Whatever this is between Draco and me has been hard to deny. A part of me still doesn’t trust him, yet another part of me—a dark, secret ounce of me—longs for every inch of him.

I want to avoid that part of me, sinking too deep and falling for him. It will be just like how I fell for Toni. A man I thought I knew, but hardly knew anything about at all.

There’s a lot about Draco that I still don’t know.

I want to question why Draco leaves during the middle of the day and returns a little more frustrated than when he left. When he’s locked himself away in his galería, I want to know what he’s painting. Is it another photo of blood? A massacre? None of his paintings are gentle on the eyes. All of them, I’ve noticed, are filled with colors of red, black, and other dark, ominous hues.

Four days have passed, and we’ve still continued to fuck and taunt and tease. He seems to enjoy that. And I know as long as I give myself to him, then I can get whatever I want. Just yesterday, he had Patanza deliver a typewriter to the library for me. To my surprise, it came in the color red. Daddy’s favorite color. I can’t help but wonder if he knew that small fact or if he got it in red by chance.

I started typing on it the same day it was given to me, half-watching, half-typing as the sun fell and kissed the horizon. At dinner, I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. He wanted to smile, I could tell, but he didn’t. He held on to his cold, hard look, digging right into his meal. As he chewed and Mrs. Molina started speaking, I spotted the faint smirk tugging at his lips though.

He couldn’t fool me.

When I wake up today, he isn’t in bed. I gaze around the bedroom, sighing as I stare at the ceiling fan whirling rapidly. It’s hot today. Even with the fan on, I can feel my hair sticking to the nape of my neck.

Why the hell isn’t the A/C on?

I push out of bed, walking to the window. The sun is high in the sky. It seems much closer today, blazing down on everything it can touch.

Turning toward the bathroom, I start up the shower, making sure it’s colder than my average temperature. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not usually this hot in here.

Once finished, I get dressed in a black tank top and khaki shorts, slip my feet into a pair of black leather flip flops, and march out the door. Patanza is standing on the other side of the door and when she spots me, she turns fully. Sweat is misting her forehead, her cleavage, and the skin she has revealed at her belly. Her hair is in a ponytail, the ends damp with sweat.

“What’s going on with the air?” I ask, peering down the hallway when I hear noises.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “Jefe called someone in to fix it. This house is old. Stupid thing always goes out around this time of year.” She swipes her neck with the towel she normally carries in her back pocket.

“Damn.” I slide my fingertips into my back pockets. “Well, are we doing breakfast today?”

“I doubt it. He’s not even here.”

“Where did he go?”

“To town with Thiago.” When she says that her face pinches a little, as if she disapproves.

“You don’t like him,” I state, and she picks up her gaze.

“Can’t stand him,” she mutters.

“Why?”

Her upper lip spasms, almost in a near snarl. When she doesn’t speak, I sense it’s because of something personal. “Come on.” She twists around. “We can still have the chef cook whatever you want. I’m sure Jefe will be back soon. He doesn’t like to be off the property for too long.”

I follow after her, but I can’t help feeling that it’s something deeper than she’s letting off. Her body is tense, and she’s purposely avoiding my gaze. I won’t touch on it though. I know she isn’t going to tell. She hurries down the stairs, her hand on her gun when she meets at the bottom.

To our left, I see a few men in navy work uniforms coming in and out of the front door. They are all sweaty, sunburnt, and speaking rapidly in Spanish as they march in and out with tools.

We make our way to the kitchen, where there are three butlers fanning themselves and standing in front of a round fan. A heavyset man named Eduardo stands at the counter, whipping something in a bowl. The house chef. He’s glistening like a greased pig, patches of sweat seeping through his white jacket. The hat he usually wears is off, his black hair damp.

I’ve come to know he’s a good man. Though Draco didn’t want me talking to anyone, I still made my rounds. He wanted me to be comfortable here. I had to know these people, or at least speak to them as often as I could.

The maids are sweet, but none of them have families. All of them, the butlers as well, live in homes less than a mile away from here. They stay in an apartment building that was paid for years ago by Draco himself, just so they could stay close to the property, and so his guards could keep watch of them.

They don’t butt in much. They also don’t speak unless spoken to. Whenever they see me, they stand tall, slightly bowing their heads at me as if I’m royalty.

Like now. All three butlers spot me walking into the kitchen, and they perk up almost instantly, uneasy smiles spreading across their faces.

I return a small one, walking toward Eduardo. “Good morning, Eduardo.”

He glances over at me. There is something about Eduardo that I find comforting. He’s the only one around who isn’t afraid to speak to me. He says what he wants, and is, indeed, a true shit talker that makes amazing food.

“Good morning, Patrona!” he yells cheerfully in his native tongue, placing his bowl down. “What the hell are you doing in my kitchen? You know Jefe doesn’t like you in here.” He plants a hand on his hip, using the back of his other to wipe the beads of sweat away from his forehead and cheek.

