"Did that hurt?" asked Pablo. His head jerked up when he felt me wince in pain.

"Just a bit."

"I'm so sorry," he spluttered. "But we really need to disinfect it. The Doctor said we should have changed the bandage yesterday, right after you fell into the pool."

"I didn't fall, Juan and his friend threw me," I muttered.

Pablo was kneeling in front of me, gently dabbing the cut on my arm with a piece of gauze. I was sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the bathtub, and every time I wiggled to try and adjust my buttcheeks, he would let out a frustrated sigh.

"Stop moving," he said. "I don't want to mess it up."

"Sorry."

"It's healing nicely, though," he whispered as his finger hovered over the stitches. "Have you been taking your antibiotics?"

"Yes, and all the other medication," I answered.

"You're a terrible liar," he tutted, as he began to wrap a new bandage around my arm.

"I'm not lying," I gulped.

"Then it's been raining pills in a small area of the garden, right outside your window. Hallelujah."

His eyes met my guilty gaze, and he gave me a sorry smile.

"I'm not angry," he added. "I know it's my fault."

"I did take the antibiotics, though," I mumbled. "Mafer made sure of it."

"Who's Mafer?" he asked.

"Are you just saying that to annoy me?"

For a second, I could have sworn I saw a cheeky smile across his face, but he turned his head down to leave a kiss on my clean bandage.

"There, all done," he said. "And now the most important part: Sana, sana, culito de rana."

"Culito?" I snorted. "I thought it was colita."

Ana's mom used to say it to me when she'd put bandaids on two-day-old scrapes and cuts my own mother had neglected to take care of. Heal, heal, frog's little tail, was the way Ana translated it to me. It had no meaning, it was just magic, was what she used to say – but more often than not, it took the pain away.

"My Mom always said culito," he shrugged.

"Oh," I giggled. "I guess expressions just change over the centuries."

Pablo chortled as he stood up and dusted off his knees.

"Ready?" he asked. "We're going horse riding."

"Horse riding? In a nightie? I don't have any horse riding clothes."

Pablo glared at the two-inch thick layer of multicolored fabric that had spilled out of the shopping bags and onto my bedroom floor.

"You bought all of this, and you don't have anything to wear? Come on, there has to be a pair of jeans in here, or something."

We both sat down on the floor, and began sorting through the clothes. I decided to make a few piles: underwear here, tops there, pants on my left and pretty dresses on my right.

Meanwhile, Pablo started to classify clothes by color. I noticed that he was putting anything that was either white or yellow on one side, and everything else on another pile. He smiled as he set his eyes on a familiar print of golden flowers, but his lips turned down into a disappointed pout when he held up the sundress I'd worn at the pool. He threw it on top of the pile of clothes and sighed.

"What are you looking for?" I asked with a sly grin.

"Nothing," he lied. "Just horse riding clothes."

"I think it's in this bag," I chuckled as I leaned over, and pulled out the shirt I had bought for him. "Andrea told you about it, didn't she?"

His eyes lit up, and he blushed a little. His arms stretched out, like a kid reaching for a new toy, and he admired the shirt for a while.

"You're so cute, Gordita," he whispered. "You know, no one ever buys me anything."

"Well, I bought it with your money, so–"

"It's not about the money, it's about the thought," he murmured.

I don't know if I expected more than the tender look we shared. I don't know if I wanted more. Perhaps a forehead kiss, a side hug, or a simple 'thank you'. Perhaps the marveled spark in Pablo's eyes was good enough of a reward.

"I'll put this in a safe place," he said as he neatly folded the shirt as if it was the most precious thing in the world. "Oh, and those leggings right there should be fine for horse riding. With those boots. And whichever top you want to wear."

As I picked up the clothes and walked into the bathroom to get changed, my heart sank a little in my chest.

Today, Pablo cared for me, and craved my affection. His sweet smile, cute dimples and blushing cheeks would make me think we were in love. Yet, tomorrow and forever, he'd still be standing between me and my freedom. He could drug me, hurt me, maybe even kill me, and I'd let him do it as I watched on with loving eyes. 

