Chapter 8 Niña Amada Mia
Ernesto
The first light of dawn cuts through the curtains, my internal clock honed in by years of sleeping with one eye open.
For years, I’ve become accustomed to waking up alone, but this morning is different, not only because I’m a married man but also because there’s an extra weight in my bed.
One body, warm and solid, presses against my side, and there’s another, smaller and lighter, that rests in its crook.
It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust when I open them. The first thing I see is Alejandra’s wall of pillows ruined–a crushed mess around us. She lies on her back, her braid spread against my white pillowcase, her face soft and unguarded with sleep.
And nestled between us is my daughter, Camilla. I didn’t even feel her lie down between us.
One of her little hands is in Alejandra’s, the other is wrapped tightly around my fingers. Her chest rises and falls in a steady, peaceful rhythm. An ache blooms in my chest, a hollow space that only one person has ever been able to fill.
Elena.
This is the kind of morning she dreamed of, waking up tangled together, and our daughter safe between us.
Elena would have smiled and kissed Camilla’s forehead, then mine, like she did every morning for years when it was just the two of us.
The life I was supposed to have, one filled with Elena’s joy and light, vanished in that hospital room.
The woman beside me is not my Elena. She is a solution, and this marriage, a necessary lie. Alejandra is a stranger in my bed, and yet, seeing my daughter hold her hand so tightly, finding some comfort in her, stirs something inside me.
Carefully, I slip my hand from Camilla’s grasp, her tiny fingers twitch, then settle. I slip out of the bed, making sure my movements don’t wake them. The roughness of the carpet beneath my feet as I leave them in the warmth of my bed—an imitation of a family.
I spend a few minutes getting ready for a workout in the bathroom, my reflection stares back, as I look at the man I’ve become these past six years, hardened by my misery.
I’ve become ‘El Rey’, face hard with worry lines, eyes colder than they should be for my age, and the small scar under my eye.
A permanent reminder of the price I paid to obtain my father’s power.
But this image feels wrong, disconnected from the scene I left behind in my bedroom.
Quickly, I strip out of my sleeping pants, my movements robotic since it’s my routine, and put on my workout clothes. The burn of muscles and the harsh feel of pavement against my feet have become an anchor in my daily routine—a way to keep myself centered amidst all this chaos.
After my run, I return to the bedroom, and the scene on my bed has shifted.
Camilla is no longer in the middle of the bed but curled into Alejandra’s side, her head resting on her chest and an arm slung across her stomach.
I can see little drool spots forming on Alejandra’s white shirt.
Alejandra’s arm is wrapped around Camilla, holding her in a protective embrace that seems entirely natural, as if Camilla has always belonged in her arms.
My eyes drift from Camilla’s form to Alejandra.
Her eyes are open and droopy, soft with sleep, but she manages to find mine across the room.
I keep her gaze as I wait for some sarcastic remark or challenging glare.
Instead, a slow, sleepy smile lifts the corners of her mouth–small and unguarded.
For just a moment, there is a certain peace between us.
Her eyes slowly drift shut once again, her smile never fading as she slips back into sleep, arm tightening around my daughter.
An hour later, I’m showered and dressed for the day. I need to talk with Alejandra about her plans for today, but I hear two voices coming from Camilla’s room. The door is slightly open, and I pause in the hallway, silently watching them.
“No, no, no!” Camilla shouts. Her voice was as theatrical as a telenovela actress.
I need to tell Consuelo to stop watching novelas around her.
Camilla stands on her little stool in front of her mirror, wearing her school uniform blouse and a bright pink tutu.
“I want to be a princess today, Ale. Princesses don’t wear boring skirts. ”
Alejandra kneels on the floor, holding the navy skirt up for Camilla.
What catches me by surprise is the fact that Alejandra doesn’t look one bit frustrated.
Morning routines in this house have been a nightmare with Camilla, who always fights everyone and does whatever she can to avoid wearing her uniform. Alejandra just looks…amused.
“You’re absolutely right, they don’t,” Alejandra agrees, her voice calm and steady. “But princesses also have very important royal duties to attend to every day. Do you know what your royal duty is?”
Camilla grins excitedly and jumps out of excitement.
Alejandra holds her by the arms to settle her down. “Your duty is to go to school and learn how to rule your Papi’s kingdom. You want to help him continue being El Rey, no?”
“Si!” Camilla says as she puffs out her chest in pride.
