The night is even more amazing than the afternoon. The restaurant Miguel takes me to has a private dining terrace just for us and the cook prepares a special meal of anything we like. Since I don't really know much about South American cuisine, I go with Miguel's suggestions. The steak is soft, like butter, with just the right amount of garlic, cooked medium rare the way I like it, and melts on my tongue. Miguel keeps the red wine flowing; by the time I finish dessert, I'm tipsy and have a hiccup.

Stumbling down the path to the Jeep, I lean into him. Giggles bubble out of me until my breath fails me. It makes Miguel laugh. Everything jumps at me through a fuzzy fog and the swishing blood in my ears echoes hollowly in my head. The Jeep starts to roll and the world swims out of focus; then everything turns black. When I awake in the morning, I have no idea how I got back to my room. My mouth and tongue are laced with a foul taste. The pain in my head is even worse, my brain ready to explode at any second.

To my surprise, Miguel has taken up camp in Raine's old bed. He looks distressed as he fights with the blanket in his sleep, his torso covered in sweat. I lower myself next to him and stroke his shoulder. He wakes up with a startle. For a moment, he blinks at me with distant eyes before his gaze becomes more focused.

"Bad dream?" I try not to speak in his direction because of possible morning breath.

He smooths his tousled hair with his fingertips, his gaze avoiding mine. "I'm used to it." Jumping out of bed, he pulls his shirt over his head.

I briefly catch sight of his scars. "What happened to your back?"

He clenches his jaw so tightly I'm afraid it will break but still manages to force a smile on his lips. "It's nothing." When I frown, he catches my hands and pulls them to his lips. "It was a long time ago and I don't like to talk about it."

Fair enough. The source of those scars must be a horrific memory, and I'm not eager to start off the day on the wrong foot.

He glances at the clock hanging above the door. "We should get some breakfast."

My stomach is tight and I'm nauseous, the thought of food almost making me gag. "I think I had too much to drink last night."

"Yeah, I guess that last bottle was a little much. I don't feel so hot myself." His smile is a little sheepish. "The cook up at the mansion makes a killer hangover breakfast. We should go there."

I like the idea. When I first arrived, the mansion had fascinated me, and I wouldn't mind exploring it some more. Maybe we could even use the pool. "Should I bring my bathing suit?"

"Not today. I have some business up in the mountains and want to show you the countryside. Maybe we can stop by my nana's."

"Your nana?"

"My grandma." He gives me a playful smack on my behind. "Get ready and don't forget your sunscreen lotion. Otherwise, you'll burn up in the mountains."

I'm looking forward to the day and slip into shorts and a tank top, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. My bathroom break takes less than ten minutes, mostly to brush my teeth and get the nasty taste of alcohol out of my mouth. When I get back to my room, Miguel is on the phone, his forehead wrinkled in tension as he yells something into the receiver.

He meets my gaze and his face smooths, his lips curving to his usual pearly white smile. His voice drops by a few decibels and he finishes the conversation with a quick spate of Spanish words.

"Let's go." He stretches out his hand and I only hesitate for a second before our fingers intertwine. Hand in hand, we walk through the compound. I keep my chin up, determined not to let the stares rattle me. I'm not doing anything wrong. Miguel is my friend and nothing more, even though my heartbeat accelerates every time I look at him. He's so different from Felipe, much more mature and grounded. In a way, his strength reminds me of my dad. The calmness and authority oozing from him are like a protective layer.

The drive takes us through the mountains. I enjoy the cool, crisp wind tearing at my hair in the open Jeep, and my nausea and headache ease with every breath. When we get to the mansion, Miguel ushers me through the side door directly into the kitchen. Coffee is waiting for us and the aroma of bacon teases my nostrils. Even though the queasy feeling returns with the scent, I force a few bites down. To my surprise, the nausea ceases.

"Grease is the best weapon for hangovers. It sucks the leftover alcohol right up." Judging from the grin on Miguel's face, he has a lot of experience.

