“Ay, Carolina. Do not cry,” Mamá said. “Lalo is fine. Perfectly handsome and odd as ever.” She winked and pinched his cloak.
Lalo cleared his throat. “I want to thank you, Señora Fuentes, for raising the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”
“Oh,” Mamá whispered. “That is so sweet of you to say.”
“I mean it. You and Señor Fuentes should be so proud.”
Mamá’s chin wobbled. “We are.”
Carolina turned her head from her mamá and wiped her cheek. “We really should get going,” she said before life got trickier than it already was. “We’re going to bring tequila to Jorge. We might go for paletas after. So we won’t be back for some time.”
Pretending as if her world wasn’t imploding was exhausting. What if she never saw her mamá’s face again? Carolina tried her best to memorize every angle and freckle. Every laugh line at the corner of Mamá’s eyes.
Mamá sighed. “To be young and in love again.” She smiled, waving her hand at them. “Off you go.”
Mamá kissed Carolina and shuffled by, taking Carolina’s aching heart with her.
I love you,she wanted to say.Even when I was cross, or getting in trouble, or having to do a million chores. There wasn’t a moment I didn’t love you, Amá.
“How do we do this?” Lalo whispered. “How do we leave our loved ones behind?”
“I will not judge you if you stay here,” Carolina said softly.
She was done judging. Here she was, hating Lalo with anunrivaled fierceness because he was something she thought she despised. When all along he should hate her family for cursing him.
“I can go on without you. This is my family’s debt to undo.”
“You think my fighting skills are that poor?” He raised his brow.
“We did only manage one training session.”
“Two, actually. Though that first lesson in your abuelo’s room probably didn’t count. You spent most of the time punching me into oblivion.” He smiled. “Nonetheless, I will not leave your side.”
This time, Lalo took charge. He tucked his head in as they left the foyer, walked outside, and the sun’s rays washed over them.
Lalo opened the coach door. He held Carolina’s hand and guided her in first, even though the sun must have been beating down upon his shoulders. When she was seated, he removed his sombrero and slipped into the coach, placing himself as far as possible from any leaks of sunlight.
“Here,” Carolina said, shifting beside him to block most of the sun. “Is that better?”
Lalo gave a curt nod. “Much. Thank you.”
The coach lurched forward, and they bumped down the cobbled road.
“Where are the supplies you gathered?” he asked.
“Under the carriage.” She smirked. “And hidden in my skirts. We will stop at Jorge’s home first. He lives with his wife just outside the main square. He has a shed in the back with ample weapons. No one will notice if I take a revolver or two.”
Lalo’s throat bobbed.
“Are you nervous?” She scooted closer. He grew tenser.
“Exceedingly so.”
“When I am anxious, I like to learn how to do something.” She reached down and tugged her skirts up, pulling out one of the lover’s daggers, the very tool Alma had used to call Tecuani from the Land of the Dead. She took his hand and placed the hilt in his palm. “To end Vidal, you can either slash”—she moved his hand in a slicing motion—“or you can stab.” She thrust his hand forward. “But here…” She took his hand and pressed the blade to her chest, to the small space just between the ribs where her heart was beating like the horses’ hooves outside. “This is the kill spot for your kind. For mine too, I suppose.”
Lalo was still. His eyes remained focused on where the blade touched the exposed skin just above her bodice.
“If I cannot complete the kill,” she said, “you must aim for this very spot.”
