Chapter 8

The next day, I was all ready for breakfast, waiting impatiently for Dolores to come get me to join Alejandro as she had told me she would. I had to hide my disappointment when Dolores brought breakfast to my room instead. The same thing happened for lunch. Now I was mad, mostly at myself for wanting to see him—for missing him? What was wrong with me?! I needed a hobby, something to do.

I could not continue spending my days waiting for some man's attention, even if that same man held my fate in his hands. Clearly, he wasn't really in a rush to get rid of me. And that was fine, as that would keep me alive, give me another chance. Until I saw him, though, I was stuck in limbo, unsuccessfully trying to get Dolores to talk, wavering between daydreaming about my life and being paralyzed with fear.

When it came time for dinner, Dolores came in and told me I was expected in the dining room. My body warred between excitedness and anxiety at the thought of seeing Alejandro.

I picked an embroidered, flowing white dress for the evening that stopped at my knees. The cut in the back was fairly low and flattering. I let my hair fall completely down my back. I had straightened it and curled the ends with the blow dryer and straightening tools I had found in the bathroom, courtesy of Dolores. She had even provided me with some foundation, blush, and some mascara, which was all I needed to amplify my features.

It felt almost twisted to be putting on makeup to have dinner with the man who abducted me, changing my life forever—and probably for the worse. But going through the ritual of getting ready also gave me a feeling of normalcy in a way, a touch of my life back, memories of me and the girls eating popcorn in my college room, watching hundreds of makeup tutorials on YouTube to learn how to actually do our makeup and not look like clowns afterward.

Dolores finally returned, but instead of taking me to the dining room, she took me to the office patio.

There he was, standing outside, breathing in the fresh breeze the night provided, his presence somehow thickening the air around him. My heart skipped a beat when he turned around and looked at me. He was wearing a dark-gray suit and a white shirt with the first two buttons undone. He remained silent for a few seconds, his gaze seemingly taking in every inch of me.

"Do you want something to drink?" he offered.

"A glass of wine if possible."

Always such a gentleman, I thought. The kidnapper gentleman.

He poured some wine from a label-less bottle into two wine glasses and handed me one. Was he trying to poison me? Where was the label on the bottle? I made an effort to calm down after I saw him take a sip of the glass he had poured for himself.

"I see the food is already set on the table."

"I wanted us to have no interruptions tonight," he explained.

I focused on the wine in an attempt to hide my nervousness. I smiled when I noticed the beautiful bouquet of white and red Dahlia's on the table.

"This is delicious," I said as we sat down to eat. "I generally prefer a malbec, but this merlot is perfect for tonight. It's a merlot, right?" I asked, savoring the feeling of the red wine teasing my taste buds.

"You know about wine?" He raised an intrigued brow.

"I wouldn't go that far, but I'm a great wine consumer," I teased, smiling.

"Are you now?" he asked in a low guttural tone, bending his head.

He looked at me with eagerness in his eyes. Just one look from those deep, dark eyes made me feel naked. I was trying my best to control my breathing. I had to keep my cool, and I had to remain charming.

"Are you a fan of California wines?"

"Not generally," I admitted. "I tend to prefer Argentinian wines, as well as some European ones generally, but there is a vineyard in California called Robledo Estates. They are not as big as the usual labels, but their wine is not cheap. I don't know how they managed to make European-style wines in California land, but it's perfection. They also don't add sulfites and the other usual offenders that other American vineyards tend to add, which is great."

Was I sharing too much? I wondered. I didn't need this man knowing more about me than he already did. But at the same time, sharing is how people bonded, and I needed him to think we were getting along. I had no choice there. And the truth was that I was enjoying it. Perhaps it was the lack of human interaction making me want to talk so much to my enemy.

I saw him bite his lip. Desire ran through me at the speed of light, taking me by surprise. He suddenly got up and went into his office, stopping at a record player he had by the window and putting some music on. The sound of the melody traveled through the room and outside to my ears. It was a sensual song by Luis Miguel, one of my favorite singers. Alejandro walked to me and asked for my hand. I hesitated.

This didn't seem like a good idea.

