Alejandro de la Vega had always been an early riser. Life on the ranch--and his father--demanded it, and life in the military had required an even earlier wake-up time. After his return to the ranch, he had decided to keep the hours he learned as a soldier. The earlier hour gave him some much-needed time alone. Alejandro generally got most of his work--the paper kind at least--done before the first servant even woke up for the day.
Walking into his study, he heard the front door of his hacienda open. He turned, his muscles tensing in preparation of battle, only to find Diego slowly walking through the doorway.
Fury erupted and overcame Alejandro's carefully laid defense. Diego needed room. However, he was also a gentleman. Alejandro had seen to that and would not let the man forget it now.
Diego had not returned, yet, when he himself had gone to bed, but Alejandro went to sleep expecting his son to soon return. Returning the next morning was unacceptable to Don Alejandro. "Diego," he began, his voice coming out even harsher than he meant.
"Father, I can't--" his son tried to interrupt, holding up a hand.
He continued to lecture anyway. "It's all right to decide to spend the occasional night at the tavern, without sending word, when you're a carefree bachelor. However, you are considering marriage now, my son, to a woman who was a guest here last night. Fortunately, Vicente had to leave soon after you left, so they weren't waiting for you."
He shook his head in disbelief at his son's lack of responsibility. Had he done such a horrible job as father? "If Maria had stayed here, Diego, waiting for you, there is no telling what she would have thought about your failure to return home." Sighing, he rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Women worry more than men, Diego. Who knows what she would have thought? Maybe even something as silly as you spent the night with Victoria!"
Diego's eyes flickered up to look Don Alejandro in the face for a moment before returning to look at the floor. His son seemed to be even paler than before, so Don Alejandro forced himself to calm down. Maybe Diego had been ill after getting to the tavern. It was no excuse for not sending a message, but . . ..
"You've spent years just going wherever you wanted without a word. I gave you too much freedom as a child. I know that, Diego, but you are a man now, thinking about taking on a man's responsibilities. I would like to know where you are, but a wife deserves it. Not only does she deserve it, she has the right to demand it."
Diego made no response outside of slumping against the wall. Knowing he had said all he had to on the subject, Don Alejandro quickly let out his breath, and turned to go on into his study. He clenched his fist in an old habit of frustration. Sometimes, there was no talking to that boy!
He stopped in his tracks when the memory of the look Diego had given him a few moments earlier flashed across his memory. He remembered the look well, even if he had not seen it in years from Diego. As he slowly turned to look at his son, his belly tight with shock, he remembered all the times a little boy had given him that look.
Diego, even though freer than most boys, had been somewhat wild as a child. Incredibly smart, too. However, he had been caught a few times. Don Alejandro had often hated to punish him, knowing that Diego's guilt for causing his father grief was harder on the boy than anything he could do. The look of guilty acknowledgment Diego gave always twisted his father's heart.
Staring at the slumped form of Diego, his own words echoed in his mind. "--thought you had spent the night with Victoria." Taking a deep breath, Don Alejandro prepared himself to have one of the most difficult talks he had ever had with his son. The only two that had been worse were when he told Diego his mother was dying and that she was dead.
"You spent the night with Victoria." He had meant to ask it, but it came out as a statement. It did not matter. Truth or fiction, his son would tell the truth. Diego's refusal to look at him was more than enough answer.
"I raised you better than that, Diego. I helped raise Victoria better than that! What were you thinking? Well, that's obvious. You weren't!" Alejandro felt like he had been kicked in the gut by a horse. As many times as he expressed frustration with Diego, he had never been as hurt or as disappointed as he was right now.
His son finally looked at him, trembling against the door. He very much reminded Don Alejandro of that boy, more frightened by the thought of disappointing his father than of the punishment he was to receive. He slid down the door to sit on the floor, as he had once as a child. "I don't understand," was all he said.
"Well, you understood someth--" Alejandro stopped talking when Diego's appearance finally registered. His actions reminded Alejandro of the child, but there was one time in particular that was burned in his mind.
Diego, out playing with a friend on the range, came home late one evening, expecting to be punished for missing his dinner. He had stopped at the door, seeing the truth on his father's face before Alejandro even had a chance to tell him. He had sank to the floor and said, "I don't understand." Alejandro had simply hugged him, not understanding his wife's death either.
Diego's whole demeanor was of the child deep in grief. Only now he was a man. Gone was the happiness of yesterday, and in its place was a deep and incredible pain. Alejandro had seen men come in from the battlefield looking less traumatized than his son did at the moment. What had happened in the pueblo last night?
