Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Again, I wrapped myself in a towel and waited until the murmur of male voices faded from the suite.
When I finally opened the bathroom door, I stopped short.
The dining table in the living room had disappeared beneath an absurd spread of food.
“What did you order?” I asked, staring at it. “One of everything?”
Lucian didn’t look up from his plate. “I didn’t know what you’d like. And I was hungry as fuck.”
The smell alone nearly made my knees buckle.
Silver domes had been lifted and pushed aside.
Platters of thinly sliced Spanish cured ham glistened beside wedges of cheese drizzled with honey.
There were baskets of still-warm croissants, crusty French bread, and small buttered rolls.
Bowls of fresh fruit—deep red oranges, ripe figs, grapes, and sliced melon—sat next to dishes of olives and roasted tomatoes.
A porcelain tureen held thick hot chocolate for dipping fried dough sticks, and another dish steamed with fried eggs broken over crispy potatoes and spicy sausage.
There were grilled vegetables, smoked salmon, avocado toast layered with crushed red pepper, and a stack of golden pancakes dusted with powdered sugar.
Fresh orange juice, espresso, and a chilled bottle of cava in a silver bucket topped off the feast.
It was excessive.
It was perfect.
I found his T-shirt draped over the back of a chair and slipped it on, the fabric falling mid-thigh. Then I crossed to the table and began filling a plate.
That’s when I saw his hands properly.
His knuckles were split open, swollen, and raw.
My plate nearly slipped from my fingers.
I set it down and reached for his hand, taking it in mine. The skin was tender and warm beneath my touch.
“You were fully dressed when I woke up,” I said quietly. “What happened? Did you go somewhere in the middle of the night?”
He didn’t pull away. He also didn’t meet my eyes.
“Don’t think about it too much,” he said. “I had an early morning errand to run.”
An errand that left his knuckles torn open.
A chill crept up my spine, but I swallowed the questions. The only business he had in Madrid revolved around me—around my father and whatever web of corruption tied him to the monastery.
He’d said today was judgment day.
I had assumed we would face it together.
I grabbed the towel from where it had dropped and folded it over the seat of the chair before sitting down.
I wasn’t about to perch there bare without at least panties on.
What I really wanted was a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt—something comfy and casual.
The clothes that had been delivered were dressy and wonderful, but too much for the kind of day we’d probably have.
I brushed those thoughts away, picked up my fork, and began eating.
Lucian sat across from me, unconcerned with his nudity, entirely comfortable in his own skin. We were both ravenous. For several minutes, the only sounds were cutlery against china and the low hum of the city outside the window.
Eventually, I broke the silence.
“So,” I asked, setting my fork down. “What’s the plan for today?”
“That depends on you,” he replied, shoveling another bite into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.
I didn’t like the sound of that.
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Since meeting you and digging into your background, I’ve pieced together most of what happened after your father dumped you in that God-forsaken boarding school.
What I don’t fully understand is why you ran from the convent.
And how you ended up under Dolores Alcaide’s control. ”
I lifted my glass of orange juice and took a sip, only to choke on it. I coughed, clearing my throat, then pushed a piece of fruit around my plate.
Lola. The mention of her name tightened my throat—I hated that woman.
He already knew the worst parts.
Still, saying it out loud made my stomach knot.
I drew a steady breath.
“You’re right. The boarding school was awful. Especially at first, when I didn’t speak the language and argued with every rule they enforced.” I stared at the table while I spoke. “I learned quickly that fighting back only made it worse. So I learned to keep my mouth shut and my head down.”
Lucian didn’t interrupt, just watched me carefully.
“When graduation finally came, I thought I was going home,” I continued. “Instead, they told me that, under my father’s direction, I’d be transferred to a convent. I was expected to begin preparing for my vows.”
His jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.
“I begged them not to send me. I tried calling my father.” My fingers tightened around my fork. “That’s when he stopped answering.”
I exhaled slowly.
“For a while, I played along. I thought if I behaved—if I did everything they asked—they’d let me speak to him.
And they did. A few times.” I gave a hollow laugh.
“But it was never about me. It was about public appearances. Controlled visits where I stood next to him while his publicity team hovered like handlers.”
Lucian’s expression hardened.
“I wasn’t his daughter,” I said. “I was a prop.”
