Chapter 31
Alejandra
People drift toward us like moths to a flame, their faces masks of polite admiration. The women, draped in silks and jewels that could pay off my father's medical debts ten times over, offer brittle smiles and compliments that feel more like assessments.
"What a beautiful family you have, Ernesto." A woman dripping in diamonds touches my arm with her cold fingers. "You have kept them hidden for too long."
"And the little one! She is the perfect blend of you both." A man with a face like a friendly bulldog chuckles, his eyes lingering on Camilla.
My polite smile is on point with every new face, but with every fake pleasantry, a knot of anxiety tightens in my gut. No matter how much I avoid their questions, they keep asking more and more, trying to probe into our lives.
"This is Camilla's first event, isn't it? How precious."
"Alejandra, you are a brave woman, taming Mr. Damos!"
"How did you capture his heart? We were all beginning to think it was made of stone."
I murmur responses, polite deflections I learned from Veronica, but my focus narrows.
Maybe Ernesto was right; this wasn’t a good idea.
The thought screams in my head over and over.
The sheer number of people, the way they press in, their hands gesturing, their gazes like tiny pinpricks all over my daughter. They look at her like she's a novelty.
A man with slicked-back silver hair reaches out, his fingers brushing against Camilla's dark curls. "Such beautiful hair," he says, his voice a low, oily purr.
Camilla flinches, pressing closer to my leg as my own body goes rigid.
I want to slap his hand away, to snarl at him to back off.
Instead, I place my hand on Camilla's shoulder and pull her even tighter against me.
Ernesto's hand on my back tightens, a mirror of my own protectiveness.
He gives the man a look so cold it could freeze fire, and the man's smile falters.
He chooses to live and backs away, melting back into the crowd.
"Such a lovely family."
A familiar voice cuts through the crowd, warm and genuine. Mrs. Elia Huerta stands before us, her eyes sharp and intelligent, a knowing smile on her lips. A wave of relief washes over me—finally, a friendly face.
"Mrs. Huerta, it's so good to see you," I say, my own smile finally reaching my eyes. Ernesto shakes hands with Mrs. Huerta, but for me, she pulls me into a tight hug.
"Please, dear, call me Elia." She turns her attention to Camilla. "And you, little one, are stealing the show. That dress is magnificent."
Camilla, who has been fidgeting, vibrating with restless energy, gives her a big smile. She's been standing still for what must feel like an eternity to a six-year-old.
"Ale, can I go get some dessert?" she whispers, tugging on my dress, her eyes fixed on a towering display of cakes and pastries across the room, crowded with other kids.
"No, princesa. Just wait a couple more minutes. I'll go with you." I run a hand over her hair, smoothing it down. The thought of her making her way through that crowded space alone sends a spike of panic through me.
Elia launches into a story about a new health initiative she's funding for farm workers in the valley, a topic that pulls me in immediately.
My mind switches into nurse mode, asking about resources, preventive care, and access to these types of programs. "It's about more than just clinics," I say, my voice gaining passion.
"It's about education and building trust within the communities. So many of our families working the fields don’t believe the Doctors because they’re talked down to. "
I get so lost in the discussion that for a moment, I forget where I am until I remember something Camilla said to me the other day—a hilariously blunt observation about my father's refusal to eat vegetables.
"You know, my dad would be your toughest patient," I say to Elia. "Camilla told him the other day that his insides were probably turning gray…"
I turn, ready to prompt Camilla to repeat her funny, morbid comment for Elia.
But she's not there.
The space beside my leg is empty.
The blood drains from my face as the sound of the party, the music, and Elia's voice all fade into the distance, muffled by how hard my heart is hammering against my ribs and rushing through my ears.
No.
No, no, no.
"Excuse me," I say immediately, cutting Elia off mid-sentence.
I don't wait for her response as my eyes dart around the immediate area. Nothing. I scan the crowd, my gaze frantic, searching for a small flash of burgundy velvet. The faces of the guests blur into a grotesque, smiling montage.
Panic has my body breaking out in a cold sweat.
I promised him. FUCK! I promised Ernesto I wouldn't let her leave my sight. On our first outing, our first real test as a family, I lost her. The thought itself knocks the air from my lungs. Ernesto will never forgive me; he’s never going to trust me with Camilla again.
