Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Six Years Ago
"Amias!" I called out above the beat of the drums and shouts of celebration. My voice was lost in the vibrant laughter and drunken cheers of congratulations. Lifting my spring pink dress, I rounded corners, maneuvering through grinning familiar faces as bodies swayed rhythmically to the live band's music.
The cover of the full moon's glow overhead was a good omen, according to Mami. The night breeze was gentle, swaying with the trees that seemed to move in unison with the drums. There wasn't a cloud in sight, and the stars dazzled in the sky, their distant light giving its silent blessing to this union.
Candles were lit and placed in every corner one could think of, radiating a soft and warm atmosphere. The smell of the ocean breeze floated in the air, mixing deliciously with the array of foods from the family kitchen. Tempting me to forget about my current battle of a lethal sugar-induced game of hide and seek.
The wedding reception was in full swing–every cousin, aunt, and uncle I knew was here tonight. It was sometimes hard to keep track of who was who in my never-ending family tree. My aunts all huddled together, laughing and gossiping about whatever new scandal was in the family. My older uncles happily tipsy, loud, but lovingly disputing old arguments of past dues and lost bets. We Solomons were a large and rowdy bunch, spanning generations back to the official founding of our island. The party was held in the gardens of my family's ancestral home, which stood tall amongst the hundreds of acres of fertile land.
Tio Franco spared no expense at another wedding. It was turning into one of the social events of the year. Tio Franco's ambitions knew no bounds. He was always marrying somebody off for one reason or another. In this case, it was considered a successful match, even if the marriage had been arranged. The aristocratic families of Salamanca held on to many of the old ways and traditions.
One of my secret prayers to Our Lady of the Sea was that the man I would come to love would be someone of my own choosing.
My family always did certain things big. Nothing was more important or held more sacred than weddings, baptisms, rum, and El Dia del Mar .
"You can't catch me!" Amias' teasing grin suddenly surprised me from underneath a table. I've been chasing the menace, trying to maneuver through a crowd.
Prominent families and influential business leaders from across Salamanca were there. My family's young ladies were expected to be on our best behavior, charged with the duties of junior bridesmaids.
But in reality, we were just glorified babysitters.
"Amias!" I called out again in warning, holding my smile. I wanted to scream and laugh at his idea of a game while apologizing to anyone I ran into.
He had the advantage of me having to stop to give an elder cousin a kiss on the cheek, pause to say hello and get the blessing from a tia, or greet the newest gurgling, bouncing members of the family.
I was surprised the little monster's outburst had not come sooner. Amias had made it this far, so well-behaved. Being the only five-year-old boy at the wedding party, filled with six giggling little girls, must have been torture.
"You can't get me!" he challenged again, standing on his tiptoe with a wide gap-toothed grin, the dark curls on his head bouncing with his excited movements. My flower crown of white hyacinth and blooming pink daffodils held hostage in his hands. Sticking out his tongue, taunting me as he continued to run through the crowd. He was on his third sweet syrupy shaved ice, a traditional Salamancian desert, and a fistful of candy he had been sneaking all day.
Samara was behind me, laughing, enjoying herself, watching me, and doing nothing to help contain our hyperactive fireball cousin.
I glared back at her as she doubled over. Her carefree, golden olive face was pink in the cheeks from laughing so hard. That glass of champagne she managed to sneak away from a tray undetected was having its bubbly effects.
Tia Ida would have her head if she found out or thought that Samara wasn't composing herself in any manner other than ladylike. Samara was, after all, Tio Franco's and Tia Ida's eldest granddaughter.
Jamira and Lucia followed behind, finally catching up because they refused to remove their heels. In vibrant red dresses like my own, their identical faces pinched into sour, annoyed frowns.
Their hands constrained the other six members of our playground army, the rest of our junior bridal party. All six flower girls, wrapped in their tulle and lace, were eager to break free and join Amias on his playful rampage.
"Amias!" I tried again, continuing my pursuit, stopping to pick up his jacket that he threw carelessly to the floor.
If I didn't hurry, I was sure he would end up in his briefs, as he liked to do all the time. Tio Franco wouldn't find it amusing like he always did, especially in front of all his distinguished guests. His infamous temper would blame poor Tia Ida, to whom he owed the night's success.
Amias kept running until his body immediately stopped in front of a tall man.
I stopped running, too, watching him as he carefully helped my little cousin to his feet.
