Rose Hill, 1779

"George, can you please put down those papers?" Quinn sighed, trying to pull it from his hands, but his grip was tighter. "I need to talk to you about something important!"

"I'm sorry, Quinn, I really need to get this done," he said, bringing the papers close to his chest and adjusting his reading glasses. "Can you please wait until after supper?"

"No," said Quinn, grabbing both his hand and his attention. "It's urgent and I really need you to help me. Please George. You're the only one I have in this house."

"Alright," George answered with a nod, putting the papers under a weight and clasping his hands on top of the table between them. He had finally realized she meant it. It was important. "What is it, sister?"

Quinn had rehearsed her words a billion times inside her head, and knew that if she didn't let them out soon she would lose the little courage she had. Still, she found herself swallowing hard and starting to shake as her brother's eyes studied her expressions.

"It's about Rachel," Quinn blurted out. It was all she could say. She did the best she could.

"What about her?" George asked, propping the weight of his chin on his hands and quirking one eyebrow up.

"I- Uh-," Quinn stuttered and shook her head with her eyes shut tight. "God, I have no idea how to say this!" she whined with a groan. He chuckled.

"Quinn," said George, getting Quinn to open her eyes as he grabbed her hand. "You don't have to say anything. I know what's happening." His voice was as reassuring as it could be, but Quinn's heart raced faster than it ever had.

"You- You do?" She asked between trembling lips. He couldn't. But she looked in his eyes, and she knew he knew it. "How?" Quinn silently remembered all the times she and Rachel had been together and was mortified with the mere thought of having her brother heard everything.

"I just know," he shrugged. As if it weren't a big deal at all.

"Well, why didn't you talk to me sooner then?" Quinn scoffed nervously. "I was going crazy all this time, I could have used your help!"

"You weren't ready to talk about this before, and you know that," he argued. Quinn couldn't argue back. He wasn't wrong. "You don't need to go crazy about this, Quinn."

"George, are you aware I'm going to hell?" Quinn huffed with a hurtful laugh. It felt worse to say those things out loud. As if they became somehow more real - although nothing felt as real as having Rachel in her arms.

"We don't know that for sure, do we?" He asked, and Quinn frowned. "We can't really know what God thinks of our acts. In my opinion, God must be much more worried about the amount of killing and hurting our people have been trusting onto slaves than with that."

"Well, the priest said-" Quinn tried to reason, but George cut her short.

"They could be wrong. No one knows what God thinks, Quinn," he said with the softest smile. Quinn tried to nod to herself and let that sink in as a fact, but she couldn't. She had too many sources telling her otherwise, and George sensed her restlessness. "Look, I know you must be worried because that's… different. But when I lived in London, I had a friend like that, and she turned out just fine."

"Really?" Quinn asked in a shy murmur, truthfully hoping he would be able to convince her.

"Yes," he nodded. "She lived with her partner, and they were pretty happy, from what I gathered. To everyone else in the village, they were sisters. But if anyone took a second to see at the way they looked at each other, they would have known."

"But George, London is a much bigger city and people there are more liberal and educated and maybe it is okay there, but here? In Saint Kitts?" She bit her lip hard. It still hurt less than to think further of what could happen to them.

"Everyone in here deals with aunt Angeline just fine," he shrugged and Quinn's eyes shot open wide.

"You know that too?" She was starting to wonder if she was the only one who couldn't notice it. Maybe she could be surrounded by people like her, and she was just the only one who couldn't see it. Maybe she was born broken. She sure felt like something wasn't right.

"Everyone knows, Quinn. Everyone ignores it, but everyone knows."

"I think she went after Rachel," Quinn confessed, leaning closer to him. There was no one else in the room, and the door was locked - but she couldn't be careful enough. "She sent some terrifying letters to her. I was lucky to catch it before someone else at his house did." George's face was drained of color and Quinn felt him tensing up. Her heart fell at the prospect of what else he could know. "What? What is it, George?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head and gulping. "It doesn't matter. What does matter here is, how do you think Rachel feels? About you, I mean."

"I-" Quinn was caught in her own words. She had never thought about it. The whole time she spent stressing about what the consequences of how she felt would be, but never once had stopped to think about what was going on in Rachel's head. If she thought of the times they were together, she could answer without a doubt that Rachel felt something for her too. But then Quinn remembered how every time it had started out with an order from her, and all her certainties flew by the window. "I have no idea."

