listening to Alejandro tell me about his childhood growing up in Mexico with barely anything but heart and passion for life.

He had managed to quiet my fears a little, but I was still alert, not losing sight of the plan to get to know my oppressor better, in the hope of being able to use any information in my favor. The more data I gathered, the better I could plan. And somehow, in some twisted way, talking to him casually like this felt very natural.

“When did you move to the States?” He cocked his head with a slight frown. “You barely have an accent,” I explained. “I just assumed.”

“Hm. An uncle had moved to Texas. He got me a visa, and I moved there during high school. I knew it would be up to me to make my parents’ sacrifices worth it, and there were a lot more opportunities there,” he finished.

“And you clearly succeeded. This house is, in itself, a work of art, it seems. Do you live here full time now?”

“Not exactly.”