Because It Is My Blood (Birthright #2)(44)

“Yes?”

“Was there a letter from your boyfriend in that packet?”

I laughed at Theo. “Sí, Theo, and it was ridiculously romantic.”

“Read it to me.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“What? It is good for me to know. Don’t you want me to learn from such a master Casanova as this Win?”

I shook my head at Theo. I walked over to the door, kissed Theo on the cheek, and then pushed him out the door. “You should go. Quick, Theo, quick! Before Luz catches us!”

*   *   *

In the morning, when I went outside, Yuji Ono was waiting for me. “Let’s go speak in my car,” he said.

The car was black with thick, tinted windows, possibly bulletproof glass. His driver was the same heavyset man I had seen in New York last spring when Nana died. Yuji asked the driver to leave, and then he opened the door for me so that I could join him in the backseat.

“Yuji,” I began. I hadn’t been able to sleep the previous night because I’d been going over what I would say to him so many times. My words came out sounding rehearsed. “Yuji, first I want to thank you for your friendship. I have had no better friend than you. My family has had no better friend than you either.”

Yuji bowed his head slightly, but said nothing.

“I want to thank you very much for the offer of”—it was difficult for me even to say the word—“marriage. I know you wouldn’t make it lightly, and I am truly honored. But, after much consideration, I want you to know that my mind hasn’t changed. I am too young to marry anyone, and even if I weren’t young, I wouldn’t want to make a decision of this magnitude while I was away from home and while I have been out of contact with my advisers for so long.” I had on purpose decided not to mention anything about love.

Yuji studied my face, and then he bowed his head. “I respect your decision.” He bowed his head again, this time even more deeply.

I offered Yuji my hand to shake. “I hope we can still be friends,” I said.

Yuji nodded, but he didn’t shake my hand. What I thought at the time was that his feelings were too hurt. “I must go,” he said.

He opened the car door, and I left. His driver got in, and then they were gone. I watched the car until I could no longer see it.

Although it was 70° that day, an uncommon wind swirled past, whipping my hair across my face, leaving me with goose-bumped arms and an unpleasant chill in my heart. I went inside to see if I could borrow a sweater from Luna.

X

I REAP WHAT I SOW

IMMEDIATELY AFTER NEW YEAR’S, we resumed work in the orchard. I’d wake before dawn, pile my nascent ponytail atop my head, and take my place beside Theo and the other workers. I was stronger than when I had arrived, so I found the January labors easier. I mentioned this to Theo, and he laughed at me.

“Anya,” he said, “we are in siesta season.”

“Siesta season?”

“Most of the last crop has already been harvested, and the second cacao season, which is always the lesser one anyway, is yet to begin. So, we work a little. Eat a big lunch. Take a nap. Work a little more. Siesta season.”

“It’s not that easy,” I protested. To prove my point, I showed him my hands, which had fresh blisters from using my new machete. Theo had sharpened it for me as promised.

“Ay, your poor hands.” He took my hand and he held it up against his own rough palm. “You will get calluses like these beauties of mine soon enough.” Suddenly, he smacked his hand against mine.

I took the Lord’s name in vain. “That hurt!” I yelled.

Theo found the whole thing hysterical. “I was trying to help your calluses along,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s hilarious. You’re a jerk sometimes, you know that?” I walked away from him. Since the incident with his grandmother, Theo occasionally went out of his way to show me just how much he didn’t fancy me.

Theo put his hand on my shoulder.

I shrugged him off. “Leave me alone.”

“Perdóname.” He got down on one knee. “Forgive me.”

“Siesta season or not, this work isn’t easy, Theo.”

“I know that,” he said. “Yes, I know that very well. In other countries, they let little children work these orchards. The parents sell them off for nothing. I tell you, it disgusts me, Anya. So, if my cacao costs a bit more because I have to pay real farmers a real wage, I think it is worth it. Superior farmers make a superior product. My cacao tastes better and I do not have to hang my head at church, you know?”

In a low voice, I asked him if he knew what kind of cacao the Balanchines used.

“Not mine,” Theo said. “I cannot know specifically what kind your family uses but most of the black market chocolate brands have to use the cheapest cacao they can get. It is the reality of running a black market business.”

Theo was too nice to say what that reality probably meant for my family.

“I did meet your father once,” Theo said. “He came to Granja Mañana to meet my parents about switching to our cacao. My parents thought he was going to do it, too. I remember Mama and Papa were even looking into buying more acreage. Supplying Balanchine Chocolate would have meant a lot of money to our family. But about a month later, we heard that Leo Balanchine had died and so the deal was off.”