A Twist Of Time

fifteen

That moment deserved the "Most Predictable" Award. Obviously, Sergio was going to tell Margaux that she was his daughter and ruin her perspective of him forever. And I didn't have anything to do with it yet I was still involved. Didn't he have other things to do?

He could help Laurel with governing over Manila right now. He could be in a meeting with the Nacionalists. But he's wasting his time here.

"What is it?" Margaux asked.

Honestly, I was shocked at how fast this was going to be.

"You deserve to know this. It doesn't leave me alone. I'm still guilty," Sergio answered, his hands starting to cover his face. Dramatic. Just say it already.

"Cut to the chase. What do you need to tell me?"

"That you're my daughter."

Well that escalated quickly.

Margaux's face stayed the same. "That's it?"

"What?" He looked up from his position.

"That's literally it? I'm your daughter? That's what you wanted to tell me?"

"You're not surprised?" I asked aloud. Margaux laughed.

"Of course I'm not! Did the two of you actually think that I didn't know?"

Saying that Sergio and I were shocked was an understatement. He looked like he just saw a ghost, and I was mentally blaming myself that she knew; maybe I talked too loud during the trust session.

Margaux smirked mischievously. "I know. I just do. I just never made it obvious because I was waiting for the day Sergio told me himself." She turned to him. "And do you think I haven't noticed how much I look like you?"

"But–how?" Sergio asked.

"Quezon told me, of course. He also told me not to tell you unless you told me." She winked. "He told me when I was eleven, which is when I got here."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Duh. It was obvious in you, too, Sergio–or should I say, father."

The both of us were speechless. Margaux knew all along and managed not to slip any of it out of her mouth. She had to be given an award for that.

Everything practically stayed the same a few hours after that; but Margaux now called Sergio "father," and it was obvious that the both of them were uncomfortable with that. Even I was. I was so used to Margaux calling him "Sergio" or "Ser" or maybe even "Osmeña" at times. But their attitudes towards each other didn't change.

They remained in my room to guard me since I was told not to do anything that could tire me out. Our food was brought to us in that room and as a pastime, we had a discussion called "the quessession" (as named by Margaux) wherein we addressed certain questions we have been holding for long.

"Margaux, if you're the presidential adviser, then why aren't you with the president himself?" I inquired.

"Oh, uh, it's embarrassing, actually. The first reason isn't. It's because Jose Laurel is technically the president and he's here in Malacañan anyway. The second? I was supposed to come but there was this soldier I started to like and—I just realized I'm with my father. I can't tell."

Sergio's eyes widened. "You like somebody?"

"Yes! What do you think I've done in my spare time?"

"I don't know! You never told me."

"Am I required to tell you?"

"Only if you're comfortable with it. I'm alright with that; just don't get pregnant early. I'll ground you."

"We're not even in a relationship yet. I just like him." Margaux sighed. "But I want to have one with him."

"I feel you," I suddenly said.

Sergio averted his gaze to me. "You like somebody, too?"

"Yes." I knew very well who I was describing. It was him; but he didn't seem too happy with my answer. I could see the slightest hint of dismay written on his face.

Jane entered the room, peeking her head in. "Have I left my bracelet here?"

"Yes. It's in here." Margaux pulled out a shiny gold bracelet out of her pocket and handed it to Jane who thanked Margaux wholeheartedly.

"I have to go. Margaux, Jane, the both of you guard Valerie. I forgot about the letter." Sergio stood up and hurried to the door. Margaux was confused.

"Wait–what letter? Was it the one you were writing earlier?" Her voice had heavy traces of concern in it.

But all she got for an answer was a door shut. "It's okay," Jane whispered. "He must be busy."

"Busy? He had the time to confess to me that I was his daughter and talk about me liking someone but he doesn't have the time to tell me why he's suddenly leaving?"

"If I tell you why he's leaving, do you promise to stay quiet about it"—Jane glanced at me—"and you too?"

"Yes, sure."

"He's sending a letter to Manuel. He wrote that early this morning when he was locked up in his bedroom and it's about Quezon's term ending soon. He's scared of becoming president. The letter was supposed to be sent this afternoon before the last ship to America left, but we were delayed."

I sighed. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry."

"It's not," Margaux reassured. "It's nobody's fault."

"Where are you even getting this information, Jane?"

"Elpidio. He was in the office with him. Ever wondered where he went for the rest of the morning?" answered Jane.

"So he's going to try and send his letter to America? In the middle of the night?" Margaux asked. I looked around and shushed them.

"We should stay quiet. He might be near here and think we're stalking him."

"But that's just odd. Is he really going to send a letter to the pier this late?" interrogated Margaux. "He's not the type of person to do that."

"Don't mind that anymore," Jane said, trying to change the subject. "He's going to be the president soon, he needs to be strong enough to stand for himself."

"I guess he should. I'm just worried about him."

"I am, too," I added.