Fear in his heart, he sank down to his knees in front of Diego, all of his anger now directed at himself. He had done again what he had promised himself he would not do again: Without asking any questions, or finding out any details, he had simply started finding fault with his son immediately. Was he doomed to keep repeating the same behavior that had driven Diego away from him? Alejandro was determined that he would now be there for his son, and he would break his old behavior pattern. He had to, or he risked losing his child. "Diego," he said softly, as a plea and an apology. He wanted Diego to understand his father loved him and would there for him, willing to just listen.
Diego, sniffing, looked up at him. The raw pain in his eyes made Don Alejandro ache. No father wanted to see his child hurting. "I don't understand! I don't," he said, his voice cracking. He shook his head. "She said that she loved me, that she would wait for me. She said she understood. After she almost married Juan, I told her. I told her, that losing her would devastate me more than any weapon the alcalde could find. I told her, and she said she would wait, that she felt like she was helping my cause! When I gave her Mother's ring, she reassured me that she would love the man beneath the mask, that his heart was mine! I believed her."
Diego put the palm of his hands over his eyes, rubbing them hard. "When she found out, she just--She didn't even tell me first, Father. I found out from Don Vicente! She announced to the whole pueblo before she told me. She told you first," he said, laughing hysterically for a just a second.
Alejandro's blood chilled. He knew the sound. It was the laugh of a man, forced to find humor or go mad from the pain. He had felt the same way after his Elena had died. Diego had been the only reason he had found to keep going. Diego took a deep breath, and said with hurt and anger fighting in his voice, "She knew, Father. She knew, and she didn't even give 'boring' Diego a chance."
He looked at his grieving son, unsure what to say, knowing that no words would bring comfort. So many people tried useless words to comfort him after Elena left him alone. He simply reached over and put his hand on Diego's knee, squeezing it in a show of support. He wanted to know that his father was there, perhaps for the first time since he had come home from Spain.
Oh, there were a million questions racing through his mind, a million remarks and apologizes he wanted to give. He understood what Diego was admitting in his words: His son was Zorro, a fact he had resisted believing. He had continued resisting it, even as he watched his son mourn the loss of Victoria. However, Alejandro de la Vega was going to focus on his son's needs, instead of everyone else's, for a change.
***
At the tavern, Victoria was working with Mendoza on a new recipe, trying to keep her mind off Diego. Once, when she had a sprained ankle, Mendoza had volunteered to help in the tavern's kitchen. At first, he had been nervous and clumsy, but eventually he ended up being an excellent cook. He knew what he liked to eat, so he had a natural talent for combining ingredients into mouth-watering dishes. Since then, Mendoza and Victoria would spend a few hours a week creating and perfecting new dinners to be served at the tavern.
Ever since I got engaged to Diego, Victoria thought sadly, too tired to even feel sad at the thought. She spent all morning thinking about him, unable to return to sleep after he left. She hurt him so badly with her words, but desperation for him to leave forced her to say them. If he had said anything to her, she would have been unable to resist him. She would have jumped into his arms, and maybe even confessed the truth. Shaking her head, she forced herself to get back to work.
Last night had been wonderful, a dream fulfilled. Struck by the thought, Victoria stopped to look at the table in the middle of her kitchen. She remembered the feel of his lips on her skin, and the feeling of his fingers grasping her hips. Walking on, Victoria decided that she was glad her first experience had been with Diego, even if it was outside the bounds of marriage. She knew that she should feel guilty, and she would have hours of repentance to do when she made her confession, but it did not matter. For once, she had lived for the moment. She had stolen a piece of her one-time future back, and she refused to ever regret it, no matter what the rest of life brought with it.
In the middle of cutting an onion, Victoria's hand left the table and lay on her stomach. Looking down, she told herself it was the onion that was making her cry. Getting back to chopping, her mind told her that she could lose everything if Diego's seed had taken root in her womb. However, her heart, the silly thing, prayed that it had. Maybe a new life would begin a new life.
Shaking her head at her own thought, Victoria returned to work yet again, although her thoughts refused to leave last night. She had enjoyed the time spent with Diego even more than she believed possible. At last she had been allowed to see the real man behind the masks: He had hidden nothing from her last night, allowing her to catch a glimpse of all the pieces that made him so uniquely him. Talking about his mother, he let her see a little grieving boy who had never forgotten the loss. Then, when he talked about his father, she had been allowed to look at a young man who craved his father's approval. Diego had talked, and she had watched and listened. She craved more, but knew that desire would never be filled, having received the only little piece she was allowed. For it, she gave up even the chance of having a friendship with the man she loved.
"Are you all right, Victoria?" Mendoza asked, obviously aware of her distracted mind.
When she looked over at him, she noticed that he was done cutting all of his large pile of vegetables. Again, she had been standing still, lost in her thoughts. She smiled and shook her head in a gesture of amusement, even as she resisted the urge to scream no she was not all right and never would be again. During the past month, it was an urge she fought every time Mendoza and Don Alejandro had asked her that simple question, and they had done it often.
