Homecoming
Chapter thirteen
“?Quiere más?” Senor Zacarías asked, not waiting until Antonio answered to pass the plate of yellow rice across the wooden table.
Antonio swallowed his last bite and fought a groan at how full he was.
But he couldn’t refuse when his host asked if he wanted more.
“Gracias,” he said, spooning as little as he could onto his plate.
Across the table, Lorelle wiped her napkin across her mouth, though he was certain she was fighting a laugh.
Better to have her laughing than with that haunted expression she’d worn on her face when she’d first walked in.
“How long have you two known each other?” asked Clarisa, glancing between them over the rim of her cup. Her gaze lingered on Lorelle as if she would ask more, but hesitated.
“Just a few days,” answered Antonio. “I’m escorting her back to the castle for the ballet in three days. On Princess Teresa’s birthday.”
Clarisa gasped, and Zacarías sat forward. “That’s such an honor,” Clarisa said, looking at Lorelle, who only played with Peluche at her side, running her fingers through his fur. “We’re so proud of you.”
Lorelle tensed, and Peluche let out a whine. “Sorry,” she murmured to the pup.
The silence stretched.
“Would you like some coffee?” Clarisa stood, leaving no room for Antonio to say no as she bundled out of the dining space.
Antonio almost called out for the woman to wait, that they really needed to get going and find an inn to stay at, but he couldn’t cut through whatever was happening here at the table.
It was not his home. It was not his battle.
And yet why did his heart beat out of his chest like he was facing Sir Thomas?
“Where have you been staying on your journey?” Zacarías asked gruffly, eyes glinting as he met Antonio’s gaze. Now Antonio’s heart drummed in his ears like a war drum.
“At an inn along the way,” answered Lorelle for him. “Peluche and I stayed in a separate room.”
That seemed to dull the flare of protectiveness from the uncle’s gaze, but he still looked Antonio up and down as if he was trying to figure him out.
Shame flushed Antonio. There wasn’t much to know about him: maybe he had a medal of valor, but it didn’t reflect the truth. He’d never be as strong as he once was.
If they hadn’t reached Lorelle’s family’s house, would he really have been able to protect her?
“Tonight, you are welcome to stay here in your room,” Zacarías said to Lorelle, though she wasn’t looking at him, again fixated on Peluche. He looked to Antonio. “While we may not have a room for you, Capitán,” he said, “you are welcome to stay downstairs.”
Antonio swallowed. “I can find an inn nearby. We have to leave early in the morning,” he said. “I don’t think it would be fair to wake you on our way out.”
“Nonsense,” said Clarisa, stepping into the room with cups of coffee balanced in her hands. She handed a cup to everyone at the table. “This is Lorelle’s home,” she said, “and friends of hers are always welcome.”
“Downstairs,” repeated Zacarías.
Clarisa gave her husband a tight smile. “Of course.” She lowered her voice to whisper something else to him, probably a chastisement for making the tension in the room flare, but Antonio fixed his gaze on Lorelle.
She poured some sweet cream into her coffee, licking the spoon before stirring her cup with it, as if a habit from her childhood.
But even though she ducked her head, he didn’t miss the glassy sheen of her eyes.
Antonio knew that Mar Verde was named for its crystalline green waves that lapped the sandy shores, but he would have believed it if he’d been told that it was named after the color of Lorelle’s eyes, the way they shone with tears that wrenched his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe.
She sat on the edge of her seat, looking as if she would bolt, and Antonio’s heart broke.
She had said her aunt and uncle had abandoned her. Could it be that she felt like an outsider in this home?
“?Postre?” Clarisa stood, disappearing into the kitchen before anyone could either accept or deny her offer for dessert.
Antonio sipped his coffee slowly. Maybe if he looked like his cup was still full, he wouldn’t have to fit anything else into his bursting stomach.
He caught Lorelle’s eye over the rim of his cup and offered a smile. She offered a wobbly smile back and mouthed, Prepárate, a gleam in her eye that made him think he was destined to be stuffed beyond full.
He almost laughed. Her aunt wouldn’t take no for an answer when it came to food, and it reminded him of his own mother, and how she would feed Cristian and him with portions far too big for anyone to eat in a whole day. His stomach twisted. When was the last time he had seen his family?
He’d stayed with them in recovery, but as soon as he’d been able to walk, he’d thrown himself into his new position, striving to make himself worthy of the value that had been bestowed upon him. Strong enough to wear the medal that had meant so much in the eyes of his father before his passing.
