She shrugs one shoulder. “That’s why you wake up and figure it out yourself. Sleep in the dining room if you have to. Doesn’t matter as long as you’re on time.”
She starts to walk out but I scramble out of bed, calling after her.
She pauses, peering over her shoulder at me.
“What is he going to do to me?”
She looks me over in my shorts and baggy T-shirt, shaking her head with displeasure once again. “Look at you. Trying to hide your blessings beneath that shirt. When he tells you he’ll protect you under his watch, he means it. Don’t insult him.”
I frown. “That doesn’t answer my question.” I know she’s trying to find anything to criticize me about. Maybe that’s why she’s here so early. So she can see me in my ugliest form, with drool on my chin and knotted hair. So she can see me before I decide to primp myself.
She sighs, removing her hand from the doorknob. “He won’t touch you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Then she grins. “But he will be sure to make you remember to never be late again.”
The way she says it sends goosebumps running down my arms and spine. How can this possibly flatter her? He had to have rescued her in some way.
Ronaldo said only people that he wants to call him by his real name can call him that. I figure the person has to be close to him or family. She’s clearly not family…so does it make them a couple?
Is she his whore?
I rush forward and slam the door and then lean against it as I stare out of the window. I can see the ocean from where I stand. It’s glorious this morning…but all this beauty is a façade.
All of this beauty represents lies. On the outside it may seem marvelous, but inside all you will sense is fear, lies, and even death.
I walk to the closet and decide to wear something a little nicer. I can’t walk around here looking like the desperate, scared girl. I have a backbone and I plan on using it.
There is a yellow dress I find as I skim through. It has bowties on the back, stops below the knee. I dress in it quickly, and then walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth and then my hair.
My chapped lips are starting to bother me. I pick up the petroleum jelly and rub some on my lips. Walking back to the closet, I take down a pair of sandals and slide into them.
I check the mirror.
I look alive, to say the least.
It’s decent enough.
I walk to the door and pull it open. The hallway is clear so I make my way down. I hear pots and pans clanking, so I walk to the kitchen. Surely there’s a clock in there somewhere.
As soon as I make it down the staircase and to the kitchen, all of the maids stop working. They focus on me, studying my dress and especially my hair. Immediately, they start speaking Spanish, rambling on about a million things they probably think I don’t understand.
“Late.” Someone bumps into me from behind and when I see Patanza walk around with a cup in her hand, I scowl.
She shoves the cup into one of the maid’s hands and then folds her arms. My eyes bounce over her to check the clock on the wall.
“It’s only 8:30,” I state.
“Doesn’t matter. Late is late. Jefe doesn’t like it.”
“So…what does that mean?”
She shakes silently with laughter, and some of the maids avoid my eyes when I ask that. “You’ll find out.”
She walks around me, but before she can go, she says, “Oh, and dinner is at 7 p.m. sharp. No later.”
Yeah, I know that. “Do you think I can get a clock in the room I’m in or something?”
Patanza stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and then she starts laughing so hard that I cringe. “Wow,” she laughs again. She looks towards the maids while pointing a mocking thumb at me. “Can you believe this bitch? She’s just released from the cages and she’s already making requests. Fucking bold.”
The maids frown at Patanza before looking at me uncertainly. They are all confused. I don’t think they speak much English.
Patanza walks off quickly and I watch her open a door and shut it behind her. I look down at the floor, but when I feel eyes on me, I turn rapidly to look at the maids.
Startled, they jump right back into their work—scrubbing the counters, sweeping the floors, and washing the dishes.
I make way towards the dining room, down the long corridor. The french doors appear and I rush for them, pushing them open rapidly. The room is empty, but there is still food on the table.
One of the butlers picks up a silver tray at the end of the table and when he sees me walking in, he lifts a brow.