Page 25 of Game of Revenge

In the evening, Dolores came to tell me that I was expected for dinner. I did my best to suppress the frustrating rush of happiness I felt. It was not the time to act like a giddy teenager. I had not forgotten about my mission: find out why I had been kidnapped and was still in captivity. See if I could touch the heart of my captor, and perhaps he would let me go.

I opted for a red crinkled dress with an elasticized waist, off-the-shoulder neckline, and short sleeves. The dress hung closely to my curves and stopped a few inches past my knees. I did my makeup and styled my full-bodied curly hair with the pearl hairpins Dolores had gifted me. As I was finalizing my lipstick, I heard a knock on the door. I turned around, and there he was, in my bedroom, looking at me with those dark eyes that made me feel my blood coursing through my veins a little faster. He was looking at me, dressed in a black pair of jeans and a light-gray shirt. His curly hair was left wild and free. He slowly walked toward me. I could only stand there, barely breathing, frozen, and unable to look away.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you.” I could feel my cheeks warm up as I bit my lower lip, looking up at him from under my lashes. “Dolores has great taste.”

“She does.”

We just stood there, looking at each other. I tried to remind myself to be strong, but I was satisfied as the dress had the impact intended.

“You sent me flowers again” I stated, swallowing hard.

“I did. You like them?”

“Yes, thank you. They are gorgeous” I said with a small smile. His lips slightly parted.

“I assume you came to get me for dinner?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, I did,” he said, taking a few steps backward. “Shall we?”

I walked past him, and we headed to the patio outside of his office. Dolores had already put the food on the table. On the menu was some green ceviche with homemade tortilla chips for an appetizer as well as some beef empanadas. For the main meal, Dolores had prepared some braised spare ribs with squash and corn.

With this menu, I was in heaven. Every bite was a food orgasm, and I could not get enough. It took me ten minutes to realize that Alejandro was slowly eating his food, seemingly distracted by my very strong appetite, smiling at every bite I took. Had I been moaning? I looked up with guilty eyes, and we both started laughing.

“It's just so good,” I explained between laughs.

“Dolores is a food genius.”

“I told you we don't eat Mexican food in my house. It's not because I don't want to. My stepfather just hates Mexican food and never allowed us to have a Mexican dish in the house, so whenever I get to eat authentic, delicious Mexican food, I just swallow it whole.”

“Why?” inquired Alejandro, frowning.

“I’m not really sure, to be honest. Like I told you before, we left Mexico when I was young, and he’s never wanted to take me back since—or let me go, for that matter. He refused to let me speak Spanish in the house, even though it’s my first language, and any mention of Mexico was strictly forbidden. I had to learn English very fast to not anger him. My nanny was the one who helped me continue to practice my Spanish, thankfully, and since Richard was rarely home, she made me the most wonderful meals.”

“I’m sorry about your mother—and your stepfather.” He looked very pensive and a bit confused.

“What?”

“It doesn’t sound like you like your stepfather very much.”

I had made the mistake of hinting at that before, and here I was again, sharing more than I should. I had been afraid to voice that out loud since I was still not sure why I had been abducted. Admitting that Richard and I had a bad relationship might put my life in danger even further.

“It’s complicated,” I said, straightening myself up. “As it is with most father-daughter relationships.” I returned to my food, hoping that Alejandro couldn’t tell that I was lying to him.

“I see.” He paused. “Must have been hard growing up without your mother.”

“It was.”

“How young were you when she died?”

I swallowed. “I was four.”

Talking about my mother used to be my favorite thing to do when I was younger, almost like I was afraid I would forget her if I didn’t. But eventually, it just hurt too much. The ache from the absence of the woman who had given me life got deeper and deeper, to the point that I had found myself crying every day.

So, I forced myself to stop thinking about her, stopped bringing her back with my memories for a while, as much as I could. That had brought me some peace over the years, to get to a point that I did allow myself the memories every now and then.

Since my kidnapping, though, thoughts of my mother kept creeping in, making me wonder how different my life would have been if my mother had stayed alive. How different things would have been to have had the love of the woman who gave me life.