~

We walked hand in hand through the garden, basking in peaceful silence as we walked towards the stables. The warm sun kissed my skin, as butterflies fluttered over the colorful flowers around us, just as they did in my stomach every time Pablo's gaze crossed mine. For a short while, everything seemed fine.

"Have you ever been horse riding?" he asked.

"I went to pony camp once," I shrugged. "My mom sent me there with Ana the summer after my Dad passed away."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah, it was fun." I smiled. "My pony was called Sandal, and I learned how to trot. We also made a friend there, I think her name was Lisa, and we pretended we were the Saddle Club."

"What's the Saddle Club?"

"Some kid's show about horses."

"Did you canter?" he asked.

"No, I was too scared," I giggled. "Ana cantered, though, and she said it was really cool."

"I can teach you," he suggested. "I'm a good teacher."

"That would be nice," I said with a grin, and his hand wrapped a little tighter around mine.

We finally got to the stables, and I could feel Pablo's excitement speak through his hastened steps. It was a calm, peaceful place, with a long dusty alley bordered by palm trees, pink azaleas and tall birds of paradise. On one side of the alley was a large sandy arena, and on the other, a strip of clean stalls from which pretty horses peeked their heads out.

"This lovely girl is Damita," he said as he walked over to rub the nose of a white mare with kind eyes. "She's a bit slow, but she's very sweet, I think she'd be perfect for–"

"Pablo!" shouted a voice in the distance.

A tall, black horse with a curly mane trotted towards us. Pablo's fingers slowly let go of mine. The dust settled under the horse's hooves, and I recognized his rider as the one and only Juan Sandoval.

"You're late," he complained as he tapped the shiny watch on his wrist. "I woke up super early for my lesson and now I've been waiting for you for like, an hour and a half."

"Fuck," muttered Pablo. "I forgot about that."

"Hey there Emily Smith," said Juan. "Why am I not surprised you're the reason he stood me up?"

Pablo turned to me with sorry eyes, and I shrugged with a bitter smile.

"It's okay," I whispered. "Go on. I'm not busy, I can wait."

"Neglecting your own godson just for a quick morning fuck," tutted Juan. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Pablo."

"Are you guys warmed up?" asked Pablo, as he gently patted the black horse's neck.

"Yeah, at this point, we're sizzling hot," he laughed and gave me a cringe-inducing wink.

"Great," Pablo mumbled. "Emilia, you can sit over there with me, if you want to watch."

I sighed, and followed in their steps as they headed to the arena. I sat down on a bench, two feet away from a sleeping barn cat, and Pablo stayed by my side, leaning against the wooden fence as we watched Juan canter.

"No Juan, you're going too fast," he shouted. "Gather your reins and control your speed. Stop trying to impress the ladies."

The horse began to fuss as they ran towards an obstacle in the middle of the arena. At the last moment, the horse refused to jump, and dashed around the wooden hurdle, almost knocking Juan off of his back.

"Watch where you're going you dumb motherfucker!" screamed Pablo. "That was terrible. Try again."

"I thought you were a good teacher," I snickered, low enough for only Pablo to hear.

"He's usually much better," he groaned. "I don't know why he's so distracted this morning."

Juan growled in frustration, and kept cantering in a small circle.

"Your reins need to be shorter," instructed Pablo. "No, not that short. Make him lower his damn head, Juan, you're not riding into battle. You're on the wrong foot, too. Engage the hindquarters and straighten your back. You look like a fucking toad. And keep your heels down. Fuck, Juan, I've seen toddlers with better posture. Concentrate on what you're doing, this looks awful."

"You're very severe," I said.

"Eh, I'll be nicer to you," he shrugged. "Juan needs some pushing around, or he doesn't listen. He's as hard-headed as his Dad."

Juan gave a second attempt at jumping the obstacle. This time, the horse balked. Juan flew out of the saddle and landed face down in the sand on the other side of the poles.

"The point is to get the horse to jump with you, you fucking idiot!" yelled Pablo. "You need to do better. You're embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend, right now."

