Page 47 of The Gilded Survivor

As soon as we were finished descending the stairs, I was led through another great hall, and past more closed doors undoubtably housing thousands of pesetas worth of frivolous wealth.

It wasn’t until Isolda stopped that I realized we had arrived. The pounding of my heart picked up as soon as Isolde’s dry hands brushed against the walnut wood to push the door open.

Much to my growing irritation, even more extravagance greeted us inside of the room. A normal person would have been in awe, but I was bizarre through and through.

The service table with several crystal glasses was the first thing I noticed before my eyes landed on a silver cloche delicately resting in front of an empty chair. Another button, like the one in my room, was in the center of the table. It was decorated with gilded flowers and small plants. Since it was a relatively small breakfast table, that meant I was in for a more intimate dining experience.

In fact, my seat was across from the reason I was here.

I swallowed hard.

“Buenos días, Renata.” Antonio’s resonant, deep voice filled up the room. “How good of you to finally arrive.”

Irritation bled through every consonant, every syllable. My eyes connected with the honey brown orbs that belonged to Señor Castillas Morales. He was wearing mourning clothes again. It added a strange somberness to the room.

I watched as his eyes trailed down to my neck, and then back to his solitary cup of café.

I planted my feet firmly on the ground while my hand instinctively brushed the jewelry around my throat, still several paces from the table.

“Good morning,” I said.

It wasn’t lost on me in a house of gold that I had brought something cheap and plated. It was a good metaphor for me being whisked away into this life.

Surprisingly, dozens of questions bubbled up on my tongue like sweet sparkling wine.

Antonio spoke at the same moment that I opened my mouth. “Won’t you sit down?” He gestured to the seat that would require close proximity of us.

I glanced at the chair, and the server who had come over to pull it out for me. My hunger from earlier was forgotten. I didn’t want to sit down until after I had a chance to speak my piece.

I blinked. “I don’t think—”

“Sit down.” Antonio’s gaze returned to the plate in front of him.

My cheeks bloomed scarlet, and I obeyed. The exchange was inelegant, to say the least, because I had already put all of my weight on the furniture. When the servant tried to push in my seat back in, he grunted. Very audibly.

“Una disculpa,” I apologized. The flames in my cheeks had crawled down my neck and up my ears.

The servant merely smiled as he reached over my shoulder and plucked the lid off of the serving dish. A few drops of condensation dripped onto the white tablecloth as he removed the bell-shaped lid and I watched them bleed into damp circles.

My stomach felt like it was filled with lead, so I avoided the food and continued staring at the tablecloth. The fresh smell of oregano, of rich ham and cheese, and the acidic smell of tomatoes filled my nostrils. My throat tightened. Why was it so hard for me to speak up today?

An omelette has been laid in front of me. One so fluffy looking that it could’ve been confused for a small cushion.

Another glance at Antonio told me that he was absorbed in starting his meal.

If he wasn’t going to acknowledge me, then that meant the only thing left to do was eat. No simple task with a roiling stomach. There were far too many eating utensils lined on either side of my plate.

I had selected a fork that looked nearly identical to the one next to it when the server asked, “¿Le gustaría algo de tomar?”

I glanced up to see the beverages he was offering. The familiar orange nectar looked particularly good.

“Un zumo de naranja, por favor,” I said with a smile. My mouth opened and I nearly asked where to find the pastillas negras out of habit.

Élites did not need to prevent sickness. They had all the power they needed to stay healthy. I felt foolish once again.

The man nodded, poured me a glass of orange juice, and set it down in front of me.

I continued my dissection of the omelette with the side of the fork and took my first bite.

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