“I’m not,” she’d lied, proud when her voice didn’t shake. “It’s for a literature course I’m taking online.”
“You’re in school?”
The surprise in his voice made her turn, which was a mistake because it put her face inches from his chest. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
“Part-time. Business administration.”
“So you plan to work once you graduate?” he pressed. “You’re not thinking of marrying and starting your own family?”
If it’s you,Sienah had thought,then you only have to say the word, and I shall be yours.
But since she obviously couldn’t say that—
“I’m not sure what the future holds for me,” she said finally, albeit in a voice that was just a little breathless, just a little tremulous, and all because of the fact that this was thelongestconversation she had with him, like,ever.“I just know it won’t hurt to be familiar with how businesses work.”
“How surprisingly...pragmatic.”
His tone was cryptic, and when he nodded at her, she knew she was being politely dismissed, and so she simply nodded back, turned and walked away while her heart raced and ached at the same time.
Why did it feel like something important had just happened?
By nineteen, she’d perfected the art of being essential without being seen. She knew he liked his morning run at 6:15, so she had fresh towels and water waiting. She knew he listened to Mozart when happy and Rachmaninoff when troubled, so she always checked which was playing before entering his space. She knew about his migraines, but she also knew he would rather have everyone at home act as if he wasn’t having them.
She knew him better than she knew herself.
Which is why she noticed the change that last month. The way his jaw stayed tense even during Mozart and how he’d started skipping his morning runs.
“Family troubles,” Mama said one evening, coming home from the main house with worry lines around her eyes. “Miguel’s been putting pressure on him about something.”
Sienah’s chest tightened. She’d seen what family pressure did in houses like this. Seen the way it crushed spirits and forced choices and broke things that couldn’t be fixed.
That night, she did something she’d never done before. She made him chamomile tea instead of his usual espresso nightcap. Added honey and a touch of vanilla the way her grandmother used to make it when worries kept sleep away.
She left it on his desk with a small note: “For better dreams.”
The next morning, the cup was empty and her note was gone. But there was a different note in its place, just two words in his sharp handwriting: “Thank you.”
She kept that note. Tucked it in her jewelry box next to her grandmother’s rosary and the movie ticket from the only film she’d ever seen in theaters. Pathetic? Probably. But those two words in his handwriting felt like a secret between them.
The next week, everything changed.
“Don’t forget what we’ve talked about,” she overheard Signor Miguel warn his son. “Choose one of those names on the list to be your bride...”
The laundry basket nearly slipped from Sienah’s numb fingers.
“Or you will not like the consequences.”
Sienah made it to the laundry room before the tears came.
Stupid, stupid Sienah!
Did you really not think this day would come?
He was like a prince in his homeland, just minus the royal blood. His marriage would naturally be arranged, and of course his bride...
Such a girl would likely be just as rich, just as well-connected.
She would be everything that Sienah was not and could never be.