"Be an actress," she heard that horrible voice say in her mind. So, she smiled at Mendoza, and lied. "I'm fine." She even repeated the lie to herself inside. However, she knew the truth. Her heart would never heal. A part of it had gone with Diego this morning. "Just busy thinking," she explained, for once telling the truth.
Mendoza began preparing his spices and herbs, focusing on the task in front of him. "You don't look like you're fine," Mendoza said softly, cutting the plants in front of him into tiny pieces.
Victoria, startled, turned to look at him again. He had always respected her borders before today. Even Don Alejandro had been unwilling to cross the invisible lines she had drawn around herself. Touched that he cared so much, she was frightened, too, knowing she would never survive under close scrutiny. Her carefully made walls would crumble if Mendoza, or Don Alejandro, did the slightest pushing. The cracks from the pressure were beginning to show.
"Thank you, Mendoza," she said, her voice wavering some. "You are a wonderful friend. I'm lucky to have you," she told him, wanting him to know how much she appreciated him. She would soon lose even Don Alejandro, like she had lost Diego and Felipe, since he would eventually understand that she was distancing herself from him and his family. A gentleman, he would respect her right to do so. Then, there would only be Mendoza.
The kind sergeant, his face flushed, grinned and glanced at something far away from her. Victoria was glad that she had told him, even if it embarrassed. She had let too many years go by without telling those that were important to her how much she cherished them.
"You say that because you like having someone else in the kitchen occasionally," Mendoza said with only a touch of his embarrassment showing.
"True," she laughed, struggling to enjoy the day. For some reason, she remembered how it felt when her mother died. Every day, she had looked for a reason to laugh. "There is a large increase in the number of customers on the days you do the cooking."
"I want to--I want to th-thank you for allowing me to help. It means a lot t-to me. I feel good knowing that I'm good at something," he told her, stuttering and mumbling.
Victoria walked over to him and patted his cheek. "Your good at a lot of things, Mendoza, and you are an excellent cook. If you opened up your own tavern, I'd be in trouble."
He grinned at her, and shook his head. "I could never run a tavern. I'm no good at books."
She handed him the meat she had chopped. "Get someone you trust to do the book work. You are a great joy with the customers, and you are a wonderful cook. Plus, all the men--and some of the women--love coming in just to hear your stories. That makes customers come in and buy, not bookwork."
Mendoza, squaring his shoulders, grinned. She hid her amusement when she noticed him reach for his tunic. He found an apron in its place. Suddenly, the laughter bubbled out from her, and Mendoza's laughter soon joined her.
After they had calmed down and began lunch for the day, he returned to the other conversation. "I think I would enjoy it--running a tavern I mean--but I would never leave Los Angeles. It is my home. It took me a long time to be able to come back here after I joined the army, and I never want to leave it again. I could never open a place to compete with you. You are my friend, and besides, your tavern is the best in the territory. If I want to help run a tavern here, I would have to marry you," he teased her. Every so often, he proposed in fun. After all, her cooking skills were fabulous, and that was his only requirement for a wife.
She stopped in mid-stir. Marry Mendoza. She watched as he carefully began mixing his ingredients for the sauce. He was a wonderful friend, and he would be a great help at the tavern. She wanted her own family, and the man she wanted was going to end up married to someone else. As she heard Don Vicente tell Don Alejandro one day, friendship could make an excellent basis for marriage if there was no love. At the time, her heart had broken at the thought since they were talking about Diego and Maria, but now . . ..
Mendoza loved her, just as she loved him--as a friend. He would never fall in love with her, a fact that made Victoria grateful. With all the other men she had dated this past month, she saw a gleam in their eyes, something that told her they could fall in love with her. She only wanted one man's heart, and she had been forced to give it back. She never wanted another man to love her, because her heart was taken. She did not want anyone to live waiting, hopelessly, for her to return his love.
Mendoza would be happy helping her at the tavern, since it would give him a place to belong. She would make him a good wife, even though she did not love him. His standard of living would be better as a tavern owner than it was as a soldier.
"If that's a proposal," she began, her hands shaking, and her mind unable to believe what she was about to do. "I accept."
Mendoza dropped some carrots on the floor. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. She could tell he was about to refuse, when he suddenly looked at her closely. She knew what he was seeing; she had seen it in the mirror that morning. Standing before him was a pale ghost of a woman, one who no longer cared to look her best. Her clothes hung from her slender body, made for her long before she had lost so much weight. He was going to reject her proposal.
"I would be honored, SeƱorita Victoria," he said instead of what she expected. Tears welled in her eyes. He was a good man, and she hoped that she would make him happy. Last night, she had stolen a piece of the future that was supposed to have been hers, but now she had to live the future without Diego.
