The Spanish Daughter(59)

Juan removed the basket from my hand and he must have dropped it next to us—I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t stop looking at his eyes as he lowered his face and kissed me.

My God, how could I have forgotten what it felt like to be in Juan’s arms? It made me realize that when other boys had kissed me in the past, it had felt as if I’d been kissing my own hand. There hadn’t been this tingling all over my body, this heat growing inside my core, this lightheadedness, this desire to be closer to him. I’d thought it was because he’d been the first man to ever kiss me, but now I knew it wasn’t that. There was something carnal, almost primitive between us that I would never be able to stop. No matter how much he embarrassed me in front of my friends. No matter how many husbands I might have. I could never stay away from him.

He pulled back abruptly, unexpectedly, and to my chagrin, he took a step back.

There was a triumphant smile on his face.

“See? You haven’t forgotten me.”

Wait, was this a game to him? If I hadn’t wanted to continue kissing him, I would’ve collected my pride and left, but I was still weakened by the effect his mouth had on mine.

“Wait, Juan, don’t leave.”

“I don’t go by Juan anymore,” he said. “There were too many Juanes at my school in Colombia. I go by my middle name now, Martin.”





CHAPTER 29

Puri April 1920



When I arrived in my father’s house, my sisters were in the sewing room, the door slightly opened.

“You will never guess who I saw at church this morning,” Catalina was telling Angélica.

I stood by the window. Angélica wore a navy-blue sequin dress with a gorgeous drape that reached the floor. Catalina crouched beside her, pinning the hemline of her dress. She held a couple more pins between her lips.

“Go higher,” Angélica told her.

“I already agreed to the short sleeves, Angélica. Don’t push your luck.”

“You’re not my mother! Besides, you owe me obedience. I’m your older sister.”

No, dear Angélica, I am.

“Well, are you going to guess who I saw or not?”

“I don’t know. One of Mamá’s friends? Let’s see, who’s still alive?”

“No. None of Mamá’s friends,” Catalina said. “I saw Silvia.”

Angélica’s body stiffened, making her look even taller. Her cheeks turned red. But Catalina was oblivious to her sister’s reaction as her gaze was fixed on the hem.

“She’s a widow now and apparently she just got back,” she said.

Angélica didn’t answer.

“Like this?” Catalina showed off her work.

Angélica nodded absently.

“I never understood what happened between you two.” Catalina stood up straight, resting her hand on her lower back. “You used to be such good friends. And then one day, she stopped coming, she got married and left. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Without even saying goodbye.”

“Can I take this off now?” Angélica reached for the button at the nape of her neck.

“Wait, wait.” Catalina stood behind her and undid the zipper.

Who was this Silvia person? But more importantly, why had Angélica reacted so awkwardly upon hearing that this woman was back in town? Could she be the same elusive woman I was looking for?

Catalina raised her head and spotted me through the window. “Don Cristóbal! I didn’t know you were there.”

Angélica rushed behind an Art Nouveau folding screen.

“I apologize.” I stood by the threshold. “I was just admiring your talent. You have a great eye for design and construction.” I couldn’t help but think of my mother. She was the one who’d taught me the basics of sewing. She’d also been an excellent knitter.

“Catalina is a superb seamstress,” Angélica said behind the screen.

Angélica reappeared in the room, wrapping a black silk robe around her slim frame. “I’m so lucky to have my own seamstress here at home.” She smiled at her sister. “Catalina sews all my clothes.”

“You’re a box of surprises, Do?a Catalina,” I said.

She smiled at me shyly. There was some yelling coming from the kitchen.

“I need to speak to him!” a woman said.

“I told you he’s not here!” Julia said.

I immediately recognized the voice.

“Don Cristóbal, I need to speak to you,” Soledad Duarte said as soon as she saw me. Had she figured out my sinister connection to her son?

My sisters turned to me with curiosity.

“I’m desperate!” the curandera said. “I don’t know what to do.”

I held her arm. “Do?a Soledad, let’s go to the parlor.”

“I apologize for this intrusion, Don Cristóbal, I tried to stop her,” Julia said.

“It’s fine.” I was already pulling the woman into the living room.

“Wait!” Angélica said. “What is this all about? You can’t barge into our house like this, Soledad. I demand to know what’s happening.”

“It’s my son, Do?a Angélica. Franco is still missing and it’s been a month already.”