“Hola.” She nods as she rolls out a thick dough with a rolling pin.“¿Tiene hambre, señora? You eat?” She makes a gesture to her mouth, as if she’s shoving food inside.
I nod. “Yes,tiene hambre.”
She makes a face and then smiles.
I shake my head. “I mean, no. I haven’t eaten. Yes, I’m hungry.”
“Ah,si tengo hambre.” She nods and I smile back. Then I head to the fridge and open it. She shakes her head and shoos me away with a lively hand gesture. “Siéntate, siéntate.”
“I-I don’t know what that means.” She gestures to the chair at the island, and I feel like an idiot. I wish I’d paid more attention to Spanish in eighth grade. Without me having to ask, Rosa sits a tall glass in front of me and fills it with cold water from the pitcher she’s pulled from the fridge.
“Gracias.”
She nods and bustles back to the opposite side of the island. Picking up the rolling pin again, she continues working the little lumps of dough until they’re flat and cover the marble counter. I watch with rapt attention, wondering what she’s making.
“You cook?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I never learned.”
“Ah,sí. Come.”
“What?”
“Come, come.Te enseño. I teach.”
I hop off the stool and circle around to her side of the counter. She takes several containers from the other counter and opens the lids. One contains beef, one chicken, one has black beans, and another contains finely cubed potatoes. The aromas are heavenly, and my stomach growls.
“Smells good,sí?”
“Sí, yes.” I nod and watch carefully as she dishes out meat and the various vegetables, naming them all in Spanish. I repeat each word, and she nods. Her smile is sweet, soft, and sincere. It makes my chest pang for something I’m not sure I’ve ever had.Motherly affection.
She sets the spoon in a container and gestures for me to go ahead. I begin filling the little pastry circles with ingredients as she nods and watches on. Next, we fold them, and Rosa shows me how to pinch the edges together with the tines of a fork. We work this way for a while, rolling out more pastry cases and filling them with different mixtures until voices outside the kitchen make me lift my head.
Hermes enters the kitchen, and for half a beat I wonder if it’s Ares’ naked broad shoulders I see behind him, but as Hermes heads for the refrigerator, I notice the man behind him is paler, with thick, dark curls and eyes so blue–grey they’re unnatural.
My heart sinks. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
“Dios mío,” Rosa says, shooting me a disapproving glare.
Israel smirks from across the room. He’s naked from the waist up, but the rest of him wears swim shorts, and beaded droplets of water trail over the hard planes of his body. Standing here without a collar, clothed, and not being forced to crawl on the floor, he’s so much more imposing than he was back at The Ranch.
“Nice to see you too, Pet.” He spits my name as if it were a bad taste in his mouth.
“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”
“Now, now, children,” Hermes says with obvious amusement.
“You.” I whirl on him. “You did this?”
“I thought if we’re going to train you to be the perfect slave, you may as well learn from the best.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“That’s enough, Pet.” My master’s voice runs over me like ice and fire, and I burn for him, crave him. Embarrassment flames my cheeks. I glance at Israel. I expect him to gloat, to look at me with superiority in his gaze. I should have known better. Why would I assume he would be looking at me at all when Ares is in the room? I hate the covetous way he stares atmy Sir.
I turn and find Ares’ gaze not on Israel like I expected, but on me instead. I’ll be sold to Vladik soon, but it didn’t take him long to find my replacement.
Did he mean a word he said this morning?