When the door flew open, I’d just managed to attach the beard to my chin, but I had to hold on to it with my hand so it wouldn’t fall off. I was sitting in the chair where my clothes had been with my legs crossed, my spectacles crooked, and my hand on my chin.

“Don Cristóbal! What are you doing here?”

She stopped sharply by the door. Her eyes taking in the scene in front of her. The bed was still unmade, the breakfast unfinished on the night table, her sister’s husband holding on to his chin as though it might fall.

“Good morning,” I mumbled. “Don Martin was kind enough to let me spend the night here. I’m in horrible pain, you see, I think it’s my molar.”

I only wished she wouldn’t ask to see it.

“Yes,” Martin said promptly. I wouldn’t look him in the eye. “We left the party because Don Cristóbal could barely handle the pain in his mouth, but he didn’t want to ruin your evening, Doña Angélica. Hard as we tried, we couldn’t find a single doctor to help him, so we just came here so he could rest.”

I couldn’t bear the sight of him. He was so good at lying. It had come so easy to follow my lead.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Don Cristóbal.” Her breathing had slowed down, but her cheeks were still red. “I can arrange for Laurent to take you to the doctor today. I’ll have him come over immediately to pick you up.” Then, adjusting the sleeves of her sheer overblouse, she turned to Martin. “I wish you would’ve told me right away that Don Cristóbal was here.”

“I tried,” he said between clenched teeth.

“There’s no need for anybody to bother taking me. I can walk to town,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment while I finish getting ready, I’ll be on my way.”

“Of course.” Angélica walked out of the room. Martin raised his finger, as though asking me to stay, but I avoided his face and put on my jacket.

* * *

I somehow managed to attach the facial hair and swiftly left the room. Angélica was already climbing on her horse. Martin was telling her something, and she was nodding. I circled the house so neither one of them would see me leave, and I then I hastened down the road in the direction of Vinces.

There was an unbearable pressure in my chest that my hand couldn’t soothe.

I didn’t want to talk to Martin, and I certainly didn’t want to go back to the hacienda. I just wanted to be alone and think about what I’d just learned.

Martin and Angélica were lovers. It had been obvious.