Page 81 of The Virgin's Dance
“Your little game is over,” Donna said as calmly as possible.
Antonio was leaning over a computer in the kitchen and was startled by her entrance and the quaver in her voice.
“I’ve found them.”
He looked at her with obvious confusion. “Found what?”
Losing the battle with her intense anger, she flung the photos and documents down on the table.
He looked down at the photos: hundreds of photos of her. At José’s villa, on her balcony in the night, walking around town, and even at the airport, arm in arm with José. The photos, each a private moment from her life, were each a violation she felt intensely.
Antonio looked up, devastated.
“Donna, I—”
“I don’t know what sick game you and your uncle have been playing, but it’s over now. The game is up.” She took a deep breath, promising herself she wouldn’t cry in front of him. No, the tears could come later.
“I’ve read the papers,” she continued. “I’ve read your little strategy to get me to give you information on José’s father. I don’t know why you bothered. What influence do you think I have? Who do you think I am?” she asked incredulously. “And to think I thought I was actually falling for you,” she laughed bitterly through angry tears.
“I need to explain this, Donna. I need you to understand.” He tried to reach out to her to hold her hands, to hug her, anything to make her remember the connection they shared, but she flinched away.
“Are these your papers or not? Just answer me truthfully.”
He nodded, a pained expression on his face.
Donna turned on her heels and ran out of the house. She ran and ran, through the forest, through the woods. She ran until she thought her lungs would explode.
Finally unable to run or breathe, she burst into tears.
Chapter 15
Donna spent the next couple of weeks close to her temporary home. She became sullen and quiet. She spent her time with Maria and José, and only ventured out of the house when they accompanied her.
She had done some of her own research. She started reading old news articles online, following the local news. And she subtly started asking José questions. José’s father was planning to destroy the gypsy community on the hillside. He wanted the community moved, and as quickly as possible. As a powerful figure in the community, he was in a position to do a lot of damage. She could see that.
She could see why Antonio had done what he had. He wanted to protect his community. Regardless, he had used her badly, and it smarted.
Every time she thought back on their time together, she tried to place it in the context of what new information she’d been able to unwittingly give him. But nothing would stick, and her heart ached beyond reason or words.
She had been in a pawn in a game that was much more important to the players than her feelings. She must accept that now and move on.
“Donna, can we talk alone?” José was talking to her, bringing her back to the present.
“Sure,” Donna nodded, though she wasn’t really listening. She was in the kitchen stirring a cup of lukewarm tea round and round into a little whirlpool, wishing she could drop her heart in such a maelstrom and flush it away. Too preoccupied with her own morose thoughts, she didn’t notice the tone of his voice or catch the glimpse in his eye.
They walked out onto the beach, twilight sparkling around them.
José, his hands in his pockets, began walking along. Donna fell into step naturally.
They walked in silence a time, but José kept stopping and starting sentences, trying to begin a conversation.
“You seem a little down lately,” he said finally, hands still in his pockets.
“Maybe a little.”
“Is it … could it be … because of the wedding?”
“The wedding?”
