“Ah, you’re awake!” she beams, and it’s like the sun just walked into the room. “I thought you might be hungry after your adventure.”
My stomach growls so loud it’s embarrassing.
“Starving actually. Thank you.”
She sets the tray on the table by the window. Enchiladas, rice, beans, and a slice of flan.
“I figured you’d be busy unpacking, so I brought dinner to you.”
I drop into the chair, mouth already watering and preparing to devour my meal embarrassingly fast.
“It looks amazing.”
“Eat, eat,” she urges, and I don’t need to be told twice. The first bite is heaven, making me moan out loud. Between bites, I find my nerve to ask the question lingering on my mind.
“Who brought me in? I fell asleep in the garden.”
Pita’s hands still, just for a second before she responds. It’s as if she has to think about her answer before she speaks which I find very strange.
“Frankie,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes. “He found you when the sun was going down. Worried you might get too cold.”
My heart skips a beat for a second as I try to picture the tattooed, scowling man carrying me with anything like care. It doesn’t compute.
“What’s his deal, anyway?” I press, watching her. “Why is he so…intense?”
Her face shuts down, fast. “Frankie is…he’s complicated. He has his reasons.”
“For being an asshole?”
The look on her face is priceless. She looks scandalized, but doesn’t scold me like I’m a child either. I find myself noticing how much I’ve liked the fact that this woman has treated me like an adult…an equal even.
“For being careful. For keeping his distance.”
I want to dig, but her expression says don’t. Fine. Change of subject it is. I’ll get more answers eventually.
“What’s Arizona like?” I ask, nodding at the window where the last light is fading. “The real Arizona. Not just malls and mansions.”
She looks relieved at my quick change of subject, an immediate smile blooming across her face.
“Beautiful, in its own way. Not like Italy exactly, but still beautiful. The desert teaches you to find beauty in harsh places.”
“And the people?”
“Direct. Honest…mostly. Not as formal as Europeans, I think.” She smooths her apron, stalling. “Some good, some bad. Like anywhere.”
‘What secrets is this woman hiding?’
I can see them stirring in her eyes but it seems she’s locked up tight as a vault. I push my plate away, my appetite suddenly gone.
“When will I get to see it for myself? Besides supervised shopping trips.”
Pita sighs heavily like she was expecting the conversation to turn this direction.
“That’s…complicated, mija.”
“Everything here is complicated,” I mutter.
“Rio has his reasons for the security,” she says carefully. “He wouldn’t restrict your movements without good cause.”
