Chapter 3 CHAPTER 3

Julia’s POV.

I opened my eyes to the gray light of the window and Alejandro’s arm still on top of me, heavy, his hand open over my stomach.

It took me a second to understand that I had fallen asleep, somewhere between the third and fourth time I tried to get free, and I wanted to bite myself for being an idiot.

I lifted his wrist with two fingers, very slowly, and his hand closed over mine.

“If you’re going to run off, at least do it with more talent,” he said against the back of my neck, his voice rough with sleep.

I yanked myself free and sat up on the edge with my heart pounding against my ribs. He rolled onto his back in no hurry at all, the sheet at his hips and his chest bare, and looked at me like I was the one with something to explain.

“You hugged me.”

“And you didn’t leave.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me.”

“I don’t recall forcing you.” He got up and walked toward the bathroom. “Looks like in this bed we both have memory problems.”

The door closed and my face was burning. It was my first morning married to my sister’s husband, and I was already losing.

Half an hour later we went down together. He held my elbow on the stairs and I concentrated on the pressure of his fingers instead of the steps, because it was either that or freeze halfway down again.

The dining table was set for three. Margarita presided from the head, and Catalina had the chair next to Alejandro’s place, her hair loose and a white dress that left little to the imagination and a lot to strategy.

There was no plate for me.

“Good morning, my girl, what a joy to see you on your feet.” Margarita turned her head toward the kitchen. “Give the lady the coffee pot.”

A maid came out with a silver pot, put it in my hands without meeting my eyes and went to stand against the wall, hands crossed over her apron. I stayed there with the hot metal between my palms, not understanding, until Margarita nudged her empty cup a few inches toward me with the tip of one finger.

My sister didn’t eat at that table. My sister served it.

The pot was burning my hands and I didn’t let go. I thought about Juliana’s scarred knuckles holding that same silver every morning, standing against the wall while they ate, and my vision blurred. I blinked fast, my jaw clenched so hard it cracked.

I looked for Alejandro. He had sat down and was reading something on his phone, cup in his other hand, like nothing was happening at that table that he hadn’t seen a hundred times.

He saw it every morning, and he went right on reading his emails.

“What are you waiting for, dear?” Margarita said. “It’s getting cold.”

I walked over to her and poured her coffee slowly, with a steady hand, up to the rim. And I kept pouring.

The coffee spilled over the saucer, ran across the tablecloth and landed in her lap. Margarita jumped up with a shriek, shaking out the fabric, and Catalina half rose with her mouth open.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I set the pot down on the table. “My hands shake since the accident. The doctor said it was normal.”

While the two of them were busy with the skirt, I picked up the fruit knife lying next to the fruit bowl and slipped it into the pocket of my dress. I wasn’t planning on stabbing anyone before breakfast, but in that house even the coffee came with a ranking system, and I wasn’t going around unarmed.

Then I went and stood beside Catalina’s chair.

“You’re in my seat.”

She let out a disbelieving laugh.

“You never sit here.”

“Today I do.”

Catalina’s eyes went to Alejandro, waiting for him to defend her. He didn’t look up from his phone.

“You heard her.”

Catalina went red to the ears. She got up, dragging the chair, picked up her plate and went to sit on the other side of the table, and I sat down next to my husband with my knees shaking under the tablecloth, where nobody could see them.

Margarita sat back down with a napkin over her stained skirt. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

“How different you woke up, Juliana.” She poured herself another cup. “On your wedding day you cried with gratitude when I got you that rented dress. I told you there was no point spending more to cover up hands like yours, and you kissed my hands. Don’t you remember that either?”

Under the table I dug my nails into the napkin until it tore. My throat closed and for a moment I couldn’t swallow, seeing my sister bent over that woman’s hands, thanking her for humiliating her.

Alejandro set his phone down on the table. He didn’t say anything, but he set it down.

I poured myself coffee, black, no sugar, and took a long sip so nobody would notice my mouth trembling.

“Since when do you drink coffee?” Catalina blurted out. “It used to make you sick.”

She and Margarita looked at each other across the table, only for a second, but I saw it.

“Since I fell,” I answered. “You heard me fall, didn’t you? Somebody told me the noise carried all the way to your room.”

Nobody had told me anything. I threw it out blind, and Catalina froze with her fork halfway up.

“Yes, it sounded awful,” she said finally. “I thought you’d broken your neck.”

“What good hearing you have. And you didn’t come down to help me?”

The fork hit the plate.

“Catalina was asleep,” Margarita cut in, fast and smooth. “We were all asleep, dear.”

Alejandro looked up for the first time all breakfast and fixed his eyes on Margarita. He didn’t say a word. She held the smile, but a muscle moved next to her mouth.

He stood, buttoned his jacket and took a black envelope out of the inside pocket, which he left next to my cup.

“Your card. Change whatever you don’t like.”

Catalina looked at the envelope like it belonged to her. Alejandro leaned down and kissed my cheek, the first time, in front of them both, and with his lips still against my skin he dropped his voice so only I could hear it.

“And put the knife back in the kitchen. After the coffee, they got the message.”

He left without looking back. I sat there with my cheek burning and my hand over my pocket, with no idea when he had seen me.

I lasted at that table as long as the coffee did, with Catalina’s eyes drilling into me, and when Margarita went up to change her skirt, I waited a while and followed her.

The door of her room was half open. I heard her before I saw her, talking on the phone in a low voice with her back to the hallway.

“Yes, she woke up.” A long pause. “She says she doesn’t remember anything.” Another pause. “No. She’s not the same. If she starts remembering, I’ll take care of it myself.”

I took a step back and the floor creaked under my foot.

Margarita turned. She hung up without saying goodbye, walked to the door and opened it all the way, the phone still lit in her hand and her usual smile in place.

“Did you lose something, dear?”