He leaned forward slightly. “So what finally pushed you to run?”
I stared down at my plate for a long moment before speaking again.
“There were things that didn’t add up,” I said finally, tracing the edge of my fork along the porcelain. “Especially at the monastery. Even back at the boarding school.”
Lucian didn’t interrupt. He sat still, watching me with a focus that made it impossible to retreat.
“Girls would arrive,” I continued, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “And then suddenly they’d be gone. There was always an explanation. A family emergency. A change of heart. A calling somewhere else. But it never sounded right. Especially when they disappeared in the middle of the night.”
He leaned back, arms folding across his chest. “No one questioned it?”
I shook my head. “The Carmelites take vows of silence. We weren’t allowed to speak unless it was scripture or prayer. Conversations weren’t encouraged. Curiosity wasn’t rewarded.” I swallowed. “I didn’t have anyone to confide in. No one seemed disturbed by it. But to me…it didn’t make sense.”
I lifted my gaze to his.
“If someone chose that life, they didn’t just walk away because it wasn’t a good fit. That’s what the head sisters and the priest claimed, but it didn’t add up. I hated being there, and they kept me anyway.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened, but he let me continue.
“All the teachings were about sacrifice and devotion. Purity. Suffering for a higher purpose. But what was happening around us didn’t match that.
” I paused. “There was a girl who was maybe two years younger than me. She was the most devout believer I’ve ever met.
Gentle. Kind. She wanted to be a bride of Christ since she was old enough to understand what that meant. ”
I let out a rough breath.
“She was beautiful. White-blonde hair. Pale blue eyes. Skin so fair it almost glowed. She looked like an angel.” I glanced at Lucian. “And I noticed the priest watching her. Too often. There was something in his expression I couldn’t name at the time.”
Lucian’s hand tightened around his glass.
“One night, after dark, I stopped by her cell so we could walk to evening prayers together. She was gone.” My voice thinned. “The room had been stripped. There was no trace she’d ever been there.”
“I was so upset by it that I went to Father Velasco. I pressed him with the questions I had. And then I was punished.” I held his gaze. “Severely.”
Silence settled between us.
“In my heart, I knew something terrible had happened,” I said. “That was the night I decided to leave. I didn’t care if I survived. I just knew I couldn’t stay.”
Lucian leaned forward now, elbows on his knees.
“I figured if I had any chance of getting back to New York, I’d need my passport.” I gave a humorless smile. “So I broke into the priest’s office.”
His brow lifted slightly, almost impressed.
“I went through filing cabinets until I found it. Before I left, I noticed a stack of papers sitting on top of one of the cabinets.” I pressed my lips together.
“They didn’t look like church documents.
There were large transaction amounts. Shipping manifests.
Different countries. Businesses. Men’s names. ”
Lucian’s expression sharpened.
“I didn’t understand what I was seeing,” I admitted. “But I knew it wasn’t right. So I took them.”
“You kept them,” he said.
I nodded. “The monastery wasn’t far from Casa de Campo Park. It’s a huge forested area. I spent my first night there alone.” I wrapped my arms around myself unconsciously. “The next day, I needed food, somewhere to go.”
The memory of that day was still so clear in my mind. I had thought I was finally free. Little did I know that was just the beginning of a new nightmare.
“I took clothes off a line in someone’s yard, and a backpack from a kid at a bus stop.” Shame flickered through me, but I didn’t look away. “Survival makes you creative.”
Lucian’s expression didn’t change.
“I remembered volunteering at Centro San Martín de Porres. It was a charity that fed the poor.” I exhaled slowly. “So I went there, thinking I could find help.”
His gaze darkened.
“That’s where I met Lola.”
“She seemed kind. Compassionate. She told me she understood what it was like to be alone in a city.” I gave a hollow laugh. “I had no idea who she really was.”
Lucian’s fingers curled slightly against the table.
“But I guess by now,” I said quietly, meeting his eyes, “you already know the rest.”
Lucian let a few seconds pass and then set his fork down. He leaned back in his chair, studying me with that unflinching focus of his.
“Yes,” he said at last. “I know all I need to know about what happened to you.” His gaze didn’t soften. “Do you understand that you weren’t the only girl Lola manipulated? Not the only one she pushed into the flesh trade?”