War Bride

9 - A Trip Into The Mountains

He meets my gaze and his face smooths, his lips curving to his usual pearly white smile. His voice drops by a few decibels and he finishes the conversation with a quick spate of Spanish words.

"Let's go." He stretches out his hand and I only hesitate for a second before our fingers intertwine. Hand in hand, we walk through the compound. I keep my chin up, determined not to let the stares rattle me. I'm not doing anything wrong. Miguel is my friend and nothing more, even though my heartbeat accelerates every time I look at him. He's so different from Felipe, much more mature and grounded. In a way, his strength reminds me of my dad. The calmness and authority oozing from him are like a protective layer.

The drive takes us through the mountains. I enjoy the cool, crisp wind tearing at my hair in the open Jeep, and my nausea and headache ease with every breath. When we get to the mansion, Miguel ushers me through the side door directly into the kitchen. Coffee is waiting for us and the aroma of bacon teases my nostrils. Even though the queasy feeling returns with the scent, I force a few bites down. To my surprise, the nausea ceases.

"Grease is the best weapon for hangovers. It sucks the leftover alcohol right up." Judging from the grin on Miguel's face, he has a lot of experience.

As he asks the cook for a second helping, I nibble on my toast. I still haven't figured out how old he is, but the beginning crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes suggest that he must be at least ten years older than me. My parents would freak if I brought him home.

His jaw is square, just like Felipe's, and certain other similarities show in their features. His eyelashes are not as long and curvy, giving him a more masculine look; his brows, on the other hand, are more bushy. It adds a certain toughness. If I met him on the street without knowing him, I wouldn't want to mess with him. While this would've bothered me just a few days ago, I find his roughness around the edges attractive. A man needs to be able to stand up for his girlfriend.

Our eyes meet and I smile, just to drop my gaze in horror as my cheeks begin to heat.

What am I doing?

I shouldn't have these thoughts. He's only nice to me because of the disaster with Felipe.

A man enters the kitchen just as Miguel is about to stuff a large portion of eggs and bacon into his mouth. His fork freezes midair. The man's hard eyes inspect me from top to bottom and I'm graced with a thin smile.

"Is this the American girl?" A slight accent in his English laces the words.

Miguel's fork is still halted midair. "Yes. This is Stacy." For a beat, his gaze flicks to me. "Stacy, this is my father. President Santino Rizo."

The same dazzling smile as Miguel's spreads briefly on Santino's lips, though it doesn't hit his eyes and looks fake. In that moment, he reminds me of the typical politician. A sudden chill hangs in the air as he looks me over without the slightest hint of emotion; on second thought, he's downright scary.

He pours himself a coffee, his focus turning to his son. "What are your plans for today?"

"I have to check on something at the factory and then we might visit Nana." Miguel reaches around me to pass his father the milk.

Santino frowns. "You're taking Stacy to the factory?"

Miguel doesn't answer and he switches to Spanish, his tone belittling. I try to pick up a few words, but he speaks fast without taking much time to breathe.

When he is done, Miguel just glares at him. "Note preocupes. Tengo todo bajo control."  He shoves the fork with the bacon and eggs into his mouth.