I remember then, at least vaguely waking up last night. First, when he tucked me in. Then a few more times when he’d told me to go back to sleep. He’d been sitting there with that notebook on his lap watching me. Did he watch me sleep all night? Did he sleep at all? I don’t remember him getting into the bed with me.

I remember one other thing. I saw Mercedes. Well, maybe that part was a dream because we were in the hallway. Me in Santiago’s arms. Her peering at us from a dark corner.

I realize also then that I’m wearing panties too. He must have cleaned me while I was out. How did I not feel it? What exactly was in that vial he had me drink that knocked me out so thoroughly?

Heat flushes my cheeks at the thought of him cleaning me while I was passed out, and I pick up the juice glass to hide my face.

Does he feel guilty? Is all of this out of guilt for what he did?

No. That makes no sense.

Antonia pours a second glass of juice when I finish the first. I take it and drink half of it down. I’m thirsty.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When did he do that?” I ask about the window.

“I heard something quite early this morning. Had Marco do it, I think.” She’s smiling warmly.

"Hm.” I eat another bite, and Antonia smiles kindly at me.

“I’ve known Santiago since he was in diapers, you know.” She puts another beignet on my plate. “His father was not an easy man, but his death and perhaps Santiago surviving it when in his mind at least he was meant to die, it changed him. You’re good for him, Ivy. I see it. I feel it.”

“I’m not good for him. He hates me, and I don’t even know why.”

“No, that’s not hate. He has demons, that boy, but inside, he’s good. I know it. And I think if anyone can bring it out, it’ll be you.”

“If I survive,” I mutter under my breath, then think of something. “Why does he have everyone call him master?”

She shakes her head. “That was his father. Made sure we all called them Master even when they were children. Cold as stone, that one. But I won’t speak ill of the dead.”

A knock comes on the door, interrupting us then, and the maid who was here, the younger one who every time I’ve seen her looks like she’s expecting a ghost to jump out at her at any moment stands in the doorway.

“Yes, Jenna?” Antonia asks with a note of irritation in her tone.

“Ma’am.” She gestures to me but is talking to Antonia. “Her brother’s here to see her.”

I get to my feet. “My brother’s here?”