“I guess for a moment I considered that,” he admitted. “But I can’t deny that there is chemistry between us, an affinity. You must feel it, too.”

“There was chemistry before I knew who you really were,” I said.

“But you lied to me, too, and I overlooked that.”

“Because it was convenient for you.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “No, it’s not convenient to be involved with two sisters, or to have all these feelings and not knowing what to do with them.”

Catalina came into the room.

“Don Cristóbal.” She was still in her robe. “Are you all right? Julia just told me what happened to you.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You shouldn’t be here, in this cramped room.” She turned to Martin. “Don Martin, let’s take him to his bedroom.”

“I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything.” I set my feet on the floor. “And I don’t need a doctor, either.”

With that, I let myself out of the room while everything I thought I knew about my father, about my future on this plantation, about my feelings for Martin collapsed.

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 40

I slept all morning and woke up at two o’clock in the afternoon. After the blow to my head, I needed the rest. I looked around the room, disoriented. Still in my clothes. I recalled hearing Julia’s voice, a couple of hours ago, knocking on the door incessantly, saying something about the doctor. But I didn’t open. I didn’t want to see any doctors. All I wanted was to sleep—I hadn’t slept this much in weeks. There was something else bothering me, though, something in the back of my mind. A concern. Something I had to remember. What was it? Had I dreamt it?

My head throbbed. There was a bump on the crown of my head.

Slowly, I got out of bed. I was hungry. Thirsty. Maybe if I ate something, I would feel better, maybe even remember this detail, this idea that tormented me. I checked my beard to make sure it was still in place and donned my spectacles from the night table.

The house was quiet.

Holding on to the banister, I descended the staircase and headed toward the kitchen. There were subdued voices in the parlor.

“I think he’s up,” someone said. A man. Was that Laurent? Martin? No, it sounded more like Alberto. What was he doing here?

Angélica, with that charming smile of hers, came out of the room and met me in the hallway. It was hard to reconcile this image of pleasantry and confidence with the devastated woman I’d encountered in the kitchen the previous night.

“Don Cristóbal, how are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.” I hesitated to take another step.

“Would you come in for a minute? We’ve been waiting for you.”