Chapter 16 Beneath the Citrus #2
"Are you safe?" His voice is tight with concern. "Is Fiorella there?"
"I'm safe. She left." I take a breath. "But you should remind your staff about the ban. She's desperate enough to try showing up at the estate."
"I'll talk to everyone today." I hear him moving, the sound of a door opening. "She's not supposed to contact you either. If she approaches you again, call me immediately."
"I will." I lean against Fiorella's counter, suddenly exhausted. "I'll see you Saturday."
After I hang up, Fiorella makes fresh tea and we sit together in the back room until my hands stop shaking. She doesn't ask questions, just stays close, a steady presence while I process what just happened.
"She asked me to fix it for her." I stare at the curtain separating us from the empty shop. "Did she really think I'd call him and ask him to take her back?"
"You told her no." Fiorella moves my untouched cup out of the way. "You don't owe her another conversation."
I take out my notebook again, but the questions I brought here can wait. For now, I stay in the chair beside a woman who asked for nothing before she stood with me.
***
Saturday afternoon is warm and bright, the kind of spring day that makes everything seem possible. Rafael picks me up at two, and I'm wearing a dress I chose for myself, comfortable but nice enough for a gathering.
"Ready?" He opens my door, giving me an unhurried moment to settle the skirt of my dress.
"As I'll ever be." I settle into the passenger seat. "Who should I expect?"
"Neighbors, mostly. People asking about the weather and complaining about the same things they complained about last year." He pulls out of the courtyard. "Nothing formal. Just conversation."
The gathering is on the main house terrace, tables set up with food and drinks, people milling about with glasses in hand.
I recognize most of the faces from a lifetime of living here.
These are people who watched me grow up, who remember me trailing after Rafael through the groves when we were children.
At the drinks table, I ask for sparkling citrus water. The server pours from a clear pitcher and hands me a glass. It's cool and bright, with that familiar hint of bitter orange that I've loved since childhood. I take a long drink and feel myself start to relax.
Rafael stays close as we circulate. He introduces me to anyone who asks as someone working on botanical projects, nothing promised, just exploring ideas.
I find myself talking about scent and quality with people who actually understand why it matters.
An older grower tells me about an experiment his grandfather tried decades ago, distilling lemon peel in a copper still that's probably still rusting in his barn somewhere.
His granddaughter asks whether anyone still does that kind of work.
"Some people do." I finish the last of my citrus water. "I've been learning what it takes."
"You should talk to her about it." Rafael turns toward the granddaughter, including her in the conversation. "I've been filling pages with questions for her."
I elbow him lightly, but I'm smiling. Why does his saying that in front of other people make me want to kiss him? I knew he was listening. This is easier than I expected. These people have known us both forever, and they seem genuinely interested in what I might be building.
After an hour of conversation, I excuse myself to get another drink. The afternoon sun is warm on my shoulders and my throat is dry.
I make my way back to the drinks table, where the same server is pouring for a small cluster of guests. I set down the small plate I collected from the food table and wait for a break in the line.
"The citrus water again, please." I keep my eyes on my plate, pushing it slightly aside to make room. "Non-alcoholic."
A glass appears in my hand. I take it automatically, the way you accept something offered, and start to turn back toward the crowd.
Then I see who passed it to me.
Marisol is standing beside the table, her hand still extended from handing me the glass. She's dressed nicely, her hair done, but there's something wrong about her smile. It's too wide, too eager, like a mask that doesn't quite fit.
I go completely still.
"How lovely to see you." Her voice is bright and false. "I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk."
My hand hasn't moved. The glass is still in my grip, inches from where I might have raised it to drink. Close enough that I catch the smell rising from the liquid.
Wrong. Sharp underneath the citrus, chemical where there should only be fruit and water. Nothing like the glass I just finished, nothing like anything that belongs at this party.
I lower the glass without bringing it near my face.
"What is in this?" I turn the glass away from my body. I can't identify that smell. I don't need to identify it to refuse the drink.
"Just citrus water." Her smile doesn't waver. "Same as everyone's drinking. Go on, you look thirsty."
"I'm not drinking this." I hold the glass away from me. "What did you put in it?"
"You're being paranoid." An edge creeps into her voice. "It's just a drink. Stop making a scene and drink it."
Across the terrace, I see one of the regular staff members spot Marisol and freeze. He turns immediately, scanning the crowd, and I see his mouth form Rafael's name.
Marisol sees it too. Her face changes, the pleasant mask cracking, and she lunges forward. Her hand closes around my wrist, hard and desperate, trying to force the glass toward my mouth.
I wrench my arm free. She reaches again, and I fling the drink at her before she can catch me. Liquid splashes across her face and chest. She gasps, stumbling backward, hands flying up to her cheeks.
I manage to keep the glass upright. My hands are shaking as I set it on the table, still partly full.
"Don't touch that." I point at the server, who's staring at us with wide eyes. "Nobody touches that glass."
Rafael is there in seconds, pushing through the last few people between us. His hand finds my arm, pulling me back, putting himself between me and Marisol.
"What happened?" He keeps his body between us as Marisol recovers her balance.
"She gave me a glass." I'm shaking now, the adrenaline catching up with me. "Something was wrong with it. I could smell it. She tried to make me drink it."
"That's a lie." Marisol's voice rises, shrill and cracking. She's still wiping at her face, mascara running with the liquid. "I was just being friendly. She's imagining things."
"I saw you add something." The server's voice is small but clear. She's stepped back from the table, her face pale. "I thought you were putting in sweetener or flavoring. You asked me to hand you a glass and I thought you were helping."
Marisol's face goes white.
A younger man I don't recognize pushes forward from the edge of the crowd, his expression stricken. "I let her in. She said she was still consulting with the estate. I didn't know... nobody told me she wasn't supposed to be here."
"She was banned two weeks ago." Rafael's voice is ice. "Every member of the permanent staff was informed."
"I'm temporary." The young man looks like he wants to disappear. "I just started yesterday. I'd seen her working at other events and thought..."
"Get back." Rafael waves him away, his attention fixed on Marisol. "Everyone get back from this table. Don't touch anything."