Juan caught his horse and limped over towards us. I found it hard to contain my mocking smile.

"You know what? Run a lap around the arena. Without the horse. Maybe that'll help you focus," snapped Pablo.

"What? Run a lap?" retorted Juan as he shot me with a deadly glare. "Pablo, is this payback for pushing Emilia in the pool?"

"No, Emilia doesn't need me for that. She got her own revenge when she pulled you in with her," he answered. "Come on. You had an hour and a half to warm up, you should be doing much better than this. Make it three laps, for complaining."

"Three laps?" cried Juan, "But–"

"Five laps!" I joined in.

"Yes! Five laps," sneered Pablo. "Thank you, Emilia."

Juan huffed and began to run. By the time he finished his first lap, his forehead was already glistening with sweat.

"Don't tell him, but this is a bit about last night," Pablo chortled, turning to me as he gently scratched the horse's forehead.

I smiled, and relished in watching Juan suffer as he continued to jog in the sweltering heat. Pablo's phone rang – a work call, probably – and he picked it up. I paid no mind to it, until he turned around to face me.

"Gordita, what's this all about?" he hissed as he hung up the call.

"What?" I answered.

It was as if a dark cloud had passed over us. Suddenly, his face looked drawn, its lines seemed deeper, and the tone of his voice had turned dry and colder. It seemed like I had done something terribly wrong – although I had no idea what.

"Why is Gustavo calling you in for a security briefing? What have you done?"

"Ooh, you're in trouble," chimed an out-of-breath Juan as he stumbled over to us. "What's the matter?"

"What– no," I stuttered. "I didn't do anything. What's a security briefing?"

"You breached a security protocol, so Gustavo's going to bother you with a half-hour lecture on everything you did wrong and why you shouldn't do it again. No big deal. Have you ever played Animal Crossing? Gustavo is basically Resetti the mole except-"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" snapped Pablo. "Juan– this is none of your business. Get back on your horse."

"Animal Crossing?" I stammered, feeling just as confused as I felt afraid.

My heart began to race, and my forehead started to hurt with how much I was frowning. Cold sweats ran down the back of my neck as I found myself in the path of Pablo's rageful glare.

"Is there anything I need to know?" he muttered.

"I really don't know, Pablo," I stuttered. "Maybe– do you think it's because of the drinks?"

"Bullshit," he hissed. "Gustavo wouldn't call a security briefing for some fucking drinks."

"Then what did I do?"

"I don't know," he seethed. "I guess we'll go find out."

He climbed over the fence and grabbed me by the wrist. As he stomped out of the stables, dragging me in his wake, he shouted at Juan:

"I'll be back in a minute. You better have your shit together when I'm done with this."

"Adios, Emily Smith," answered Juan as he mockingly waved me goodbye. "It was nice knowing you."

"Pablo, slow down, you're hurting me," I complained, stumbling behind him as he painfully pulled me by the arm.

"Shut up," he barked. "Unless you're going to tell me what you did. This could fucking ruin me, Gordita."

"I have no idea what this is about, Pablo, I swear to God I–"

"Did you try to escape again?" he hissed.

His face was distorted with rage, and it almost seemed he was foaming at the mouth. He wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, and I flinched at each of his violent movements.

Breathe in, count to four, breathe out. By the time we got to the door of the office where Gustavo was waiting for us, I was about to faint again. Pablo slowed down his pace, let go of my arm, and put on an eerily calm face.

"Hey, Gustavo," he said as he walked into the room. "What's the problem?"

"Hi Pablo," he answered, as he arranged piles of papers on his desk. "Why the rush? There's no problem."

"Why did you want to see Emilia?" Pablo frowned, as he stared back and forth between me and Gustavo.

"She said she had questions," he shrugged. "I thought it would be best to answer them in private."

"Questions?" asked Pablo.

"Close the door, Emilia," Gustavo told me, and I obliged. "Yes, Pablo, questions. You might have noticed that your girlfriend is quite smart, and, just like I said she would, it only took her a few minutes to figure out who I was. She told me she had questions and doubts, and I think she deserves some answers. Don't you?"