I quickly ran up to grab Amias, who was now silent and staring wide-eyed at the stranger.
I made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. His gaze pierced something inside me, snaring me with the wind and pulling me towards him. It was a silent call that came with the quiet force of his molten dark brown eyes—deep, dark, and knowing.
The force of his stare left me open and exposed, seeing through me and unfurling something inside of me that I didn't understand.
I felt vulnerable, his gaze too intimate.
My own voice was lost to me.
I've had boys look at me before, experienced secret glances in class or at mass, learning to distinguish the lewd from friendly newfound interest.
But this was nothing remotely like those times.
He was a man.
Powerful in his stature, he quickly stood out with a magnetizing, ineffable power that exuded from him. His golden-tanned skin contrasted sharply with the crisp white collared shirt beneath a perfectly tailored jacket.
The amber of the candlelights that shone above and around us shimmered on the golden rings on his long fingers. He was handsome, a mixture of raw masculinity and gentlemanly ruggedness. His coal-black hair was sharp and slicked back into a timeless cut, and his dark, thick eyebrows only made him even more attractive. His tall frame was lean and visibly fit under the impeccable tailoring of his clothes.
No one dared to stand too close to him.
Amias quickly stood, running behind me for safety. He gripped my dress tightly and wearily peeked out, completely silent, leaving my crown abandoned on the floor.He understood what I instinctively did.
This man was dangerous.
There was a quiet, underlying threat in his aura, a darkness he didn't hide but was present all the same.
I was mesmerized, caught under the silent, intoxicating way he held my eyes, testing me, willing me to submit. Tearing through all my boundaries, leaving a part of me I never knew existed exposed to his visceral gaze.
His polite smile grew as he moved his head from side to side as if silently questioning me. His smoldering eyes delighted in what he saw.
My cheeks burned in embarrassment under his attention, the tip of my ears hot, my pulse racing, the sensation of a quiet heat terrifying me, taking my breath.
I did submit, not able to withstand his gaze anymore. I lowered my eyes, losing sight of the slightly amused lift of his full lips.
"I believe this belongs to you?" he questioned.
The sound of his deep silk voice struck me hard and fast in my chest, secretive sweet flutters low in my belly.
I watched him as he lowered his large hand to gently pick up my crown lying at his feet.
"Th-thank you," I stuttered quickly, politely standing up to take the flower crown from his hand. My heart beat loudly in my chest as I felt the tingle of awareness on the tips of my fingers that grazed his skin.
His eyes trailed boldly and lazily over me from head to toe. My legs felt weak as I tried to understand what was blazing quietly in his eyes. His movements were graceful, evenly paced, and full of unmatched confidence.
This was not the pervasive and nauseating look of a man who craved after my flesh, trying to get a glimpse at my growing chest.
This was a man who saw me and left me with no way to escape.
"You're welcome," he said politely.
I noticed the very light Castillian accent, his smile curving even more.
Nodding my thanks again, I refused to meet his eyes.
I quickly got to my feet, taking Amias's hand. He offered no resistance, quiet and subdued as he looked back wide-eyed at the stranger again, his trembling fingers gripping my shaking hands.
I hurried us from the party and found safety and silence away from the music to the back of the gardens in the empty second-floor corridors hidden around the vast property of The Great House.
Our family house, 'The Great House,' was a sprawling palace of twelve rooms. It had been in the family for generations, handed down from eldest son to eldest son. It was a standing old-world testament and symbol of my family's success in the rum business with the prized sugar cane that grew on our lands.
I hid behind a small grove of overflowing vines and thick green bush with Amias, still able to see the ongoing wedding reception.
I felt Samara by my side before I heard her. She came rushing, thankfully alone.
"Who was that man?" she asked in wonderment, peeking through the large bushes to catch another glimpse of the mysterious stranger.
"I don't know," I breathed honestly, trying to steady myself from the tense, confusing interaction.
"Are you okay? Your face is all red." Her eyes filled with concern as she felt my forehead for any signs of fever.
I knew it couldn't be a fever, but it felt like I was burning, confused, and fearful from the warmth I felt floating through my body.
"I don't know," I repeated, laughing a little, feeling dizzy, grateful for the cool breeze caressing my flaming forehead.
"He knows Grandpa," Samara said dully.