The first place I check is the dessert table, but she isn't here. She’s just a kid.
Where the hell could she possibly have gone?
My mind conjures a thousand different scenarios.
I open my mouth to scream her name, but then I remember where we are, the decorum, and I shouldn’t make a scene. I’ll end up making everything worse.
I smile tightly and greet the few people who walk past me. I’m losing precious seconds just standing here. Then I see a flash of movement from behind a tall, linen-draped table near the drink station. A small figure emerges, her hands full, a triumphant smear of chocolate frosting on her cheek.
Camilla.
Relief hits me with the force of a tidal wave, so potent it makes my knees weak, and I have to use the dessert table to stand upright.
I don't think, I just move, pushing through the clusters of elegantly dressed guests, murmuring apologies I don't mean, my entire being focused on that one small girl.
She sees me coming, and her triumphant smile falters, replaced by a flicker of fear.
She knows she's in trouble. I reach her, gently take the two plates of cake from her hands, set them on the nearest table, drop to my knees, and pull her into my arms, crushing her against me.
I bury my face in her hair, inhaling her sweet, little-girl scent mixed with sugar and chocolate.
"Don't you ever, ever do that again," I whisper, my voice shaking. "You have to stay by my side, Camilla. Do you understand me?"
She hugs me back, her small arms wrapping tightly around my neck. "I'm sorry, Ale," she mumbles into my shoulder. "I didn't mean to make you worried. I was just really hungry."
My heart is still hammering as I hold her for a long moment, the adrenaline slowly receding, leaving my body a shaky mess. I pull back and look into her wide, apologetic eyes. Sure, I’m not angry, but I was terrified. And in that terror, I felt the raw, primal force of my love for this child.
Taking her hand, I grab one plate of cake and lead her to a small, empty table in a quieter corner of the ballroom.
My hands are still trembling as I watch her dig into a slice of triple-chocolate fudge cake, her earlier scare already forgotten in the face of pure, sugary bliss.
I pull my phone from my clutch, my fingers fumbling with the screen.
Me: Where are you? I don't see you or Julian.
Her reply is instantaneous.
cunada: Emergency at the hospital. A post-op complication that could turn into a lawsuit if I don't handle it personally. As for Julian… It's a formal event; he doesn’t show his face much at those. If anything, he's probably at some dive bar trying to pick up a recently divorced heiress.
A small smile touches my lips as I imagine Julian, with his Playboy charm, working his magic on a jaded divorcee. I tuck the phone back into my clutch and turn my attention back to Camilla, who now has frosting decorating her nose.
A shadow falls over our table as I’m wiping away the frosting.
"A parent's worst nightmare, isn't it? Losing sight of them, even for a second."
Hector's voice is a low whisper, but I hear the accusation loud and clear. He stands behind me, a dark, imposing figure, but I don't turn to look at him, keeping my attention on Camilla.
"You should keep a closer eye on her, Senora," he continues. "This isn’t some playground. She shouldn’t be allowed to wander around like that."
The condescension in his tone ignites a fresh spark of anger, chasing away the last bit of my fear. I straighten my back and smile sweetly at Camilla, handing her a glass of water. “Drink some water, mija.”
"Isn’t it your job, Hector," I say, my voice quiet but edged with steel, "to ensure all three of us are protected. If Camilla had been in any real danger, it would be your head, and the heads of your entire crew, that would roll. Not mine."
I finally turn, tilting my head to look up at him, my expression cold.
"You should be more concerned with the fact that I was the one who had to find her.
That the heir to the Damos fortune was alone, completely unattended, at a dessert table in a room full of people who are considered enemies, and not a single one of your men noticed. "
His impassive mask cracks as a flicker of surprise crosses his features. He was probably expecting me to burst out into tears or excuses. He wasn't expecting the Senora.
"My apologies, Senora," he says, his voice stiff. "It will not happen again."
He gives a curt nod and walks away. A few seconds later, I see another man, one of Hector's, a familiar face I've seen around the estate, quietly position himself a discreet distance from our table. His eyes are watchful, his posture relaxed but ready.
A small, smug smirk plays on my lips as I turn back to Camilla and use my thumb to gently wipe more frosting from her nose gently. She giggles, her face a mess of pure delight.