“My mother and Cristóbal’s mother were childhood friends. Ours was an arranged marriage.”

“Did you love him?”

“Of course I did, though I don’t think I was ever in love with him.” I nestled my drink, remembering. “I’d seen Cristóbal throughout the years, but was only properly introduced to him during a tea at his mother’s house after he had just graduated from the Universidad de Sevilla. I was only nineteen years old and he was the only person I’d ever known with a university title. I was impressed by his scholarly achievements, by his good looks, but I really didn’t have time to get to know him. From our sporadic encounters, I could tell he was a quiet and gentle man, and I liked that. I needed a stabilizing presence in those years when I was cross all the time and only wanted to find the next ship that would take me to see my father. But my mother would scream that I would only leave over her dead body, which is ironic because that’s exactly what happened,” I said, finishing my drink. “I’ve always thought that the reason she pushed my relationship with Cristóbal was to keep me in Spain.”

“Did you ever regret marrying him?”

“Not really. We had a good life together. At the beginning of our marriage, he worked as a schoolteacher and at his father’s bookstore on weekends, but that had all changed when his father died and I convinced him to turn the bookstore into a chocolate shop.”

“So, it was your idea.”

I nodded. “He would do anything to please me. How could I ever regret being with someone like that?”

To my chagrin, my eyes filled with tears. I never cried in public. Worse, I was crying in front of Martin, of all people. I wiped my tears with a napkin, looking around to make sure nobody was watching.

“If I hadn’t convinced him to come here,” I said, “he would still be alive.”

“You don’t know that. So many things could’ve gone wrong if you’d stayed in Spain. He could’ve slipped in the tub and injured his head or rolled down some stairs, or he could’ve caught the consumption. You never know what’s going to happen. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t follow your dreams for fear that something bad might happen. You did what was right. You followed your heart, and he could’ve always said no.”

I could tell he wanted to hold my hand, to offer some comfort, but he didn’t make a move. He just stared at me for a long time, and his eyes, expressive and warm, told me he couldn’t have had anything to do with the plot to kill me.

I pressed the palm of my hand against my warm cheek.

“Tell me about your chocolate shop,” he said.