Chapter 16
Ines
Lupe combs through my hair roughly, the bristles jerking my head backward.
The gusto with which she works feels as if I owe her money and she's going to torture me before I succumb and give into her demands.
She's noticeably on edge and I'm not entirely sure if it's because the first ball of the season is less than an hour from now or if she doesn't believe I'm ready.
"Once more," she says, not meeting my stare in the reflection of the mirror. "Who is Don Alejandro?"
"Lupe, we've gone over the Dons and their families all afternoon," I grumble, hissing when she starts tugging my hair into a low bun. "I know everything I need to know. I'm ready."
"Who is Don Alejandro?" she asks again, irritation ripe in her tone.
I notice how tightly her lips are pressed together and how her brows pinch and realize she's worried. "I'm not sure who is more nervous about tonight, you or me," I tease.
Finally, she flicks her gaze upward and meets my line of sight in the glass. "I don't think you worry enough, Mocosa. One slip up and we will all be found out."
"So, you're concerned I'll mess this up and you will be hanging from the gallows by morning?" Insult spurs my rage to stir in my feet and slowly creep up my legs.
She sets the brush down and shakes her head. "No, I'm worried you will be hanging from the gallows in the morning. The Dons are not to be trifled with. It's a dangerous mission you've been hired – "
"Then let me do my job without the added burden of your fear," I interrupt, viciousness spewing from my lips.
For a moment neither of us moves; we just stare at one another in the mirror. I suddenly wish I could swallow those words. I've gone most of my life without someone caring what happens to me and the one person to express worry is met with fury.
"Lupe – " I start to apologize but she clears her throat cutting me off.
She swipes two red carnations plucked from Otero's gardens from the vase on the vanity and strategically pins them into my bun, the finishing touch to my scarlet head-to-toe ensemble.
The off-the-shoulder dress Yasmin Romero designed hugs my torso, giving my waist the illusion of being tinier than it actually is, and the billowing skirt has black lace trim on each of the three-layered tiers.
The only comfortable thing about this outfit are the flats I'm wearing.
As silent as a ghost, Lupe slips two gold bangles on my right wrist and nods her head in satisfaction of her creation.
"Dona Otero will announce you once the other guests have arrived.
She wants you to have a grand entrance, another way to showcase you are available for marriage.
" She carries on as if I didn't hurt her feelings and it causes my stomach to bubble.
"Remember to keep your chin up" – she raises my face with the crook of her finger – "make eye contact and use the fan to your advantage. "
"Lupe, I'm sorry," I blurt before she can dismiss or interrupt me again. "I'm not used to someone caring about what happens to me. I shouldn't have been so sharp tongued. You don't deserve that."
Her eyes soften and she plants both hands on my cheeks.
"My dear girl, your well-being and safety are considered more than you care to believe.
Forgive me for passing my anxiety to you.
You are more than capable of this task." She lowers her head until our foreheads touch and whispers, "That Murrieta boy doesn't stand a chance. "
I chuckle to keep from tearing up. I don't remember my mother, but in this moment, I feel as if I have a maternal guide.
When I'm scared, she's there. When I'm angry, she's there.
When I finally nail one of my stupid lessons, she's there.
I dare not think of what my journey to this point would have looked like if Lupe wasn't involved.
I might have given up days into training, but this old woman fought me the entire time.
I didn't realize until this moment that she wasn't fighting against me, but for me.
I clear my throat, swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and puff out a nervous breath. "The Murrieta boy doesn't stand a chance," I echo.
Once the guests arrive and I hear the cacophony of laughter, chatter, and dancing below, my nerves flare and I have to remind myself I'm not Ines de la Vega, thief of the Brogratto who doesn't belong here.
I am Elena Lozano, a lady of Orlencian High Society, heir to the Lozano estate, business, and fortune, and I am the object of all men's desires.
I might vomit.
If I can pull this off, it'll be the biggest con of my life and the prospect of deceiving so many of the elite excites me enough to make my long descent down the grand staircase as Dona Otero draws attention to me.
"Senors y Senoras, Dons and Donas, I thank you all for being here tonight to kick off the season!
" Otero waves her arms like a maestro conducting her orchestra.