I peeked between the opening of the bush, looking out towards the party. My eyes landed on the stranger greeting a grinning Tio Franco. I noticed he was flanked by two other men standing a couple of feet behind him. They always kept their eyes on the surroundings, scanning and measuring everything.
My uncle was a big and bullish man. He was excited, a fat cigar gleaming red in his mouth, opening his arms enthusiastically. The older men of my family quickly followed his lead, rushing to appease the imposing stranger.
Franco Solomon was a proud, stubborn man and the head of our large family.
Tio was only ever this happy at the end of a good harvest when the fresh cut of the sugar cane was ready to be processed, fermented, and distilled into rum.The younger men of the family, including Samara's father, Saul, stood on the side, observing.
This stranger was important.
Glasses were being filled with my family's rum, as cigar smoke filtered heavily in the air.
"Something is going on," Samara said suspiciously, with a curious shining glint in her brown eyes.
"Why does Grandpa have a man crush on tall, dark, and spooky?" she snorted sarcastically, wanting to know just as much as I did.
It would be her if anyone could find out a secret or solve a puzzle.
Tio Franco never brought out his prized, aged familial rum. He shared a generous glass of the family heirloom, one of the three original bottles from his private collection.
He poured the glass freely, urging the man to take one of his beloved cigars from his famous aging room.
"Dove! Samara! Where have you two gone to now? Come out here!"
The loud, stern command of Tia Delphie came from downstairs, her chunky heels clacking on the tiled floors below. Tia Delphie always had a disappointed scowl on her weathered face, always ready with harsh and disapproving words. But for us, grumpy as she was, she always had the best intentions and made the best cocoa tea while playfully reading our fortunes with her deck of cards.
I saw Jamira and Lucia lingering right behind her, broad, satisfied grins on their faces.
"The cards told me this morning that there would be trouble. I didn't expect you three to be up to mischief again, today of all days," She said, crossing herself."You three are the pain in my knee," she scolded. The pain in her left knee always meant trouble to Tia Delphi.
"Snitches," Samara said under her breath, winking down at a now grinning Amias after sticking out her tongue in retribution at the twins, earning us another reprimand from Tia Delphie.
After our verbal lashing on responsibility and the correct etiquette of young ladies, we made our way to our designated table, filled with noisy children.
I picked absentmindedly at my dessert, thanking the female server who handed me the tempting treat.
The rich crème of the sweet coconut guava cake would have otherwise delighted me, but I was still shocked by my earlier encounter with the overwhelming stranger. My cheeks were still hot, and my head was burning with endless questions.
The singer's tempo slowed as the musicians started up a dreamy, melodic rhythm. The guitar strums and the sensuous soft bongos blended in unison, creating an airy and romantic atmosphere.
Couples were pairing up on the dance floor to join the newlyweds when I felt Samara kick me hard from underneath the table.
"Ow!" I protested, kicking her back before I saw what she was trying to warn me about.
The handsome stranger was walking towards our table, his piercing dark gaze focused solely on me.
He was striking in his unhurried stride, confident as he walked on the dance floor towards me. Everyone gave him room, automatically moving out of his way, looking at him with a silent reverence of awe and fear.
Who was this man?
I gulped, balling my fist as my nails bit into my hands, imploring my heart to calm its violent beating. Samara was wide-eyed, staring suspiciously, while Jamira and Lucia looked up at him with love-struck batting eyes.
He stopped directly before me, his eyes slowly roving over my features.
The sudden silence was deafening, and I could feel the attention locked on us.
"May I?" his deep voice asked politely, smiling gently as he held out a hand.
But I knew that it wasn't a question or a request. He was simply asking out of politeness.
Something else mixed in with his visage of a gentleman, something that terrified me–dark and magnetizing–pulling me to him.
I glanced behind him, noticing Tio Franco watching closely with a glass of rum. He had a fox-like smile with eyes full of prideful victory.
He nodded his head, giving me his silent approval.
"Yes," I responded quietly, taking the stranger's hand. I stood trembling as he guided me towards the dance floor.
I felt the warmth of his fingers just above the curve of my waist through my dress. I stiffened under his light touch, embarrassed by the quiet gasp that left my lips, shocked by the unfamiliar current running up and down my body.
"Will you tell me your name?" he asked, amused as I refused to meet his eyes, afraid of the penetrating way he looked at me.
"Dove," I answered, looking up at him. I let him take the lead as we swayed to the music slowly. He stood several inches above me, the top of my head reaching his chest.
