THE MAID OF MADRID
He brushed the ridiculous thought from his mind, turned on his heel, and walked back to his quarters, determined to erase the maid's tear-stained face from his memory and replace it with the masked dancer who actually owned his thoughts.
Down in the cramped, suffocating dark of the servant quarters, the reality was far from quiet. I was sitting on the edge of my cot, my body shaking so violently that my teeth clicked together. I still had my arms wrapped tightly over my chest, holding the silk robe over the dark lace outfit like it could protect me from the memory of Diego’s heavy weight. My cheek was throbbing from the double assault of Doña Carmen’s malice and my mother’s desperate panic.
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