As he asks the cook for a second helping, I nibble on my toast. I still haven't figured out how old he is, but the beginning crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes suggest that he must be at least ten years older than me. My parents would freak if I brought him home.

His jaw is square, just like Felipe's, and certain other similarities show in their features. His eyelashes are not as long and curvy, giving him a more masculine look; his brows, on the other hand, are more bushy. It adds a certain toughness. If I met him on the street without knowing him, I wouldn't want to mess with him. While this would've bothered me just a few days ago, I find his roughness around the edges attractive. A man needs to be able to stand up for his girlfriend.

Our eyes meet and I smile, just to drop my gaze in horror as my cheeks begin to heat.

What am I doing?

I shouldn't have these thoughts. He's only nice to me because of the disaster with Felipe.

A man enters the kitchen just as Miguel is about to stuff a large portion of eggs and bacon into his mouth. His fork freezes midair. The man's hard eyes inspect me from top to bottom and I'm graced with a thin smile.

"Is this the American girl?" A slight accent in his English laces the words.

Miguel's fork is still halted midair. "Yes. This is Stacy." For a beat, his gaze flicks to me. "Stacy, this is my father. President Santino Rizo."

The same dazzling smile as Miguel's spreads briefly on Santino's lips, though it doesn't hit his eyes and looks fake. In that moment, he reminds me of the typical politician. A sudden chill hangs in the air as he looks me over without the slightest hint of emotion; on second thought, he's downright scary.

He pours himself a coffee, his focus turning to his son. "What are your plans for today?"

"I have to check on something at the factory and then we might visit Nana." Miguel reaches around me to pass his father the milk.

Santino frowns. "You're taking Stacy to the factory?"

Miguel doesn't answer and he switches to Spanish, his tone belittling. I try to pick up a few words, but he speaks fast without taking much time to breathe.

When he is done, Miguel just glares at him. "Note preocupes. Tengo todo bajo control."  He shoves the fork with the bacon and eggs into his mouth.

For a moment, Santino's gaze rests on his son before he gives me another one of his creepy smiles. "I hope so, Miguel. Otherwise, there will be consequences."

Miguel's brows knit together, but he doesn't argue. Santino leaves the kitchen without another glance at me and I let out a small sigh.

"It takes some time to warm up to my dad. He can be difficult."

"I guess it runs in the family."

The fork halts midair to his mouth again and he stares at me with a puckered brow.

My smile is crooked. "Remember, my first day?"

"Oh, that." He shifts in his seat. "I'm sorry. I had a really bad day and Felipe caught me in the wrong moment." When he leans in to whisper in my ear, his breath fans my neck. "I hope you're giving me a second chance."

Even though I've always tended to judge people on first impressions, I could never hold this against him. Not after he saved me. "I'll be forever in your debt." Captured by the warmth in his eyes, I edge closer. Our lips are only inches apart and it wouldn't take much to lean in for a kiss.

Don't!

Miguel is only a friend.

"We should get going." His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat as he jumps to his feet.

Should I ask about the plane?

Since his father has obviously returned from his trip, I could insist on going home, but then decide against it. Miguel would have mentioned it if it weren't a hassle, and I don't want to be the cause of an argument between them. Even after only observing them for a few minutes, I can already tell that they don't have the best of relationships.

The air has warmed up; as the Jeep picks up speed, I indulge in the soft breeze that caresses my skin. We pass the checkpoint and head higher into the mountains, taking a different turn at the fork to the orphanage. The road is narrow and steep, leading us right along a tall rock wall. Even when I bend my head all the way back, I can't see the top. The sky is so blue it stings my eyes. With a sigh, I nestle in my seat, fully captured by the peace and the serenity of nature's beauty. Moments later, the forest swallows us up, the flowery scent in the air replaced by a heavier trace of moisture and moss.

Driving along under an umbrella of leaning trees, Miguel tosses me a playful smile. "Are you cold?"