"Well, would you like to know what I think?" He asked. Quinn nodded promptly. "I think she feels the same." Quinn felt a weight being lifted off her shoulders. "You two have fire between yourselves. The sparks between you are undeniable, since the very first time you met."

"So what do I do, then? How do I fix this?"

"There's nothing to be fixed, Quinn," he chuckled. She had no idea how he could laugh about it. "Your first love will forever be your greatest. Nothing in your life will ever be as intense or as magical as it. There's nothing you should do but ride it. Let it consume you and dive in on all the emotions it will bring you. This is the best time of your life. Just enjoy it."

But it was hard for Quinn to do so, when he spilled those four letters word that she had been trying to ignore for longer than she could remember.

Quinn entered the room with a smile on her face that could only be hung after being listened and reassured in a way she had never been in her life. As George had said, what she carried in her eyes could be seen by anyone who dared to pay a second of attention to her - which explained her mother and father's oblivion to everything. They never really looked at her.

Rachel seemed surprised by the smile too, and frowned nervously as Quinn walked closer. That was gonna be gone one day. She would stop being so nervous. Quinn would earn Rachel's thrust - and possibly something else on her way.

"Hey," Quinn greeted, leaning against the door frame of her closet as Rachel hang her clean gowns. "Would you like to go riding with me?"

"Riding?" Rachel asked, with her eyebrows knit together. "It's been forever!"

"I didn't trust you back then," Quinn confessed with a small shrug, and Rachel's frown fell. She closed her lips in a thin line, and Quinn took a step closer. "I do, now. Come with me."

Quinn didn't have to ask again. A small part of her would always wonder if everything Rachel did was because she thought she was being ordered - but when she saw the smile on Rachel's face as she caressed the horse's muzzle, she rest assured. Rachel was having fun.

She would always impress Quinn. From the first time she saw Rachel riding a horse, she felt her lower stomach quivering. Despite her years of training, Rachel could easily beat her whenever she attempted to start a race - and all of that while in the back of the weakest horse of their farm. She couldn't imagine what Rachel would be able to do in a proper horse.

"Maybe we could try to make arrangements to buy you your own horse," Quinn said nonchalantly as they strolled by a small creek. "A better one," she said.

The way Rachel's eyes lit up made Quinn melt. Quinn was surprised with herself. The way she had quickly changed from merciless to eager to please. But she was more surprised with Rachel, and the way she had changed from defiant to ready to even more eager to please - although in a completely different way.

They didn't have dinner that night. George had always been right. A simple brush of their fingers generated sparks enough to start a fire - and to get them locked inside Quinn's room for hours.

And Quinn was Rachel's for the whole night.

Quinn had to admit, she wasn't as excited as she had once been about her father's teachings on plantation. Seeing Rachel being whipped had touched her, and she had been uncomfortable about watching the the other slaves working since then. Still, it was her destiny. She would have to take over the farm one day, and she would need to learn how to do so sooner or later. She couldn't disappoint her father.

"They start out by cleaning the ground and loosening the soil where the cane cuttings will be planted. That's usually done by the great gang, cause it's not easy and the slaves must be strong," her father explained and she nodded again, for the billionth time. "I know it sounds useless to hear that, because you won't be the one doing the work. But if you don't know what they're supposed to do, you can't correct if they're doing it wrong."

"I know, father," she smiled, wrapping her arm with his as they walked their way to the mill house. "I don't think it's useless. I'm flattered that I get to learn with the best."

"I'm the proudest for having such a marvelous daughter," he chuckled, opening the door for her to walk in first. "The crushing mill is powered by the wind," he returned to his explanations. "But this year we're having a shortage on the wind in this island, for some reason. We're supplementing that with the animal mill, and some slaves are helping too, although I'm not entirely happy about that."

"Why not?" Quinn asked in a frown.

"It can be dangerous. It's too easy for them to get caught and drawn in," he explained in a lower voice, as if he didn't want the slaves to know the risk they were under. Quinn looked behind her shoulders to see a young man feeding the mill, and gulped. He could be gone in a second with the simplest mistake. "The juice that comes out goes to the boiling house, and that part has to happen fast otherwise the final product will be compromised. The juice gets thicker as it goes to smaller cauldrons and by the end is mostly crystallized."

"That's my favorite part," Quinn murmured. "It smells amazing. This whole process is amazing. How a weird tall plant can become such a sweet thing."

