Chapter seven
The Oasis
Summer 1922
You’re not supposed to be here.
T he water glistened under the fading afternoon sun as Carlos stepped out, his shadow trailing behind him. His skin, warmed by hours of sunlight, seemed to glow in the golden light. Droplets clung to his chest and shoulders before falling to the floor. He ran a hand through his wet hair, shaking loose the water as he exhaled slowly.
This was his place. He always came here after work, before heading home. In my presence, his shoulders relaxed, the tension of the day melting away. Deep in the forest, far from the mansion where he worked as a carpenter. Behind the trees, he’d built himself a small house with his own hands.
He grabbed his pants, sliding them on, but left his shirt where it lay on the rock beside him. Hesitant footsteps crunched softly through the trees, breaking the silence. Carlos stilled, his movements freezing mid-step. Even the water seemed to quiet around him.
Then she appeared.
Her white dress was almost too bright in the sunlight, swaying faintly with the breeze. Her breath hitched as she hesitated between stepping forward and turning around, as though unsure whether she should be here.
But I had been waiting for her.
Carlos turned slowly, his body suddenly tense. His hazel eyes locked on her. He recognized her instantly—Catalina Alarcón, the youngest of the Alarcón daughters. He’d seen her before, at the mansion, her laughter carrying through the air, her dark curls bouncing as she moved. Her skin was darker than her sisters’. A deep brown she inherited from her Haitian mother. He had caught himself watching her once or twice, though he shouldn’t.
The Alarcón family had arrived two weeks ago from the Dominican Republic for their daughter’s wedding to Mr. Aguillar’s son, the heir to the estate. The union was all anyone had been talking about.
Carlos’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Her head tilted slightly. “And you are?” She stepped closer. Her gaze lingered on his bare chest, the water droplets trailing down his sun-kissed skin, catching on the lines of his broad shoulders. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she glanced away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
He reached for his shirt on the rock. “This is my place,” he said, pulling the shirt over his shoulder but not bothering to button it.
“Your place?” she asked, arching a brow. “I didn’t realize you owned the land.”
“I don’t,” he said, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “But no one else comes here.”
Her gaze swept over the water then back to him. “Maybe they should. It’s beautiful.”
She called me beautiful, and maybe I was.
I had always been hidden, yet alive with life. The trees stretched toward the sky, their leaves swaying in the wind. My spring water, crystal clear and warm, glistened under the sunlight. Peonies bloomed along the edges, forget-me-nots clustered in blue patches, filling the air with their sweet fragrance.
Carlos had found me first, stumbling into my embrace when he needed a place to breathe.
His parents had died when he was a baby, leaving him to be raised by an older maid on the estate. She had passed, too, when he was fourteen, but by then, he’d already learned enough to stand on his own. Carpentry had become both his livelihood and his solace and now, at nineteen, he was already a well-known carpenter in Pablo.
Carlos’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Does your father know you’re out here?”
Her fingers brushed at her dress as her gaze darted toward the trees. “No,” she said, quieter this time. “He doesn’t need to know.”
He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head as he crouched to pick up his tools. “Then you should probably head back. If someone sees you—”
“They won’t.” She cut him off. “You said no one comes here.”
The air between them grew heavy, still, as if even my trees were holding their breath. She straightened, her chin tilting up slightly, her posture daring him to challenge her.
He studied her, his jaw tightening, before he finally adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “You do whatever you want,” he muttered before turning toward the trees, but something stopped him.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. He should leave. She wasn’t his responsibility. But the thought of her alone out here settled like a stone in his stomach. If something happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.
Carlos turned back, his eyes darkening as they found her again. “You need to go back the way you came. You’re not supposed to be here.”
Catalina’s lips parted, her dark almond eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not my father. You don’t tell me what to do.”
“It seems like you don’t listen to him either.”
Her brows drew together. “Why do you care?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dropped his bag onto the grass. The strap slipped from his fingers with a faint thud. “Fine. If you don’t want to leave, I’m not leaving, either.”
“What?”
“I’m not leaving,” he repeated. “If I walk away and something happens to you...”
Catalina turned fully toward him, a small smile playing at her lips. “Are you worried about me, Carlos?”
He scoffed, looking away for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “No. But If your dad finds out I left you here alone and something happens to you, he’d kill me in a heartbeat.”
Her laughter came soft, almost teasing. “But wouldn’t he kill you too for being here with me?”
Carlos frowned, his arms tightening over his chest as he straightened. But he didn’t say more.
She wasn’t wrong.
“Why are you out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be helping with the wedding?”
“Everyone’s so busy fussing over Teresa and Santiago that no one even notices I’m gone.”
Carlos’s brow furrowed. “You don’t seem very excited about your sister’s wedding.”
Catalina rolled her eyes, turning toward the spring. “What’s there to be excited about? It’s not like Teresa loves him. She’s marrying him because Father says it’s the right thing to do. She’s doing it to please him.”
She stepped closer to the water, her fingers brushing the fabric of her dress before she pulled it over her head. Beneath it, she wore simple white shorts and a camisole. The sunlight caught on her bare shoulders, warming her skin as she let the dress drop onto the rock beside her.
Carlos’s breath hitched.
She took another step, her toes dipping into the water.
“What are you doing?” The words came rough, as though they were being dragged from him against his will.
Her head turned back to look at him, one hand brushing her curls from her face. “It’s hot,” she said simply, stepping deeper into the water like this explained everything.
“Oh my God, the water is warm,” she said, the words carried by that soft, unguarded laugh. It filled the air like music, breaking the quiet of the clearing, and something in him stirred.
Carlos knew he should look away. He knew this wasn’t something he should be watching. But he couldn’t.
She tilted her face up toward the sun, her shoulders easing as though the warmth above and the warm water had melted something inside her.
He shook his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips despite himself. Carlos didn’t smile. People often said he was too serious. “You’re trouble, Catalina Alarcón.”
Then she laughed again.
He knew it, and I knew it then; that laugh would be his undoing.