But at the same time, he was being nice, and this was exactly what I needed him to be. When our fingers touched as I slowly slid my hands into his, I had to clench my teeth to remain in control of my confusing emotions. Alejandro pulled me toward him in the most tender embrace, putting one hand behind my back while still holding my right hand tightly. He slowly pulled me a bit closer to him.

I closed my eyes as every single one of my senses was on high alert, feeling every inch of his body against mine, breathing him in, getting high on the mix of his cologne and his intoxicating body scent, while fearing what I was getting myself into, or how my body felt. But seduction was all part of my plan, if it was needed, so I let go a bit.

"You play chess?" I asked, looking at the board game.

"I do." He answered in a low tone that made goose bumps travel down my arms.

"Do you know how to play?"

"No" I admitted. "I would like to though." Richard knew but had refused to teach me when I had asked.

"I could teach you" he offered; his gaze locked on mine.

I nodded, as we swayed in silence. How long did he plan to keep me captive for exactly, if he thought he would have time to teach me how to play? I closed my eyes for a few seconds, to block the fear that was threatening to rise inside of me.

"You like this song?" he whispered in my ear.

"'Debajo de la mesa,'" I said. A classic and one of my favorites.

He leaned a little away from me to stare into my eyes. He was frowning and looked disconcerted.

"You are full of surprises, mu?eca. Every time I think I am teaching you something, you show me that I am the one who has so much to learn about you."

The depth in his voice shook me to my core, shattering some of my restraints.

"How is it that your Spanish is so good?"

"I spent the first eleven years of my life here, in Mexico."

I saw something flash behind his eyes. I had admitted to knowing where we were, but he didn't make any comment on it. I wondered if I should continue sharing more of my life with this man. But the way he looked at me, almost like he was hanging on my every word, made me feel heard, so I continued.

"When we moved to California, I made sure to keep my mother tongue, to continue learning. It was all I had left of my life here, of my mother. I wasn't going to lose that because Richard decided to move to America."

"You didn't want to move?"

"Why would I? I was a kid. My mother was dead, but despite that, I loved my life here. Maybe he thought a new place would do me good. I don't know, but at first, I hated it. I didn't even speak a lick of English, and kids at that age weren't very nice. No patience, no tolerance, they made fun of my language, of my accent at the time, of my clothes. Things got better, though. I learned English easily, thankfully. I made friends, and I started loving life there. I started fitting in somewhat."

"I felt the same," he confessed. "I hated leaving my home behind."

"And now?"

"Now it's my home as well."

"Do you ever feel lost? Like you don't belong here or there? Sorry."

I looked down at his shirt, his gaze making me feel like I was naked, like he was looking straight through me. Perhaps it was the wine, but those were words I had never uttered out loud—not even to my closest friends. I wasn't sure they would get it.

"I do. All the time."

I looked back up. He did; I could tell he did. His intense eyes were searching mine, but I could no longer hold it in. He made me want to share that part of me with him, and it felt good.

"Really?"

"Yes. When I moved to Texas, at least I spoke a bit of English already. But it was hard. I felt like a traitor at times, leaving my family, my friends behind. I knew I was doing the right thing—for all of us, really—but I couldn't help feeling like a coward for leaving."

"You weren't a coward. You were pursuing certain opportunities. I am sure they get it. At least you came back, even if you don't spend all your life here."

"You don't come back?"

"No. Richard never wanted me to. And when I became older…I don't know, I just never did. I was afraid of what I would find here. I finally got to a place in my life where I felt like the US was home. I felt like I had finally started to integrate, to be at peace with the fact that I didn't really remember a lot of that life I had been forced to leave behind. I was afraid that coming here would, I don't know, cause an uproar in me, bring me back to those days when I felt empty, like I had left my soul behind."

I swallowed when I heard my voice quiver a bit. I looked up into his eyes, afraid of what I would find. But there was no judgment there, just an understanding, a recognition.

"I get it. I was older when I left. But my mother still lived here. My uncle and I came back here every summer. I felt like I was happy in the US, but something was missing when I was there. But the same happens here, frankly. I find that different parts of me get something from each place."

