𝐍𝐲𝐱 (𝘨𝘹𝘨)

VIII - honey

Olive Rios

It has been a little bit over  a month since I've come to Lila. I've been staying in a cozy (but still big) room with an exposed wood ceiling and a few pieces of really nice furniture. Irene tells me she has so many rooms because of the amount of guests she has yearly (which is strange, because I believe only us three live at Lila). Victoria Valentín and I bicker every so often, but I can tell that we're both trying not to fight. I understand now that maybe she isn't as spoiled as I thought she was, but she still corrects me when I set the table wrong or when I'm doing something overly improper.

Oh, and something weird that I noticed about Lila is that there's no staff. Usually a house this big has a couple of maids and a butler or a cook. The weird thing is that Irene does a lot of things herself. Every Thursday, it is impossible to bump into her, because she's busy cleaning the entire house. In the early morning, she pushes you out into the yard, tells you to entertain yourself while she dusts the library or deep cleans the kitchen or vacuums the dining room. I find it extremely admirable, especially for a woman who has a lot of money and can afford to have cleaning ladies.

Today is one of those Thursdays and I usually go into town, buy myself something to eat and browse the open air markets.

"Okay, kids, out," Irene opens the large french doors leading to the sunflower field and gestures her and I with a hand. We wish her good luck with her cleaning and she hands us a box of alfajores to keep us entertained throughout the day. I hear Victoria mutter something under her breath:

"She could've said please."

I look back at her as she sits down on the cushiony grass and notice that she's wearing her hair different today. It's in that twirly temple strands twirly thing with little butterfly clips. Something Victoria always does is dress nice, which I find hard to do. Today, she's wearing a flowing blue skirt with miniature swirling designs and a cropped, striated tank top with little buttons.

She stars playing with the long grass, twisting it between those two fingers. She looks up at me with her doe eyes—my breath hitches—I quickly look away.

I start walking away, towards the front of the property, when she says, "Can I come with you?"

I turn around and meet her eyes.

"I know you're going to town," she starts, "and I want to come with you." She tells me this in a lighthearted and civil manner.

"Sure, but we have to stick together." I say, rolling up my sleeves. She gets up and starts walking behind me. Town is about an hour stroll away, which we'll probably spend bickering. "Do you wanna take the car?" I ask, looking back at her. She sways her hips a small bit—barely noticeable—when she walks.

"I think Irene would kill us if we drove her car without her in it." I groan, but I keep walking forward. Soon enough, we're side by side and on the dirt road to town.

"What are you planning on studying in college?" I ask her. We've been walking for a bit and have managed to not yell at each other.

She takes a moment to reply, "I don't know what I'm interested in." I raise a brow. She glances at me and sees my quizzical expression, chuckling lightly. "I know I shouldn't study art because if I end up being a painter, I will burn out and ruin art for myself."

I nodded to that. We talked about how she's interested in architecture, especially neoclassic architecture. We talked about how she graduated from a pristine boarding school in Switzerland, which impressed me. She told me how she knows she wants to work in the future and wants to work really hard, just like her parents. She told me how she took a gap year to spend more time with them and to learn more about herself and her path. I told her about my decision to study Sculpture and how I wanted to keep the memory of my dad alive by doing so; It seemed to remind her of her parents.

At this point in the conversation, she decided to keep more to herself. We walked in silence and awkwardly mentioned how great the view was at a few stops.

"My dad passed away a year ago," I tell her. I turn to her in order to see her reaction, trying not to overstep anything. I hear her hum and she meets my eyes, allowing me to go on. "He was a carpenter and they called him Rios—like, only his last name—everyone called him that. He became friends with your aunt because he used to live in one of the small houses in this town, I believe." I say this as the town comes into view. It's still a little far away, but the view is extremely pretty. The stucco houses have orange tiled roofs and are surrounded by greenery.

"He made a lot of the furniture at Lila," Victoria added.

"She really loved–loves–his work," I tell her. Whenever I'm with Irene, she has some way of incorporating my dad into some sort of creative lesson. She tells me he's the reason I enjoy creating things (especially out of clay) so much.

We continue walking in a comfortable silence until we reach an arch of willow trees. I hear Victoria's breath hitch and I turn back to her. She's pale and her eyes are slightly widened.

"I haven't been to town in a while..." She whispers. I don't think she knows I heard her.

"How long?" I lean down, asking her this closer to her ear; I can see the slight bit of freckles dotting her nose and the smell the sweet aroma of her hair. She turns and the color returns to her face. My heart speeds up and I lean back, realizing how close I was.

"Five years," she says quietly. She turns back and starts walking towards the town.

It's not too overwhelming for Victoria, and she's been doing okay. Whenever someone recognizes her, she greets them with grace and a curtsy and a kiss on the cheek (which I learned a few weeks ago, is a greeting with no need for intimacy). We stopped at a few stands at the open-air markets, which have a bunch of cool souvenirs and stuff. Something I also feel like I should mention is that everyone in the town speaks Spanish (Castellano). Apparently, this town is a small community of people from all over south America.

"Dios, I haven't had this in forever," Victoria says as she picks up a jar of crystalline honey. I ask her if it tastes any different from liquid honey and she tells me it tastes more raw and grainy, but in a good way.

"I've never tried it," I tell her, picking up the jar.

"We're taking it home then, so that you can try it," She hands the vendor a few dollars and we run off with the jar of crystalline honey.

A/N ;)