Page 25 of Spice and Revenge

“Don’t tell me you told Hilda and Blanco too,” she says in a whiny voice. “I thought it would just be the two of us…”

“Why? Cause you don’t want to share?” Blanco interrupts at the exact moment, stepping into the kitchen with Hilda.

“Exactly. I do not want to share, especially not with the both of you,” Josie huffs.

Hilda pouts playfully. “Aw. Too bad you’re not the one calling the shots.”

“Ugh! Why do I have to be stuck with the both of you in this house?” Josie groans, earning a laugh from me.

“Guys, the food will be enough for the four of us,” I say as the three of them begin to prep the vegetables to be cut.

My heart warms up at the gesture. My friendship with my kitchen sous-chefs is one of the best I’ve had. All my life, I always kept to myself. I had my personal issues, and I didn’t want to add to that by bringing friends into the mix. I believed I could function best on my own, and I did for years. But just weeks of working here have made me feel the love and support I haven’t received from anyone in my entire life.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, before quickly walking out of the kitchen.

I rush up to my room and grab my camera and filming equipment. Then I set it up before getting straight to work, with Josie helping in the background. At some point, Hilda and Blanco join in, watching mesmerizing gazes. I'm grateful they don't pry into my personal life or question my social media presence; they simply offer their silent support.

When I’m done cooking, we all sit around the kitchen counter and devour the food. I still have a few hours before we have to start making dinner, so I go up to my room and begin to edit the videos. After editing, I post the video and decide to take a nap. I’m not the kind of creator who posts a video and monitors it immediately to see the likes or comments I get. It makes me anxious. When I post, I distract myself by doing anything that will keep my mind off the video for the next few hours. And with the engagements and followers I have, when I come back to check hours later, I see that the video is already doing well.

However, today is different. Barely after posting, a comment notification grabs my attention. It won’t hurt to check just one comment, so I open it.

My heart lurches to my throat as I read the bold words.

YOU CANNOT HIDE FOREVER. I KNOW EXACTLY WHO YOU ARE.

This can’t be happening. No! Not now when I’m finally becoming happy again.

My eyes scan over the words again and again until I almost can’t breathe. With shaky fingers, I press delete. The words disappear from my phone screen, but they are already engraved in my head. My muscles are aching, and my body is tired, but sleep has suddenly eluded me.

Someone knows who I am. Someone knows my true identity.

I want to be distracted. I decide to go back to the kitchen and prep for the meal. Josie, Hilda, and Blanco are the ones who usually prep the meals, but today I want to do it myself. I don’t want to think about the comment. I don’t want to think about the possibility that I have been found, or how my life will change afterwards.

I knead the dough, which will be used to make pasta from scratch. Leo demands that everything is made from scratch, including pasta. At this moment, I’m grateful that I can pour my anger and frustration onto the innocent dough.

I knead and pound with all my strength, and when it is ready, I begin cutting it and later dumping it into the large pot of boilingwater on the stove. Josie, Hilda, and Blanco come to join me moments later, shocked that I began prepping before them.

Their usual chatter begins, but I remain silent throughout. Josie’s words fly past my ear as my mind swirls and spins.

“Are you okay?” I don’t realize the question was for me until I see the three of them looking at me with curious eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired,” I murmur.

Josie sighs. “I don’t know what you did to Don to make him dislike you this much. All the past chefs never had to work like this.”

On a normal day, I might be bothered to think about what she just said, but today, I only give her a noncommittal nod.

Hours later, after everyone has eaten and the house is quiet, I still can’t sleep. The four walls of my room feel like they're closing down on me. Without thinking, I search my suitcase for my burner phone, before slipping outside my room and out of the back door of the house.

The fresh smell of flowers in the garden does nothing to soothe me. I shiver from the night breeze as I dial the only number on the small phone.

He answers on the first ring.

“Maximo,” I breathe, stepping into the night, further away from the house. The security lights illuminate the entire compound, but I find a dark corner beside one of the shrubs in the garden.

“Lorena?” His surprise is evident in his voice.

He should be. We are not supposed to call each other.

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