"But tonight is a special occasion because my niece, Elena Lozano, has joined me for the season in search of a husband.
Please, extend your finest Orlencian hospitality and make my niece feel most welcome amongst us. "
As soon as my feet leave the last step, I'm swarmed by men and women seeking to gain my favor and earn my unwavering attention.
Introductions fly left and right and if I hadn't already studied who everyone was, I would have certainly been overwhelmed.
Now, I can impress them with my immaculate memory and address them all by name later in the evening.
Thankfully, no one has given me one suspicious glance or outed me for the fraud I am.
No, they are far too invested in making a great first impression with the heiress to an impressive fortune to care that I'm not the true Elena Lozano.
All the confidence I built up begins to falter once Severo Murrieta steps in front of me and extends his hand in greeting. The anxiety zipping through my body might stop my heart from beating. I slide my eyes to meet his, Lupe's advice to maintain eye-contact echoes inside my head.
"This is Don Severo Murrieta," Dona Otero introduces us. "He is the Master of Justice and sits on the Soberano's Council."
From the honeyed introduction, one wouldn't be able to decipher how deeply rooted Otero's hatred runs for Murrieta, but I do my part in curtseying and slipping my hand into his. He offers the tiniest smile as he raises my hand to his lips and presses a featherlight kiss to my knuckles.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Senorita Lozano." He's rather charming for a serpent. "Last I heard you were resigned to the countryside due to your respiratory problems."
Of course he would be up to date on every wealthy family that falls beneath the Orlencian banner.
I grin and squeeze his hand gently. "What an excellent memory you must have, Don Severo.
I see why the Soberano appointed you his Master of Justice.
I admit, I do have occasional flare ups, but I assure you, my condition has been greatly exaggerated. "
The left side of his mouth quirks upward wiggling his mustache, whether he believes me or not is still unknown, but for now he accepts the lie as gospel. "Most likely the bored assumptions of the loose tongued women of high society. I am glad to hear your condition is not egregious."
"Thank you for your kind words, Don Severo."
A man shuffles up next to him causing Don Severo's shoulders to tense and his eyes to narrow. He doesn't have to look to know who stands beside him. "Allow me to introduce my son, Rogelio Murrieta."
I shift my focus to the Murrieta heir, and I'm taken aback.
His father has cruel and calculating features, but the younger namesake has the warmest brown eyes I've ever seen.
His face is angelic and blemish free. His dark hair is slicked back, and his moustache is well-maintained.
By the manner of how he's dressed and how he carries himself, he's a man of finery, but when he takes my hand in his, I immediately take note of how soft his palms are.
In complete contrast to Severo's rough and calloused hands with proverbial blood stain, Rogelio's have never known a hard day's work.
I smile up at him and bat my lashes, appreciating he has his father's height beat by an inch or two, but when I meet his disinterested gaze, my stomach sinks.
All the men, and some of the ladies, in the house have fawned over me and have made their interest well known.
But Rogelio can barely look at me. It's evident he would rather be anywhere but here.
I try not to take it personally, especially since I'm aware his father is forcing him to be here in search of a bride, but my pride is wounded.
I've never looked more dolled up in my life and he can't spare one solid glance my way, his line of sight already scanning the rest of the room while lifting my hand to his lips in polite greeting.
It seems the Murrieta boy proves to be difficult to make any impression on.
"It is a pleasure," he says, half-heartedly. Beside him, his father's nostrils flare like an enraged bull, but he holds his tongue.
I dip down in a curtsey, determined to gain his favor, because what other choice do I have?
"The pleasure is mine, Don Rogelio," I say sweetly but he still hasn't looked at me.
After my greeting, he retrieves his hand and thrusts it into his pocket, shattering my hope of easily seducing him.
"Forgive him," Don Severo's deep voice spider-walks down my spine. "My son isn't keen on social gatherings."
"I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself, Father," Rogelio spits, eyeing the elder Murrieta with disdain.
"I'm not a fan myself," I giggle, attempting to lighten the tension. "But how else would one find a suitable match if not out in society?"
"Indeed," Don Severo grits his teeth, his comments directed at his son. "Thank you for putting it so delicately, Senorita."