Clarisa returned with a bowl of tembleque, a cinnamon-coconut pudding that, normally, Antonio had all the room in the world for.
When she came to his side, he raised his almost-full coffee cup as if to say he was fine, but she plopped some on his plate.
Then she went to Lorelle, who stiffened at her aunt’s proximity, but allowed her aunt to put some on her plate.
The tembleque was left just in front of Lorelle, as if anticipating that she would eat the rest, though more than half of it remained.
And Antonio knew she had to be as full as he was, if not more.
He’d eaten two full plates of arroz and pernil, while Lorelle had gotten by on just one, and she’d passed bits of the rice and pork to Peluche at her side.
Maybe he should have stayed on Peluche duty.
But oh, was the food delicious.
Lorelle lifted the spoon to her lips, her hand noticeably trembling, and Antonio wished he could offer his support in some way that wouldn’t embarrass her. Or raise her uncle’s suspicions.
Plink. A quiet tear dripped on her plate when she’d eaten the first bite, but Antonio doubted it was from happiness by the way her chin wobbled. His fork waved frozen in the air before him, and it was Lorelle’s aunt that unfroze first.
“?Qué pasa, amor?” Clarisa’s voice rose up an octave, and all semblance of distance was lost as she rushed to Lorelle’s side all too much like the last time Antonio’s mother had appeared at his side when he’d awoken in the royal infirmary. “Are you ill? I know it was your favorite—”
Lorelle pushed back her chair, the wood screaming against the tile. Peluche let out a growl at the sound, turning on Clarisa in lieu of the unseen enemy.
“No, it’s not,” Lorelle snapped, her face turning red.
“We’ll get you something else.” Clarisa’s voice was small. “What would you like?”
“Nothing that I can expect you to give.” Lorelle sucked in a breath. “What changed now?”
Clarisa’s brow knit.
“I know I’m just a burden that you never wanted. That’s why you got rid of me.”
Clarisa gasped. Zacarías’s face turned stormy—not with ire, but like a thundercloud that would spill over. “Lorelle, is that what you think?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” she snapped. “You sent me away as soon as you were able.” She stormed out of the room. Her footsteps echoed up the steps, and a door slammed above them.
Antonio sat in shocked silence. Clarisa moved first, sinking into Lorelle’s empty chair and dropping her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking. Zacarías reached across to comfort his wife.
But Antonio was still reeling, what with the waves of emotions that had come in the span of a few minutes.
Peluche hopped onto the table, bounding over to Antonio.
His heart broke for Lorelle, but he doubted she—much less Zacarías—would appreciate him going after her, and he settled for picking up the dishes while holding Peluche.
He came back for the cups, but Zacarías raised a hand. “Sit, Capitán,” he said. “I have some questions for you.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument, even as exhaustion pulled at Antonio’s limbs.
“What has Lorelle told you of her situation?” he asked.
This reminded him all too much of an interrogation. Like the one he’d received when he’d woken from his injuries, one that had stung with the way some of his guards hadn’t believed he was innocent of involvement in the coup.
Antonio swallowed. “Just that she was orphaned at a young age and came to live with you before she went on to the academy.” He worded his answer carefully. Lorelle may have believed that they pawned her off to the academy, but he wondered about the complexity of the situation.
“Why do you take interest in her?” Zacarías’s gaze narrowed, as if he was gauging what to say next based on Antonio’s answer.
“Truthfully, senor,” he said, “I only wish to help her return for the ballet. I met her a few days ago, and at most, I would consider her a friend. One that I see is hurting, that I want to help.”
Zacarías nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “We lost my brother and his wife sixteen years ago to the pox,” he said. “It hit Lorelle, too, but she recovered. The loss of them hit us all hard, and Lorelle clung to the one thing she shared with her mother: dance.”
“How did she get to the academy?” Antonio asked.
Clarisa let out a shaking breath, wiping her tears with a clean edge of her apron. “We paid an inventor to create a hand for her. One that would allow her to blend in with the rest of the girls, as much as could be expected.”
Something rose up in Antonio. Could it be they wanted to hide her missing hand just as much as la directora of the company? Maybe they really had been ashamed of her and pawning her off.
A knock at the door stopped the rest of the explanation. Zacarías went to answer the door, and a pitter-patter of footsteps came down the hall before a child poked her head into the kitchen. She was maybe seven, with golden ringlets framing her sunburned face.