“Well, this skirt is part of your royal wardrobe. It’s for important princess business. The tutu..” Alejandra looks down and grimaces, “It's for after-school fun activities like royal balls or tea parties. We most definitely can’t mix those two up, or it might cause an international incident.”
Camilla’s eyes go wide. “An incident?”
“Yes, a very big one,” Alejandra confirms, her expression serious. Camilla nods her approval, and Alejandra helps Camilla step out of the tutu and into the school skirt. “There. Ahora sí te ves como toda una princesa. Ready?”
Camilla turns back to the mirror and inspects her outfit, smoothing down the pleats of the skirt. “Okay, but tonight we’re having a royal party so that I can wear my tutu. With a ton of chocolate and cotton candy!”
“It’s a deal,” she says, taking Camilla’s little hand into hers, and they shake. “But let’s keep the party between us–maybe Consuelo too– or your papi might make us cancel it. Ya know, candy and all.”
I push the door open, and both their heads snap towards me. Camilla’s face breaks into a wide, gap-toothed grin.
“Papi!” Camilla hops off her stool and runs towards me. Bending down, I pick her up and hold her to me, kissing her little forehead. “Ale says I’m a princess on very important business.”
I look at Alejandra, who is now standing, a faint blush on her cheeks. She avoids my gaze, focusing on fixing Camilla’s collar. I give Camilla a smile and nod.
“Siempre serás mi princesa.”
The three of us sit silently, the only sound being that of Consuelo and the kitchen staff moving about their duties. The silence is less awkward with their movement, but still unnerving as Camilla sits across from me and next to Alejandra–her eyes bouncing between us.
One of our newest maids places a plate of huevos rancheros in front of me.
The scent of the roasted salsa roja y frijoles makes me feel at home.
Alejandra has chosen chilaquiles verdes after a fifteen-minute battle with Consuelo about how she couldn’t possibly make her cook a different meal just because she doesn’t like what I’m having.
Camilla is proudly displaying her Minnie Mouse-shaped pancakes with fresas as her bow.
This scene is so unnervingly domestic.
I hate it.
Just as Camilla is detailing the rules for this evening’s royal ball with Alejandra and Consuelo, completely ignoring the fact I am in the room, a pair of sharp heels click and a young woman appears in the doorway, perfect posture, dark hair pulled back in a tight, elegant bun.
She wears a cream-colored Tom Ford three-piece pantsuit and her shiny black red-bottom heels.
“Buenos días, mis amores. ?Cómo amanecieron mi princesa y el amargado de mi hermano? Also, what in God’s name is so urgent I had to wake up at six a.m. to get–” her words die as her eyes land on our little scene.
Her eyes sweep from me to Camilla, and then settle on Alejandra, her perfectly scripted eyebrow rising.
“Veronica,” I say, my tone steady. “Buenos dias.”
My sister’s eyes narrow, taking in Alejandra’s presence at our table.
“This is Alejandra,” I state as I point my fork in her direction, “my wife.”
Veronica’s composure cracks. For a second, her jaw goes slack, but she recovers instantly. Now she smiles widely and comes over the table with excited steps. She kisses Camilla’s head and takes a seat next to me–across Alejandra.
“Your…wife,” Vero repeats, silently mouthing the word ‘wife’ several times, as if trying to get used to it. She offers Alejandra a tight and assessing smile. “Ni cuenta que andabas de novio ‘mano.”
Her gaze flicks between both of us. I know my sister and her nosy ass wants details, but unfortunately for her, she isn’t getting any. Alejandra is quietly sipping her orange juice, her expression showing just how awkward Veronica is making this meeting.
“So, how did you two lovebirds meet?” Vero presses, her voice full of eagerness. “Tell me. Tell me everything? Did you elope? Was it love at first sight? Alejandra, tell me how you managed to trap my asshole of a bro–”
“That’s enough, Veronica,” I say, my voice sharp. “I didn’t call for you to interview us.” I turn my full attention to my sister. “I need you to take Alejandra shopping today. Get her everything she needs to fit into her role as Mrs. Damos.”
Alejandra sets her orange juice down, her glass almost empty since she’s been drinking it nonstop in order not to answer my sister. “Oh, no, thank you. I don’t need new clothes. I can go back home and grab some of my better clothes.”
“It’s not a request,” I state, as I continue eating my breakfast. “You will go with Veronica and get a new wardrobe. If you bring any other clothes from your old home, I’ll have them burned.”