Page 48 of The Gilded Survivor

Flavors exploded all over my tongue.

The balance of acid, fat, and salt made my eyes water. It was better than my regular food, which made it a challenge not to morph into a feral animal and eat too fast.

Chewing at a normal pace made my stomach hurt. I was so hungry that my small bites felt like sprinkling water into an empty cavern and expecting the droplets to fill an entire oblivion.

The crackle and crunch of toasted bread had me looking up at Antonio. The small bollo bun Magda and I had been given last night popped into my mind while I watched the red salsa spread over the golden brown crust. My appetite from before returned with a vengeance. Grains would be helpful in sopping up whatever alcohol lingered in my stomach.

Out of the corner of my eye, Isolda went to stand next to the other servant stationed near the wall. I swallowed. The silence had grown oppressive.

“¿Tienen pan?” I asked tentatively.

“Si señorita.” Glass clinked behind me, and a bollo was placed on my plate in moments. Antonio still did not look up, and that self-conscious feeling I’d had about eating in front of him—of breaking the silence and taking up space in this room—dissipated.

Very carefully, I punctured the brittle crust with my thumbs, and tore off pieces of the fluffy inner part of the bread to eat with the last bits of my food. Once it was all gone, I sipped the chilled juice carefully and leaned back in my chair. Oblivion had been averted. Now, if only Antonio would speak soon. It was likely that I was in enough trouble to last me the rest of my life as it was. If he could just… articulate what he was thinking, that would’ve been ideal.

Light poured through the enormous window directly in front of us. I hadn’t paid much attention to it when I’d first walked in, but now I could see the beautiful grove of orange trees. There was a gazebo in the distance, but no other houses.

They would stop producing fruit within the next week or two, I estimated. A few Trabajadores were gathering the last harvest.

My chest rose and fell as Antonio continued to stretch out his eating. I supposed that not eating before your guest arrived was the polite thing to do. Despite my best efforts, I had eaten relatively quickly.

As I watched the trees, I noticed them swaying gently. Dancing to unheard music. Bathed in golden light, not unlike stage lights. Yet another reminder that I should be pounding my feet across a worn-wooden floor and not sitting in a chair that was worth more than all of my possessions put together.

My eyebrows drew together while Señor Castillas’ silverware made a light tinkling sound on his plate.

A chair being pushed back drew my attention to my mentor. He was standing, looking like he was ready to leave. He dipped his head as our eyes met.

“I hope you enjoyed your breakfast. If you’ll excuse me.” He straightened his coat and then turned around.

I made a face and stood up. “Wait.”

He paused.

I hesitated. “Aren’t we going to discuss… everything?” I hated how weak I sounded.

Antonio’s head shook back and forth. Slowly, he turned around so that he was facing me again. His expression was relaxed, disinterested even. “Why would we need to do that? Everything has already been resolved. You’re here, aren’t you?”

My mouth snapped shut. My skin prickled as I thought of what those watching us must’ve thought of me. I was weak, pathetic. So very clearly not what they were expecting. I cleared my throat. “So, will we be working today, then?”

“Working on what?” He raised one eyebrow and flicked his eyes up and down my tall form.

I clenched my fists. “Working on whatever it is that one needs to practice for the tournament.”

Antonio’s nostrils flared. “Today is Sunday.”

My weight shifted from one leg to the other. “So…?”

“We do not work on Sundays. You can do whatever you’d like for the rest of today.” His words were tight as he spoke, as if they were hard for him to get out.

“But what about everyone at Cecelia’s Theater? I deserve to know what is circulating about me. Tell me—”

Too much information.

“Leave us,” Antonio barked at the wall behind me. His face was clouded.

Heat pricked at my skin. I heard the two servants hurry out with the soft whisper-and-click of the door shutting.

My ears rang while I stood there, face to face with this man. I was barely breathing.

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