"Not really."

"I love seeing you so relaxed. This part of the country is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah. You're lucky there's so little industry in Malaguay. In Indiana, we have much more pollution and everything is flat. We do have the lake, but that's farther away from where I live."

"It comes at a price. Little industry means dependency on other nations and nothing in this world is free. My father has done a lot of good for the people, but it's tough going. Especially the Americans have given us a lot of grief." He glances at me. "No offense, but your foreign policy is nothing more than imposing your will on weaker nations."

I grimace. Just as with Felipe, I don't really have a response. US foreign policy wasn't something I ever paid attention to, and when my parents voted, they were only interested in the candidates' Christian values and whether or not they were pro-life. We never discussed any other political themes at the dinner table.

He must have sensed my uneasiness and squeezes my shoulder. "Don't get me wrong, Stacy. I'm not blaming you in any way. There's a huge difference between the citizens of a country and their leaders. Most of the time, you have no influence over what is going on and you might even disapprove."

I mumble, "I agree" under my breath, distracted when he plays with the tips of my ponytail. Though his arm around my shoulders should probably bother me, it feels nice. His laugh is contagious as he rides over a few bumps that tickle my stomach just before the forest opens up again to larger fields. Little green plants spread for miles across a valley.

I point at them. "What are these?"

"Coca plants."

"Oh. Don't you make cocaine from those?" Narcotics have become a hug pandemic in the US with producers and dealers being the root of the problem.

"That's illegal under the UN convention. Malaguay mostly supplies the cosmetic and food industries. There are loads of products made from coca leaves other than drugs."

I can think of cola products, and there are probably hundreds of other things that use the ingredient in their production. Once I get home, I should research this; it's ignorant to automatically assume that he could be involved in criminal activities and I'm certainly no expert. The small Christian charter school I went to was not big on drug awareness since that was never an issue with the kids from our church.

The factory is nothing more than a huge warehouse at the edge of one of the fields and sits almost abandoned in the sweltering sun. Sheet metal and no windows must have the workers boiling in there. Hopefully, they at least have air-conditioning.

"Do you mind waiting here? This won't take more than a few minutes."

Before I have a chance to reply, Miguel jumps out of the Jeep and disappears into the building. Wiggling in my seat, I get into the most comfortable position and close my eyes. The buzzing in the air works like a lullaby. A few times, my chin drops forward just when I'm about to doze off.

At some point, my exhaustion must have won the battle; the tickling sensation of hair in my nose awakes me with a startle. I rub my eyes to find Miguel leaning over me, teasing me with the tips of my ponytail.

"Wake up, sleepy head." His eyes sparkle like those of a small, mischievous boy. "Time to leave."

I glance around, but the whole place is still deserted. "What happened?

"Nothing. Two guys were found to have been working with the rebels, so I had to take care of that. It happens sometimes." He grabs the sunscreen from the bag I had tossed into the back, squirting some lotion on his hands. "Come here. Your skin is all red. You almost look like a lobster."

I snort but hold still as he starts to apply the cream to my face. His fingers glide tenderly over my cheekbones, massaging the lotion carefully into my skin. I'm glad that my cheeks are already heated from the sun, so he doesn't notice the effect he has on me. Dancing flurries are causing havoc in my stomach and my heartbeat has decided to triple in speed. After what happened with Charo, it's scary but thrilling at the same time. I trust Miguel implicitly to keep me safe.

When our eyes meet, my voice of reason is fully drowned out. His gaze sends a bolt of lightning to the middle of my chest. How would it feel to kiss him? He runs his thumb along my jawbone, tracing over my lips. Longing burns in his eyes.

"Turn around so I can get your shoulders."

Huskiness has sneaked into his voice and he clears his throat repeatedly. With gentle fingers, he applies the lotion to my back. I indulge in his touch. When he strokes alongside my neck, I stifle the moan that almost escapes. A slight tremble in my body still gives me away.