"It really is, if you stop to think about it," Russell smiled, wrapping an arm around Quinn's shoulder. "The story of sugar isn't always sweet. There's always blood in the process and sometimes we lose more than we want to. But the end," he said, lifting his finger dripped in the thick juice onto his mouth. "The end makes it all worth it. Sugar has changed all world."

Basseterre, 1779

Quinn had surprised her again. That morning, after her lessons, Quinn called her in the library. Her heart flipped, as it always did when Quinn said her name. The prospect of a scolding startled her. The possibility of anything else scared her even more. But still, she could never get tired of being surprised - especially when it came to good kind. Like being told she was coming with Quinn to church in Basseterre.

It had been way too long. Rachel missed going to church. It had always been one of her favorite moments of the week, not only for the sense of freedom she got walking there alone, but for the hope she carried in her heart when she left. The hope that things would get better eventually. And hadn't they? Of course, they were still far from ideal. She was still a slave after all - but she and Quinn had come a long way since the day she first stepped in that farm. That's the first thing she thanked God for, as she kneeled down at the back of the church.

"Dear," said an old lady, grabbing Rachel's hand. "You shouldn't be in here. These are the benches for slaves. Come here, I'll find you a seat on the front rows."

"I'm a slave," Rachel murmured back. It wasn't the first time someone misjudged her for a white person. She had the skin for it. It was also not the first time someone pulled away with a disgusted face after she told them the truth. She was used to it. What she wasn't used to was Quinn's angry frown whenever she saw someone getting too close to Rachel. And she definitely wasn't used to the shivering that ran down her body every time she saw that face.

They were almost at the final blessing. If it were only a few minutes later, it would have been too late. Rachel wouldn't have felt someone pulling her by the arm. She couldn't help the squeal she let out when she realized it was her father, and soon enough he had her wrapped inside his arms.

"Father!" she exclaimed, hugging him with all the strength she had in her frail arms and trying to contain the tears that immediately came to her eyes. "Oh, how I've missed you," she whispered in a quivering voice.

"I have missed you too, my darling," said Eugene. "I couldn't believe when I heard you were in town! I'm so happy to see you here! How have you been, dear?"

"I'm fine," she answered with a smile and a nod as they pulled apart. It was true. She was much better than she thought she would be the last time she had hugged her father. She and Quinn had had a bumpy start, but the fact alone that she had been brought to the city showed her how things had changed. "Things aren't so bad as I thought they would be. I'm truly fine."

"Oh, you have no idea the relief I feel hearing that!" He grasped her hands between his, and she remembered how small she always felt near him. As if she was still the tiny little girl he took horse riding every Sunday. "I've heard you were having a hard time at the farm, but I'm glad those were just rumors. I knew you would gain their hearts up there. You always did so," he said. Rachel smiled. He didn't have to know the whole truth. "You know, Sary has missed you, too." He manned his head towards the horse by the church's stairs.

From above his shoulder, Rachel watched Quinn marching the hallway out of the church and coming to their direction. Her smile fell in a blink. Quinn had indeed been behaving differently the past days, but Rachel was still walking on eggshells about how she would react to certain things. When it came to Quinn, she could never be sure of anything.

"What's going on here?" Quinn asked with a frown and her hands on her hips.

"Oh, it's nothing miss Quinn. I'm just happy to see my father again," Rachel smiled, trying to get Quinn to do the same. She didn't. In fact, she seemed to tense up even more as Rachel's father wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Mass is over, we should get going," said Quinn, yanking her head asking for Rachel to come by her side. She was being defensive, and Rachel understood it. She wished she could tell Quinn there was no reason for it.

Even if her father could pay for her freedom, she couldn't accept it. She couldn't let him waste everything he had saved through his whole lifetime all on her. She wouldn't want to be a weight in his life, and she wouldn't have anywhere to go. She wouldn't have anything to do either - she didn't know how to do anything else. She had just always been a slave. And if she couldn't support herself, she wouldn't let him be the one to do it.

"I suppose I'll see you again?" Eugene asked, giving her another hug as a goodbye.

Rachel didn't know the answer to that. Quinn was always composed in front of strangers, but Rachel had no idea what was in her head right then. For all Rachel knew, she could still get punished for that encounter afterwards. But her father waited for an answer, so she turned to face Quinn and with her biggest eyes she silently prayed for a positive answer. They were in front of a church, after all.