He smelled good, a mixture of rich, leathery tobacco, clove, and cooling mint, mixing together to torture my nose in delight.
"Beautiful," he said, and I didn't dare to respond, mortified by the blush in my cheeks.
"And y-your name?" I asked, trying to divert the conversation to him while finding my voice, inwardly kicking myself for my stutter.
His smirk grew into a devastating smile, and his dark eyes shone with some secret amusement. I noticed the single small mole under his left eye, making him even more handsome.
"Meroveo," he replied, looking deeply into my eyes. "I'm visiting from Castillo on business," he said, keeping his answer short and to the point.
"And how have you liked your visit to Salamanca so far?" I asked politely, wanting to keep the conversation going and be a gracious host, even though internally, I was shaking, waiting for the moment I could get away from him so that I could remember to breathe again.
"I like it far more than I was expecting." He looked at me pointedly, the double meaning ringing transparent and open in his words.
"I'm glad to hear that. I've heard that Castillo is beautiful, and the capital is a marvel of old-world Spanish architecture." I was trying to make a polite conversation. He made me feel dizzy. The air seemed to fluctuate even more with some invisible force between us.
As he was about to ask me another question, our attention moved to the sudden commotion. Loud, angry shouting disrupted the lively air.
I immediately recognized one of the voices as my mother, fighting off my aunts, who were trying to calm her and keep her away.
But Mami's enraged eyes locked onto Meroveo, and nothing would stop her.
"Looks like we'll have to finish this conversation some other time, little Dove," his husky voice whispered above me into my curls, the flowers in my crown capturing his words.
Mami barged towards us as he slowly let go of my waist. He winked at me while turning to regard my mother, his eyes shifting into something dangerously quiet. "Senora," he greeted politely, tilting his head in acknowledgment, utterly unfazed by her blatant hostility.
"Dove," she called to me, immediately pulling me away from him, putting herself in front of me like a shield.
My mother was usually the picture of poised grace and stoic temperament. Her gentle touch was famous throughout our island, but the fury on her face was out of character.
"Demetria," my uncle called in stern warning suddenly by our side, grabbing her forearm in a vicious grip.
But my mother paid my uncle no mind, her enraged focus entirely on Meroveo.
He stared back, his eyes becoming darker. The tick in his jaw was prominent as he said nothing, standing completely silent and collected.
Despite his calm and controlled demeanor, I could tell from the look in his eyes that dissidence was something he was not used to.
"No te atrevas." My mother threatened him with a cold voice.
"Do I need to remind you who our guest is?" Tio Franco laughed in between the thick tension, strained and loud. The anger in his voice matched his grip on Mami's arm.
"I'll warn you again, Franco," Mami said sharply, looking at her brother. "I don't care who he is." She pointed at Meroveo. "Not my daughter," she vowed.
Taking in the scene, Meroveo raised his hand in a silent command so the two men that suddenly appeared stayed where they were.
It was deathly quiet. The musicians stopped playing, and the air was tense with apprehension and fear. My mother stood facing her eldest brother, not backing down despite the anger pouring from his eyes. "I don't care who he is," she repeated herself and grabbed me, pulling me away from the prying eyes and loud, curious murmurs of the guests and family, but not before giving Meroveo one last scathing look.
"Mami, what's wrong?" I implored in confusion as she rushed me away, feeling the embarrassment of everyone's eyes on us.
I followed behind her, stumbling clumsily in my heels, looking back one last time.
Meroveo's eyes connected with mine through the crowd of faces. The silent determination and promise of consequence burning in his gaze scared me.
When we were away from the party in the family kitchen, my mother dismissed the waiting staff, shooing away all my nosey cousins and tias, closing the large doors, and leaving us alone. "Dove, you will stay far away from that man. Do you understand me? I don't ever want you talking to him again!" she ordered, eyes wild with emotion, her pecan skin flushed red in bright anger.
"Entendiste?!" she asked more urgently, imploring with wide, frantic eyes. The desperation in her voice scared me.
"I understand. I promise," I answered shakily, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
A little more relieved, she pulled me into her chest with a tight hug, her body shaking. "Good. I won't let them have you, Dove. I promise," she whispered fiercely, holding the blue beaded rosary of Our Lady. Her cryptic words remained a mystery to me.
The memory of Meroveo's eyes burned in the back of my mind.