"I know this is totally out of place, but I really like you, Stacy. I just wish all that stuff with Felipe had never happened."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I know, but that still doesn't make it okay. I'm just glad I can be here for you now."

Gazing up at him through my eyelashes, my whole face burns. I focus on the radio buttons as a means of distraction. This is moving too fast. Aside from what happened with Felipe and Charo, he just broke up with Juana. He said he was in love with someone else.

Who is he in love with?

Did he mean me?

This is definitely moving too fast, but I have no idea how to slow down the rapid thumping of my heart.

He twists the top back onto the lotion bottle and tosses it into my bag. With a crooked smile, he slides behind the wheel. As we ride along in silence, I catch myself glancing at him repeatedly. The fullness of his lips is like a magnet. They are probably soft when they kiss.

Luckily, the drive doesn't take long. He stops the Jeep in front of a small cabin that is nestled into the mountains. The building is in a pretty good state of repair when compared to other structures in Malaguay, and it's surrounded by a sea of flowers. The sweet scent reminds me of a candy store.

"Now, I have to forewarn you. My nana is blind and the scars over her eyes aren't pretty. I hope this isn't too disturbing for you. She can also be a little odd if you don't know her well."

"Odd?"

A distant look flickers in his eyes, as if he's trying to fight off a memory. "The soldiers of the old regime blinded her with iron rods after making her watch her two daughters be raped and killed and her two grandsons dragged away. She hasn't been right since."

I swallow hard. "One of them was your mother, wasn't she?"

"Yes." Tears burn in his eyes.

"Did they make you watch as well?"

He silently nods. "I was eight. There were American soldiers with them, but no one helped us."

His tone is neutral, without the slightest trace of disapproval, just as if someone is reading a horrific historical event from a book. He must have tried to disconnect himself from the ordeal, but I know from this morning that the nightmares still hold a firm grip on him.

I reach for his hand. "Miguel, I'm sorry for what my government has been doing to your country."

"I just hope you'll understand why my family is not a big fan of the Americans. Of course, that excludes you." He gives me that sweet smile I'm starting to adore. His ringing phone distracts him. After a few Spanish exchanges, he lowers the receiver. "This is the airline. They can only get you on standby before Tuesday, which means you might have to wait at the airport for a couple of days if no one backs out. Do you want to do that or wait for Tuesday?"

Hanging around the Quito airport for an extended period of time on my own in the hopes of getting on an earlier flight will be annoying, and Tuesday is only two days before my scheduled departure. I might as well stick with my original plans and not become an even greater financial burden on his family. "Just forget it. I can keep my original ticket."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

After the fight with my mom, I'm no longer that eager to return home. My parents might even bombard me with questions about why I cut my vacation short. If they find out the truth, they will first blame me for going to Malaguay in the first place and then insist on counseling with Pastor Colin to get over the "trauma." I can already hear my mother's lecture. Ultimately, staying here until the end of my two weeks will be the best for everyone.

"I'm really glad you're staying." Without warning, his hand cups behind my head and he pulls my mouth against his lips. The kiss only lasts for a couple of heartbeats but still makes me weak in the knees.

"We should go see your grandma. I'm sure she's already waiting." He stares at me, almost like he's in awe. "You are a really strong person, Stacy."

"Don't be silly."

"No, I'm serious." He traces along the lines where his lips just touched me. "There are girls who would be hiding in their rooms, crying, but you haven't allowed this to beat you down. That's an amazing outlook on life."

"You know what they say: keep pushing. The past will only hold you back." I grin; I can't believe I'm using one of Dad's motivational slogans. Maybe his wisdom is finally rubbing off on me.

"That's maybe the best advice I've gotten."

The sincerity in his eyes boosts my confidence even more. He's the first person who has pointed out something other than my many flaws. Now I just have to start living by my own advice.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

This work is protected by copyright and should not be copied, downloaded, translated or used in any way without my expressed consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!