"Yeah," Quinn answered with a sigh and a shrug. "Probably. Maybe."

Those simple three words made Rachel shatter. She wanted to throw herself on Quinn's arms and thank her with all her heart. She was more infatuated by Quinn with every tiny act. And she was less scared of it with each day.

Rose Hill, 1779

"Miss Quinn?" Rachel asked, peaking her head inside the library where Quinn worked on a canvas.

"Come on in," Quinn answered, without looking back. She could never mistake Rachel's voice.

"I've brought you a clean apron so that you won't get your gown dirty with the paints," said Rachel, handing her the folded apron.

"Will you tie it? My hands are dirty," Quinn said, getting up and turning around for Rachel to do as she was told. She had mastered every action Quinn required her to do, and kept coming back to show Quinn when she got it right. "Thank you, that's perfect," Quinn complimented, and Rachel's smile lit up. Quinn wasn't used to compliments - giving or receiving - but she quickly learned to drop them more frequently when she realized the effect they had on Rachel.

Quinn sat down again and grabbed a brush. She didn't have lessons that day, but she had woken up in a good mood and she always felt like her paintings were their best in days like those - especially since she didn't have to follow any instructions and could just do as she wished. She felt Rachel's eyes on her back as her hands worked. Rachel had always shown interest in her paintings, and Quinn found herself painting the hair of the woman in her canvas black instead of the usual blonde. Looking back over her shoulder, her eyes found Rachel's and they exchanged a quiet smile. Quinn would never be able to paint those eyes.

"Come here," said Quinn, quirking her head towards the canvas. She would never be able to paint Rachel, but maybe Rachel could. "Do you wanna try?" She asked, holding out a brush.

"Oh, no, miss, I don't know how to," Rachel answered with a shake of her head. Quinn tapped the spot by her side at the bench, and Rachel looked around before sitting down. "I have never done this."

"You're a fast learner, I know that. And something tells me you have a way for this," Quinn shrugged, placing the brush on Rachel's hand and showing her how to hold it properly. She felt a small shiver running down Rachel's body as their hands touched, and smiled again. "Just close your eyes, picture whatever you want and move your hands as you feel."

"Alright," Rachel murmured, doing as she was told. She didn't have to keep her eyes closed, but Quinn wouldn't be the one to tell her that. If her eyes were closed Quinn would be able to stare at her without any awkwardness between them. "Like this?" Rachel asked, and Quinn's eyes opened wider as she watched Rachel work.

"Yes," Quinn nodded with a grin that Rachel couldn't see. "Exactly like that! Those are pretty good strokes, especially for a first time!"

Rachel opened her eyes and locked them with Quinn's. Their smiles matched, and none of them bothered looking away and towards the painting. They would never be able to paint each other's eyes.

For a second, Quinn thought Rachel was going to kiss her. She wished Rachel would. She wondered if Rachel would have done it already if there weren't such powerful roles between them. She considered being the one to do so. But a loud and obnoxious noise filled the room just in time to interrupt her and make her whole stomach twist up in a knot.

"Well, look who's here! If it isn't my very favorite niece!" said Lady Angeline, walking into the room with swaying hips. Rachel stood up promptly, and Quinn watched as her eyes found Lady Angeline's. Her stomach twisted harder, and she was almost sure she would throw up. But she couldn't. She couldn't let her guard down. She had to let her aunt know she was in command - especially after she read the letters Lady Angeline had sent Rachel.

"Aunt Angeline," Quinn greeted, standing up and giving a small bow of her head before turning to Rachel. "You may leave now," she said.

"Oh, I don't mind if she stays!" Lady Angeline said, moving her hand up to stop Rachel in her way - but Quinn was faster, stopping between them. Her aunt wouldn't touch Rachel. Not in front of her.

"I have ordered her to leave," Quinn replied coldly, but looked back to Rachel and dismissed her again with a small hand gesture. She didn't want to be rude to Rachel, but she had to stand her ground.

If it worked or not Quinn would never know, but for the time being Rachel was far from her aunt and it was all she could ask for. Lady Angeline sat down at the chaise near Quinn's painting and she held her breath.

"I didn't know she could paint," Lady Angeline said, quirking up an eyebrow. Quinn untied her apron and hung it on the easel.

"I didn't know you were coming," Quinn replied, doing her best to move the subject away from Rachel.

