Twenty-Two

HE brought her to that house.
That same house where she went that unforgettable night.
This house was also far from the mansion and other structures like our little hut so it was very private from any prying eyes, and it had its own exit through a private road only accessible to its owner at the back.
He could get in and out of the hacienda without anyone the wiser.
According to rumors, Señor Sylverio had this house built for his introverted son so he could avoid visitors he did not want to face.
It was when his mother lived here way back when he was still twelve years old.
He could move whichever way, whenever, without anyone noticing in the mansion.
Doña Lucilla always had guests and parties, and this irritated her son. He allegedly showed dislike towards her liberal lifestyle and her circle of friends.
He disagreed and argued with his father, too, but as a necessary evil to get work done. He didn't have and would not show patience for his mother as he would with anything that he considered a waste of time.
He'd always been rumored to have a mind of his own, so that when at odds with his father and wouldn't budge about his decisions, the señorito would be found here instead of at the mansion.
No parties ever occurred here and aside from his father, only his closest friend—the one who'd paid for her that night—could visit him here.
When the horse stopped in front of the house, she was frantically thinking that this wasn’t the same.
Surely, he wasn’t thinking this was the same as that night? She wasn't the same woman who was here last.
That paid woman.
That dirty woman.
Even if she was probably what he could see *now*. Someone who’d fooled him. Someone who actually lived right here under his nose.
She remembered his face while he paid for the vegetables.
The insane amount of bills was so easy for him to dispense with, but it was a fortune for someone like her, an amount she could earn in a week if she could go out every day and would be lucky enough to sell everything.
That was how different they were, and he knew it.
His eyes were icy and angry like he wished she wasn't standing there by the side of the road, selling some other ware, so he paid for everything to make her disappear.
*Fast.*
But maybe it wasn’t enough. He wanted her completely gone from his life.
She was mistaken to think she could get away with it. He knew all along.
All the benefits they had received, the money in the envelope, the medical and pregnancy test... he was making sure no blunder was made that night before he kicked her and her family out of the hacienda!
He had known for a while, then.
He probably knew more about her now than she could remember herself.
He called her by her name when he ordered her to get off the bike—and she obeyed like a slave.
Like she was a sinner who needed to be punished.
*But where will we go?* she wailed inside her head.
The money must have been so they could leave.
But to where? Why couldn’t he just pretend we did not know each other, because there was no way she was even going to attempt to go near him if she could help it?
Surely he didn’t think she would talk about that night?
Was there something she didn’t know that could possibly put him in trouble?
Oh my god, did somebody see her? Did Madame Venus tell someone?
Did she ever act in any way that could put him in trouble and make other people talk about him?
She knew he was an extremely private individual. Was that what he was worried about? Was that why he was doing all this?
"Hold on," he ordered, before getting off the horse.
He slid down smoothly, and then he reached up and held her by her waist to lift her unceremoniously off the horse.
She felt dumb and helpless as she couldn’t do anything but hold his shoulders as she was brought down. When her feet touched the ground, she was trembling with fear and her knees were so weak that she almost gave.
He tightened his grip so she couldn’t push away.
He was much taller. She remained staring at his chest, desperate. She didn't know what to do.
When his voice came, it was tender. Soft.
"If you can walk, go on inside the house and wait for me there. I’m going to tie up the horse."
Numbly, she nodded. "Yes, Señorito."
He tenses, but then he released her, his hands suspended on each side of her as if he was checking if she could remain standing.
She stepped back and away from him, then turned to walk towards the house.
She heard the neighing of the horse behind her and when she looked back before she took the short steps to the porch, he was pulling the rope and the horse was following him towards a tree on the ground.
She was, again, dumbfounded.
The horse breathed then neighed again.
Hadn't she heard that sound for many nights in the field near their hut? Was that him?
Did he spy on her? That wasn’t just one or two nights…
But... why?
She hesitated in front of the door.
She recalled the first time she stood there, and she gulped the evoked terror. Like that night, she knew she couldn’t turn back and run. It would be of no use.
He would just get madder at her.
She was utterly helpless.
She reached for the knob and turned it. It wasn't locked. Then Yna entered the house.
What could she use to defend herself against a Quiroz? What was she trying to save, anyway? She was paid as a whore that night and they both knew this.
She stopped at the exact spot where he’d caught her and pulled her harshly to his taut body that night.
Her eyes fell on the couch. She remembered what happened there before she was carried up to the bedroom upstairs...
Behind her, she heard him enter.
She closed her eyes as she trembled anew. She could hear his approaching footsteps, and that he stopped.
"I didn't bring you here to hurt you, damn it!"
Arianna sighed, then opened her eyes to turn around and face him.
He was standing just behind her. When he saw her face, he seemed to get angrier.
"Arianna... stop. Stop being so scared. Can you not hear me? Listen to me now!"
She felt too stiff to move but she managed to nod. She couldn't speak, though. Her knees were shaking so hard.
"Damn it!"
The voice was angry, but when his arms wrapped around her... when he pulled her to him, his hold was so gentle it surprised her. Like he was hugging a child.
His hand touched the back of her head and guided it to his shoulder. One of his hands caressed her back as if comforting a weeping child.
Yna didn't know what to think. She was grateful for the support of his body because she felt weak, but what was he doing now?
"Goddammit, Arianna. I brought you here so we can talk. Just talk, okay? I know I could have pretended but you were so scared of... you're shaking, woman. Was it that bad? Did I really hurt you too much that night? I did not mean to. I wasn’t gentle, I remember that. But I didn’t know who you were, damn it!"
She was confused by his words. He talked like he knew her now… like he cared about her.
He sounded guilty…
Was Señorito Enrique actually saying he was sorry?
And then he did say it.
"I'm so sorry... God, I'm so sorry," he said in a hoarse, suffering voice. “It must have been so awful for you. I didn’t mean to traumatize you like that, Arianna. I feel so bad about it. I can’t forget what I did to you.”
She could hear the words, but it took a while before they actually take.
When they did, she looked up at him in disbelief.
Remorse was there on his handsome face.
Señorito Enrique felt bad about that night.
So all the boons were to placate her?
He was indeed harsh that night, quite mad, but he'd been… passionate and real.
He’d uttered terrible words and accusations but then he’d said words that told her something else afterwards.
He had touched her body like he was touching a revered woman’s body. He held her and caressed her and he…
Her face was starting to flame up because of what she couldn’t control remembering.
He’d made her feel like a woman, then cradled her until he fell asleep.
She was scared of him, yes, but because of what damage he could do to her family for what she did. She was in terror of being found out.
But her experience in his arms wasn’t something she’d viewed as an ugly experience. She wasn’t scared of him because of that.
It wasn’t his fault. He knew he was with a whore, but he had not treated her like one.
That he was begging to be forgiven and making an effort to explain himself validated that feeling.
He did care about her as a human being.
And she was so relieved—more than relieved. something else. Something beautiful and happy.
Yna started to cry.