Furia(15)

By this time, I was kneeling on my chair, leaning over the table, both hands in the air, Evita Perón–style. All that was missing was the cry, ?Pueblo Argentino . . . ! Diego laughed, and slowly, I sat back down and crossed my arms. “I have strong suspicions about why they hired her and not me.”

“Which are?” he asked.

“Really? She’s like a fragile anime fairy, batting her eyelashes and pretending to be dumb so people will like her. And then look at me.” I waved my hand in front of my body. “Employers don’t look beyond appearances.”

The intensity in his eyes made every inch of my skin prickle. “I don’t understand what you mean, Cami.”

“Never mind,” I said, cursing myself for walking into that trap. “Money. I need to earn some. Do you have any jobs for me, Titán?”

His eyes narrowed, and his mouth quirked. I’d thought I knew all his gestures and expressions, but this fancy new Diego was a mystery. “Actually, I might.”

“What?”

“Did you see in the news that the church of El Buen Pastor opened up again?”

“The abandoned church where they had the jail?”

“Jail?”

“The asylum for disobedient women?”

Diego looked like he had no idea what I was talking about. But then, not a lot of people knew its history.

“The one all the way in the Zona Sur?”

“Yeah, that one,” Diego said.

“Roxana showed me an article from La Capital about this asylum. Back in the day, families sent their disobedient daughters to El Buen Pastor.”

“They did?”

“Yes, and also their sisters, wives, even employees, sometimes. It was like a depository for unwanted women. Some orphan girls raised there became rich families’ free maids.”

“I had no idea,” he said.

“The girls were called ‘Las Incorregibles.’ Roxana said I was lucky it closed down or I may have ended up there.”

“Ay, that’s not why I brought it up.” Diego grimaced and added, “It is a beautiful building to go to waste, and now it will be a place of healing . . . hopefully.”

Maybe that would shoo away the ghosts that surely still haunted it. “I thought there was a nursing home there now.”

“A section is, but the rest was vacant. Father Hugo has set up workshops for woodworking, sewing, gardening, and a comedor for the kids to get their afternoon merienda. He wants to start a new program for the kids in the group home to keep them off the streets. He can’t pay much, but a group of Argentines from the United States is funding some of it. Father Hugo wants someone, preferably a woman”—Diego’s eyes flickered—“or a girl, or . . . whatever, to teach them English.” He swallowed. “Would you be interested?”

“It might work.” I said. “I’m a whatever, after all, and I do have a degree.”

He had the good sense to duck his head sheepishly. “Okay, woman. Licenciada.”

“Good,” I said. Honestly, this sounded like a great opportunity, and I needed money. But sneaking out for practice was already hard enough. How could I get away for this, too?

“What’s the matter, bambina?” Diego reached across the table and pushed my chin up with his index finger.

Trying not to shiver at his touch, I said, “You know . . . my dad.”

“What about him? You look like Rapunzel when Mother Gothel tells her she can’t go see the lights in the sky.”

I laughed. We must have watched Tangled a thousand times when we were little. “I am not Rapunzel. And Titán, what will your fans say when they find out you still watch animated movies? Princess movies?”

His smile faltered. “Don’t call me Titán. I’m just Diego, Mama.”

No boy I cared for had ever called me Mama before.

Mama is such a complicated word. It’s what we call our mothers. What we call a friend, a cute little girl that plays in the park.

What a man calls his woman.

Diego cleared his throat and said, “Tomorrow’s a holiday. After lunch, I’ll pick you up here and take you to Father Hugo’s.”

“I don’t want to sneak out.” I said, shaking my head. “He’s going to be here all day. He’ll find out. He’ll drive by the church and see us. I’ll meet someone he knows, or we’ll have an accident—”

Diego trapped both of my hands in his. “I’m not telling you to sneak. I’m asking you . . .” He hesitated. “I’m asking you out. Last time, everything happened so quickly—the kiss, saying goodbye like that. I’ve never taken you out. Just you and me.”

His words sucked the air out of the room.

“Let’s go catch a show at the planetarium. I’ve seen so many amazing places in Europe, but there’s still so much I don’t know about Rosario. Sad, right? I want to see it all so I can remember it when I’m away. I want to go with you. On the way back, we’ll stop and talk to Father Hugo.”

Diego had always loved Rosario irrationally. Our industrial city could never compare to Italy, or even Buenos Aires, but Diego had never wanted to leave. He’d only left because no one said no to Juventus FC.

I thought for a few heartbeats. I needed a job, and a real date with him was irresistible. When I finally smiled, he beamed as if he’d scored a goal.