4. Chapter 4 #2
"You're welcome." Is all I get out of him before he walks to the opposite side of the table and takes residence across from me. Without another word, he grabs the more traditional tostada with olive oil and salt from his plate and crunches his teeth into it.
Dona Otero waves her hand over the bountiful spread and bids me to, "Eat, Ines."
She doesn't need to tell me twice. I reach across my table setting and grab a magdalena but before I can take a bite or place it on my plate, Dona Otero smacks the top of my hand with her folded lace pericon fan. I hiss at the sudden disciplinarian contact and furrow my brows.
"What the hell was that for?"
"Language." Salvador growls.
"Ladies never grab food from the serving platters with their bare hands." Dona Otero explains with a sweetness in her tone, but a seriousness in her eyes. "Use the tongs."
I tear my eyes from hers and find the silver tongs in question.
"And Salvador is right," she adds, blowing steam from her cup. "Ladies do not swear."
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, partially to avoid cursing again and partially to avoid punching Salvador in his smug face to rid him of that triumphant I-told-you-so smirk.
"Of course, Dona." I muster the strength to flash her a demure smile and pick up the tongs to usher food to my plate.
With a little bit of everything now neatly in front of me, I take a quiet moment to sink my teeth into the airy muffin and refrain from moaning aloud at how delicious it is.
I'm not used to eating warm, homecooked meals.
A typical breakfast for me in the Brogratto consisted of whatever I could scrounge up from the Market District without any of the vendors noticing.
Sometimes it would be bread or fruit, but on a good day, I might have swiped some dried meats or cheese – a true delicacy when you're from the slums.
"Chew with your mouth closed, Ines." Dona Otero doesn't look up from her plate while chastising me.
"Perdóname, Dona." I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from spouting off, but the petty comments are beginning to irk me.
I hope to distract the ever-watchful matriarch by changing the subject from my lack of manners to my lessons.
"I'm assuming my hand-to-hand combat sessions begin after breakfast."
Both of them stop mid-bite to stare at me in bright-eyed confusion.
"Hand-to-hand combat?" Her brows raise.
I nod. "I am confident in my abilities, so I'm not sure how much more I can learn from your phantom."
My gaze darts from Dona Otero across the table and settles on Salvador. Reclining in his chair as if he doesn't have a care in the world, he brings his coffee to his lips and smiles with wild amusement.
"And what, pray tell, is so amusing in what I just said?" I fire, straightening in my seat to appear taller.
"The fact you think your lessons are physical."
It's then I quickly put the pieces to an incomplete puzzle together.
Salvador told me to get sleep last night because I would need it.
I assumed he issued that unsolicited advice because we would be sparring but I'm beginning to understand my lessons are going to be entirely focused on etiquette of the higher ups.
Suddenly, my appetite sours. All of Dona Otero's chastisements replay in my mind.
Ladies never grab food from the serving platters with their bare hands.
Use the tongs.
Ladies do not swear.
Chew with your mouth closed, Ines.
My lessons began the moment I walked into this courtyard – or maybe before when Lupe was dolling me up to be the lamb led to social slaughter.
So far, I'm failing miserably, but to be fair, I don't know the first thing about being a lady of nobility.
Elena Lozano has been schooled in the art of manners since before she could walk.
Unlike me, she is rich, desirable, and has two parents who have built her an inheritance coveted by most Dons and Donas.
And if I am to impersonate her, I'll have to cram a lifetime of lessons into a span of –
"How long do I have to master these lessons?" I ask, unsure of when these skills will be tested in the jungle of high society.
"You have three weeks before the first ball of the season."
"Three weeks?" I croak, coughing up the morsel of tostada I bit into. "You expect me to cram all this bullshit into my brain within three weeks and be able to remember it all in time for the ball?"
"If you can't do it, tell me now so I can replace you." Dona Otero slathers butter across her tostada, no sympathy lacing her words. She hasn't even deemed my concerns important enough to meet my line of sight.
I can feel Salvador's eyes pinned on me and when I look his way, he unapologetically stares at me.
I'm not sure what he's thinking, those eyes of his are strongholds.
But then I see the quick tick of his jaw, as if he's grinding his back teeth, hoping I don't throw in the towel.
Perhaps, I am reading him incorrectly, but the steeliness in his gaze slices through me and my own stubbornness won't allow me to quit.
Not when I have so much to gain when everything is said and done.
"Three weeks." I toss a grape into my mouth and nod. I'm not going anywhere. Not without my reward.
Dona Otero smiles. "Good. Looks like we have some work to do."