I laugh. “Who cares what Jefe says? What are you making?”

“Baking a cake,” he sighs. “Too damn hot in this fucking house to bake, but it’s for Mrs. Molina’s birthday. That woman deserves ten-thousand cakes, no matter the temperature of the house.”

My eyebrows rise. “It’s her birthday today?”

“Yes.” He bobs his head, grinning. “I will be making her favorite meal for dinner tonight. Jefe wants everything to be in order for her. We have a busy night.”

I glance over at Patanza. “Why didn’t he tell me it was her birthday?” I ask in English.

She presses her lips, glances between the butlers, and then flicks her fingers, gesturing for me to come her way. My eyebrows stitch and I join her in the secluded corner she stopped at. “She doesn’t like to celebrate it.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Molina used to take her to Spain every year for her birthday. They would party like college students and they’d come back happier than ever, from what I’ve heard. Her birthdays remind her of him. She says they will never be able to compare to that again.”

“Oh.” Damn. I look back at Eduardo, watching as he pours the chocolate batter into a cake pan. “Well, then, maybe we should make the night a good one for her. Make it great. She deserves that, right?”

“Jefe usually takes care of the birthday plans.”

“Well, he isn’t here, is he? How is he supposed to take care of anything if he’s out running around all the time?”

She fixes her mouth like she wants to say something, but clamps it shut in an instant.

“No.” I smile, placing a hand on her shoulder. “What were you going to say?”

She fights a smile, glancing at the butlers who are finding little things to pick up and clean to occupy themselves. When she brings her eyes on me again, she says, “I was going to say his parties for her are kind of lame.”

I snort. “He’s too uptight to plan a party. I used to do it all the time for my parents and a few of their friends. Come on.” I grab her wrist and start for the exit of the kitchen. “We’ll figure something out for her.”

“I really shouldn’t, Patrona,” she says, hesitant as I string her along. “He doesn’t like for us to mess up his plans.”

“He won’t blame you for anything, Patanza. I’m sure he’d like for us to take this burden off his shoulders, though he’ll probably never admit it. He seems to be dealing with a lot right now anyway.”

“He always is,” she scoffs.

I let go of her wrist when we’re in the empty dining room. I’m hesitant to ask my next question. I haven’t asked anything so daring in a long time. “Do you think he’d let me go to the city? For a gift?”

Her eyebrows shoot up like I’ve just asked for access to the devil’s deepest, darkest secrets. Her hands lift up and she waves them rapidly. “No, no, no, no, no. Hell no!”

“What?” I frown. “Why not? It’s just for a gift. You guys can follow me like you do here. It would only be for an hour tops.”

“You’re asking the wrong bitch, Jefa. If I even try to answer that he’ll have my head. That is his number one rule.”

“What is?” I ask, aggravated now.

“To not let you off the property without his permission.” Her face turns cold and grim again, like she’s not backing down.

I release a breath, head shaking. “This is fucking ridiculous. He can’t keep me trapped here.”

“He only wants you to be safe.”

“No, he doesn’t want me to run away. He thinks I’ll bail.”

“Well . . . do you blame him?” She folds her arms. “You stare out of the windows so much we all think one day you’ll decide to just jump out of one of them and end it.”

Her statement catches me by total surprise. “What? Is that what you all really think?”

“It’s clear you are not happy, Patrona. Not here. Even though he is trying to do all that he can to please you, I don’t think you ever will be . . . and I guess I can understand why, after all you’ve been through.”

I swallow hard, looking toward the French doors. I don’t have anything to say—at least not out loud. I thought I was doing a good job of pretending I didn’t mind my life here. I guess my feelings are more transparent than I thought.

Is that what Draco thinks? That I want to die? That I want it all to end? Because he would be wrong. They are all wrong. It’s not that I want it to end . . . it’s something much deeper, and I have yet to discover it.

I can hardly sleep. I have nightmares, all of them filled with blood and death. I feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes.

I pull away from her, turning to leave the dining room.

“Do you want me to ask Eduardo to make you something to eat?” Patanza calls, following after me. “I can have the butlers bring it up.”

“No.” I stop, peering over my shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll just eat later. I’m not that hungry right now.” She starts to follow me when I take a few steps out, but I hold my hand up, lightly shaking my head. “Patanza, do you think that, just this once, I can walk around alone. No offense to you,” I add quickly when her face falls, “but I just want some time alone.”

She looks at me long and hard. It’s against his rules, I know, but I can’t deal with her tailing me. I want to go to the library without someone all over my back—without someone standing at the door, waiting for me to finish.

“Sure,” she finally sighs. “But when you see him, tell Jefe that being alone is what you wanted.”

I nod, taking off. “I will.”