"It"s a citizen-of-the-world problem, I guess," I joked. "We don't belong fully anywhere, but we get something from different places—or you do, anyway."

"You shouldn't be afraid to visit," he encouraged. "Yes, you will likely feel something that might shake you to your core, but if you still have that ache in you, that bit of emptiness, it might be worth exploring. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Amelia."

I felt my eyes well up, and I batted my eyelids to stop the tears from falling. I knew he was right. I had always thought that deep inside me, but I just never found the courage to come back. I wondered how much I would remember and how much that would affect me.

I was afraid that I would feel my mother's absence a lot stronger if I went back to my roots. I was afraid that the peace, the happiness, and the sense of belonging I had worked so hard to get would crumble if the parts of me I had ignored found that thirst for home, for fitting. And this man, my kidnapper, was bringing it all out, on my skin, in the open.

I tucked my head into his neck, unable to resist the urge to feel his naked skin against mine. Yes, this was all part of the plan, but it didn't mean I couldn't enjoy the process just a bit, a safe amount, as long as I was in control. That conversation unleashed something inside of me, something I desperately needed to put back in the box where it belonged.

Alejandro gently grabbed my face with his hand, turning my head toward his. My parted lips were trembling in sweet anguish as I lifted my head further, those eyes showing me how futile my resolutions were. I closed my eyes when his lips touched mine.

It was a passionate yet gentle kiss. I heard him groan under his breath as my tongue slipped between his lips, hungry for him. I put my hands on his back, enjoying the thrill of feeling his muscles contract, and he drove me further into his embrace. He left my lips, and as I was about to beg for more, Alejandro kissed my jaw and made his way down, kissing my collarbone. I moaned as I was clinging to him, looking for support, pulling him closer.

He pulled away from me so brusquely I had to hold the chair next to me for support. My legs were weak, so I quickly sat down.

"Who is it?" I heard him ask.

"Dolores, se?or." I hadn't even heard the knock on the door.

He quickly ran frustrated fingers through his hair and fixed his shirt. I grabbed a glass of wine to drink it, trying to control my senses, hide my heated cheeks, and calm myself down.

"Perdon, se?or," said Dolores when she entered. "Puedo hablar con usted un momentito?"

A look of concern crossed Alejandro's face as he walked into the other room to talk to Dolores. I was doing my best to try to listen in, but they were both very careful. I could hear their voices, but I couldn't understand anything that was being said.

Alejandro walked back to my side, his hands in his pockets, his composure fully recovered, as if nothing had happened between us earlier. He looked angry, almost concerned.

"It"s time for you to go back to your room," he said, looking at me with distant, cold eyes.

"But—"

"This is not up for discussion," he interrupted before I could finish.

Anger gave me all the strength I was lacking as I got up to face him. He was staring at me with cold eyes, his face devoid of the passion I had seen just a few minutes before.

"Who do you think you are?!" I yelled as I hit him on his chest with the sides of my fists. "How dare you treat me like this!"

He held both my wrists tight. "I don't have time for your tantrums, Amelia. I am now done with you, and you are dismissed. I won"t ask you twice," he warned.

I felt tears of frustration rising to my eyes. I pulled myself away from him and went to find Dolores. We walked to my room in silence.

As soon as I heard the door lock behind me, I dropped myself on the bed and let out all my frustration on my pillow. I had never felt such a strong hatred for someone before. My feelings were raw, as someone I shouldn't even be interacting with, someone I despised with all my being, had once again trampled my pride and my self-esteem.

I was sure of one thing: I had to regain control.

The night started with me wanting to get closer to him, being willing to seduce him if I had to, in a desperate attempt to stay alive, to find out why I had been abducted, to perhaps even negotiate my freedom or facilitate another potential escape, and ended with my body trembling under his touch. But when he kissed me, he made himself more of a threat than ever.

I somehow had allowed myself to think we had a connection, something so innate in common, that I felt like I was talking to someone who could fully understand me. His rejection also had a sting after I had opened up and shared so much with him. I was a proud woman, after all, but it shouldn't feel that way. My life was at stake. I had to stay strong.