"Yeah," Pablo breathed. He let out a sigh, although I couldn't pinpoint whether it was out of relief, or regret for the anger he had directed at me. "Sure."

"You can stay with us, if you don't trust me," Gustavo shrugged.

"No, I trust you," said Pablo. Although he was talking to Gustavo, he was staring right at me. "I'll leave you guys alone. Gordita, when you're done, I'll be at the stables."

"What will you tell Juan?" I asked him.

"I'll say you tripped off an alarm or something. Don't worry about him," he replied. He saluted both me and Gustavo with a polite nod, and left without another word.

I stood alone in a dark corner of Gustavo's office, rubbing my sore arm and breathing in the still air, which smelled strongly of tannins and tobacco. Flecks of dust danced in the few rays of sunlight that filtered through the louver curtains by the windows. It was far from the bling of the rest of the house. Its only decorations were a fringed lampshade on the desk, a couple of potted plants and an old Persian carpet stretched across the wooden floor.

"Please sit, Emilia," said Gustavo as he gestured towards a leather armchair in front of his imposing mahogany desk. "Can I get you a glass of water or something? You look a little flustered."

"Yes please," I whispered as I sat down. "Thank you."

"What makes you so nervous?" he asked as he filled up a glass at the water cooler that hummed quietly in a corner of the room.

"What doesn't make me nervous?" I scoffed, as my eyes scanned the walls of the office. From the floor to the high ceiling, from the heavy door to the windows behind Gustavo, they were covered in shelves that overflowed with disorganized files and half-shut drawers.

"What about Pablo? He seemed very upset. What happened?" Gustavo cocked his head to the side as he settled the cold glass of water in front of me, and settled down in the office chair opposite me.

"I thought I was the one who was supposed to be asking the questions," I blurted out, in a tone that came off a little drier than I had intended.

"Sorry," chortled Gustavo as he lit up a cigar. "I'm not used to this. Usually, I'm the one doing the interrogating. Go ahead, how may I help you?"

"I didn't really prepare anything," I mumbled. "You could have at least given me a heads-up about the meeting."

"Don't worry, take your time," he said softly. "Is the smoke bothering you?"

"No, it's okay."

"You need to tell me, or I'll assume it's my body odor that's making you pull those faces. Is it?" he chuckled. "Ah, look at me asking questions again. It's truly an occupational hazard, isn't it? Anyways, please don't hesitate to ask anything. We're in total confidence here."

"Alright, then, why me?" I began, once I had had time to gather my racing thoughts. "I mean, why did you choose to kidnap me and my friends?"

"It was bad luck, really," he answered calmly. "They must have heard your accent. We target Americans because they have more money, and because the US has no jurisdiction here, so it makes it more complicated for them to come and retrieve you. Gives us more time to cash in the ransom and release the hostages before they're able to trace it back to us. Well, in your friends' case, at least."

"Do you think they might come looking for me?" I asked, and bit my lip. Maybe I had sounded too eager, too hopeful, and letting him in on my dreams for escape probably wasn't a great idea.

"How do I say this," he mumbled, burying his chin in the palm of his hand as he thought. "Searches for missing Americans in foreign countries are usually encouraged, if not led, by the victim's family."

A quiet Oh escaped my lips, as I told myself the words left unsaid by Gustavo – 'and you don't have a family'.

My mind went to my Mother. Who was doing her shopping, cooking and cleaning now that I was gone? Maybe she would starve to Death. Maybe she had started to eat those cans of beans at the back of the pantry, the ones that probably expired back in 2007. Maybe she didn't even notice I wasn't there.

Sometimes she argued with the walls and called them Sarah. Sometimes, I'd stand in front of her and she'd look right through me. Sometimes, she'd pretend like I never even existed. Searching for her missing, thought-to-be-dead daughter would hardly ever be one of her priorities.

"How are my friends doing?" I asked, coughing a little to stop my voice from falling apart.