"Oh, didn't you? It was planned ages ago. It must have slipped your father's mind." Quinn gave her a fake smile. It was almost as if she knew Quinn's father had been his busiest and barely had any time for her anymore. "So," Lady Angeline continued. "I've heard about your birthday ball."

"I'm sorry you couldn't come," Quinn replied with a mocking grin.

"I'm sorry it was such a failure," her aunt shot back. Quinn frowned.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, aunt Angeline. All of my guests left this house speaking of how much of a success it was," said Quinn. She could be overstating that information, but she wasn't lying. She hadn't heard any complaints - except for her mother's, but she was already used to those. It surprised her that her mother and her aunt didn't get along. They surely could bond over the fact they both hated Quinn.

"Well, if it had been a success you wouldn't be single by now, aren't I right?" Lady Angeline asked, and Quinn laughed - but her aunt didn't understand, and frowned.

"Oh, you have to admit it is at least ironic to hear that from you, right aunt Angeline? I mean, at least I'm still young enough for a wedding." Quinn replied, but the smirk that appeared on Lady Angeline's face made her sure she should have stayed quiet.

"Well, I have my reasons to not be married. And let me tell you, they are wonderful!"

Quinn didn't have the time to excuse herself. If she wasn't out of the room right at that second she wouldn't have been able to keep her breakfast in. She could only hope her aunt wasn't talking like that about Rachel, because if she were, only God knew what Quinn would do to her.

Still, she knew her exit hadn't been the best.

Lady Angeline won.

"Why do you look like you just killed someone and need help with the body?" Quinn asked with a giggle. The horrible mood she got after the morning chat with her aunt had been washed away by one simple smile from Rachel. "Oh, let me guess! You just shared a lovely conversation with aunt Angeline too!"

"I haven't have the pleasure to see her yet," George replied, and Quinn was unsettled without knowing if he had been sarcastic or not. He was known for liking everyone, regardless of their bad traits, and it wouldn't surprise Quinn if he was fond of their aunt. "But what I've came to tell you is somehow related to her."

"Oh God, what did she do already? She only just arrived!" Quinn tensed up.

"Well, not her exactly," he said fidgeting with his hands and sitting on the chair near Quinn. He didn't had the heart to look at her eyes, and it terrified her to think why. "Remember how you told me she had been going after Rachel?" He asked. Quinn nodded in agreement. "Let's say she isn't the only one doing so."

"What are you talking about?" Quinn deadpanned, swallowing thick. It was hard to deal with someone wanting what was hers - but knowing that Lady Angeline's visits were always limited to a few days reassured her. It didn't matter how much she wanted Rachel - there was a whole ocean between them for most of the year. Quinn didn't know how she would deal with having someone from the farm doing the same. "Who is it?"

"I wanted to tell you sooner, but I really didn't know how to. Especially after you told me everything," George said with a deep sigh as he shook his head. "God, I wish I wasn't the one to have to tell you that."

"Just tell me," Quinn said firmly. Her wanting to know was bigger than the fear she felt.

"Father went after her," George whispered. Quinn knit her eyebrows together and chuckled. George shook his head faster and caught her hand, anchoring her eyes. "Quinn, I'm serious."

"That's absurd, George!" Quinn dismissed it. "Father would never do that. He wouldn't go for a slave. He loves our mother!" But the tense frown in his face didn't fall, and Quinn felt herself getting more nervous. "George, Rachel would have told me. That's nonsense."

"Quinn, it wouldn't have been the first time. He has gone after slaves before. You were just too young or too naive to realize that, but he is not the hero you always think of him as," he said. Quinn didn't want to believe. "And Rachel wouldn't tell you. She wouldn't go against him."

"Who told you this, George?" Quinn leaned forward. "That person has the worst sense of humor I've ever heard of. Tell me who it was!"

"No one told me," he said with a small shrug. "I've seen him whispering things to her more than once. I don't know if anything happened besides that, but I'm sure I've seen him talking to her in a rather suspiciously way."

Quinn was about to argue back. She would be able to refute every single one of George's statements if she had to. She would do whatever it took to keep the image she had of her father. But she was interrupted when she saw him walking through the door, untying the knot of his tie.

"Well, if it isn't my beautiful children!" He said.

He walked towards them and placed a wet kiss on Quinn's cheek.

And she knew it didn't matter how much she tried to deny. It was true.