The Spanish Daughter(56)

“Look at that,” Martin said.

I loved the admiration in his voice. Right now, I wasn’t the lesser man who didn’t know how to ride horses or how to act around women. I was the one person in this entire region who could teach him what he’d been working so hard for every year collecting those cacao beans. I was showing him the real value of his beloved Pepa de Oro.

After I attained a rich, creamy texture, I dipped a spoon inside and handed it to Martin.

“?Dios mío!” he said, sitting down. “This is much better than the beans.”

I scoffed.

He tasted the mix with his eyes closed. He was falling under the spell of this addicting substance, just like everyone else who ate it did. It was with reason that people called it the Elixir of the Gods.

Licking her fingers, Bachita asked me if she could take some chocolate to her children. I handed her a tin box myself.

“You can use chocolate in many ways,” I explained to both. “You can drink it or eat it. You can make cakes, pastries, or truffles with it. The list is endless.”

Bachita tried to kiss my hand in gratitude, as if I were a priest, but I removed it.

“There’s no need for that,” I said.

“Thank you so much, se?or,” she said. “It’s been a real pleasure. I must go home now. I’m anxious to have my family taste some of this.”

“You’re welcome, Bachita.”

We stared after her as she headed out, hugging the tin box of chocolate against her chest.

“I can’t believe we’ve had this here all along and didn’t know it,” Martin said, smearing a piece of banana in the brown mix. “People must pay a lot of money for chocolate in Europe.”

“Where do you think Don Armand’s fortune came from?”

“All those conceited friends of Angélica’s would spend their lifelong savings on this.”

“That was exactly what I was thinking yesterday at the café.”

He was quiet for a moment. If his mind was racing anything like mine was, then I’d found the one person in the world who understood me, the one person who was just as possessed by chocolate as I was.

Shamelessly. Unapologetically.

Cristóbal had never been that person. Every time I talked about my plans for the chocolate shop or the most recent recipes I’d come up with, he’d get a glassy look in his eyes, as though he’d rather get shot than endure another second of my conversation.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” Martin said.

I was deflated by the question. I wanted to explore the idea of producing chocolate here, not sell my land. We could be pioneers.

“Yes.” I sat on a stool across from his. “But I’m afraid you’re not going to be happy with my answer.”

“You don’t want to sell.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been thinking about it and the truth is I like it here. I see some possibilities I hadn’t seen before.”

“What about your book? You can’t run a plantation and write a novel at the same time.”

He sat back, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at me without blinking.

“Well . . .” I hesitated. “I suppose the novel can wait.”

“You know what I think?” His eyes never left my face. “I don’t think you ever intended to sell the property or write any novel.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted. Gone was the camaraderie, the friendly banter. Martin pushed his plate.

“Why don’t you just tell me who you really are and why you’re dressed like a man?”





CHAPTER 27

If there were a prize for stupidity, I would’ve won it. Here I thought I’d been fooling everyone around me, but the only fool was me.

“Should I call you María Purificación or do you go by Puri, like the plantation?” Martin said.

I swallowed.

“Puri.”

I removed Cristóbal’s spectacles and massaged the bridge of my nose. “Did you know all along?”

“I suspected it from the first day when you climbed on Pacha. Women’s hips are noticeable on horseback.”

Of course, what a dunce I’d been.

“But I confirmed it last night when I heard you singing and swimming in the creek.”

Singing? I covered my mouth. I hadn’t realized I was singing.

“Did you . . . see me, too?” I said in my normal tone of voice.

“Yes. I saw you.” He barely moved a muscle.

I averted my gaze. He’d seen me naked, which was even worse than hearing my atrocious singing. My cheeks burned.

“You could’ve at least spared me the shame of making a fool of myself today,” I said.

“I guess I could have said something, but I wasn’t sure I’d been fully awake last night. I may have had a little too much puro.”

All along he’d suspected me. I wondered if others in the family had, too. I wanted to scream.

“So that trip to the bar, the prostitutes? Were you testing me?”

“Not exactly. Like I said, I wasn’t sure what to think of you. You were convincing otherwise.”

Well, at least that. I would’ve hated for everyone to be laughing behind my back. In a way, I was relieved Martin had found out. That meant no more trips to bars and brothels and faking that I was a “real man,” though I couldn’t deny the outings with Martin were more entertaining than I would’ve expected.