"No idea," he shrugged. "Perhaps they're in therapy, perhaps they're planning a Ted Talk. I don't know. I don't usually stalk them once they've gone home."

I scoffed as I pictured Kaitlyn speaking to a crowd, gloating about how she heroically attempted to escape, slammed face-first into a door, and got her friend's friend killed. June would probably tell the tales of how rude the kidnappers were, calling her ginger when she's clearly strawberry blonde.

"What would you have done?" he asked, taking a puff from his cigar. "You know, hypothetically."

The girl I was in my maladaptive daydreams would have probably gone for the TED talks, the TV interviews, the storytelling and the stardom. The person I was in reality would have definitely needed therapy.

Now that I thought of it, I hadn't daydreamed in a while. I didn't really need it. The reality I was living was wilder than any scenario I could have imagined. The present was a big enough weight on my mind, that I didn't have the time to think of my future. I answered Gustavo's question with nothing more than a shrug.

"Not very talkative, are you," he groaned. "Pablo did say you could be quite defensive. But don't worry, Emilia. We're on the same side, you and I. We're friends now, alright?"

"What else did Pablo say about me?" I asked.

"He told us about your life back in the US. Everything you told him."

"He did?" I frowned.

"Well, none of us really understood why you were being so cooperative," he shrugged. "Now we do. I guess it must seem like quite an improvement, for you, to be living here."

I raised an eyebrow at his delusional statement. Whether living in fear rather than depression, and in captivity rather than poverty, was an improvement was debatable.

"Yeah, quite an improvement," I muttered sarcastically. "Would you say I'm safe here?"

Gustavo opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself before he did. He sighed, smiled, and took a moment to think out his words, and finally answered:

"We're here to make sure you are."

"So I'm not safe."

"For the time being, you're not in danger," he said. "But I'm going to be honest with you. No one is ever one-hundred percent safe. Especially not you, especially not here. You're a pretty girl, and as Pablo's girlfriend, you do hold a certain... importance. Power, even. People might use you, might take advantage of you... I don't think I need to dive into the details, do I?"

He gave me a second to let me shake my head no, and continued.

"But we have security for that, and Pablo gave you his best bodyguard. Plus, you seem smart. I trust you'll be fine. But then, of course, as Pablo may have told you, if anyone finds out who you are and why you're here, then we're all fucked. And there'll be no one left to protect you."

I gulped, and he nodded silently.

"Do you think anyone is doubting my identity?" I asked, and his nose scrunched up.

"Unfortunately, a few people do already. One person in particular has been quite loud about it."

"Juan Sandoval?"

"Bingo," Gustavo said with an uncomfortable grin.

"What is he saying?" I muttered, nervously biting off the dead skin on my bottom lip.

"According to Pablo, he doesn't believe you're Hungarian," he chortled.

"I'm not surprised," I answered. "I don't even speak the language. It's kind of hard to be convincing."

"I don't blame you," he mumbled. "He's also asked me to give you a background check."

"That's a good thing," I said.

"Not really," he mumbled, eyeing a folder on his desk that had my name written on it. "You've only existed for, what, ten days? Your file is paper-thin. We're going to need much more material to make your backstory convincing."

"No, it's great," I whispered, as my eyes trailed off in the distance. "He doesn't think I've been kidnapped. If he told Pablo, and asked you for a background check, that means he's on the wrong track."

Gustavo arched an eyebrow and smiled. He pointed at me with the burning point of his cigar, and smirked.

"That's a good observation. You are very clever."

I took a deep breath, and a few seconds to think. My fingers slowly tapped the edge of the mahogany desk, caressed a few sheets of paper filled with information I didn't understand. And then, through the thick cloud of cigar smoke that grew between me and Gustavo, I saw it – a glint of hope, a bright idea.

"I need you to do me a favor, Gustavo," I breathed as I looked up at him. "Tell Juan the background check was inconclusive. "

"No, Emilia, that would just make things worse," he grumbled, the expression on his face faltering between frustration and confusion. "If anyone has any doubts we–"

"Trust me, Gustavo," I whispered with a grin. "I have a plan."