Imelda peered furtively around the corner of the hacienda's back gate, chewing on her lip as she surveyed the garden. The courtyard was abandoned, the only movement a lazy breeze that stirred the thick leaves of the old yellow pine.

"Oscar?" she breathed, her voice never rising above a whisper. "Felipe?" Her younger twin brothers made it their life's mission to torment her like a couple of demons, but they were the only ones she could trust to have her back in the present moment. Her mother would be of no help at all, and her father would not be home from the quarry until mealtime.

There was a rustling movement from the far corner of the main house; Imelda froze, hoping beyond hope that it would be either one of her siblings. She had left the hacienda without permission, or a chaperone. Normally it would have been cause for a light scolding, but she wanted to defer the lecture for as long as possible. Surely her mother would put two and two together….

A man rounded the corner, heading for the back door. He was broad enough to fill any doorway, strong enough to lift a grown man over his head, and tall enough to loom over anyone standing in his general vicinity. His greased hair was streaked with lines of deep gray, the same that dominated his thick beard and mustache. His brown eyes were at once both stern and demanding, a true patriarch over his modest domain.

Imelda's breath caught in her throat. If he was already here, then… just how late was she?

"Papá!" She ran to meet him, stopping short of colliding with his barreled chest. When she was younger, the familiar odor of sweat, animals, and earth had not been enough to stop her from embracing him with fervor. Now that she was a young woman, she reached for his arm instead, holding the least grimy part as she smiled up at him. His eyes softened and he wiped his hand on the last clean bit of cotton shirt before gently pinching her cheek.

"Lindita." She swallowed back a sigh, allowing him to pat her cheek before letting go. Her parents still enjoyed calling her by their little pet names, and while she didn't openly complain about it, it still made her want to roll her eyes. She was almost seventeen, a woman grown!

"Your mamá has been looking for you," he said after a moment's pause, tilting his head just enough for his gaze to become reprimanding. Imelda averted her eyes, cheeks burning with shame. She could take hours of her mother's lectures without batting an eye, but her father only had to look at her once in that kind, disappointed way for her to feel immeasurable guilt.

"I'm sorry." He hummed softly in answer, thumb running beneath her chin as he tilted her head up.

"It's almost suppertime," he said at last. "Go wash up."

"Yes, Papá." She waited until he was out of earshot before letting out the sigh she'd been holding in. She was her father's favorite, his firstborn and only daughter. He loved the boys, too, but everyone in town knew that she was his special girl.

Still… that didn't mean he'd ever side with her over Mamá.

The back of the house was thankfully empty. Imelda sped through the corridors in an effort to remain unnoticed, slowing to a walk only when she neared the kitchen. If she was truly so late in returning, there was no reason to add another strike to her laundry list of sins.

Her mother was already in the kitchen, standing with legs spread before the stove where a stewpot stood bubbling. With her head barely clearing the twins' shoulders, Mamá could hardly be called an imposing figure; still, what she lacked in size she made up for in spirit. She had once been a beautiful woman in her long-ago youth; she had aged happily, if not gracefully, with laugh lines carved into the corners of her lips and creases near her eyes. Silvery strands of hair decorated both temples like Roman laurels. Her eyes twinkled with a merry light that the stresses of motherhood could not diminish, and her plump curves were good for embracing… when she wasn't making a scene.

"Imelda? Is that you, mija?" Imelda winced, brushing the worst of the dust from her skirts before emerging into the heat of the kitchen.

"Yes, Mamá." She presented herself sheepishly, strands of loose hair sticking to the back of her neck and hands clasped against her spine. Her mother turned from the stove, narrowing her eyes.

"Where have you been?!" she huffed, tongue clicking in disapproval at what she saw. "Tch! Never mind, never mind. The food is ready and the table has yet to be set." She pointed her trusty wooden spoon at the dish cabinet. "And call your brothers when you're through."

"All right." Imelda quickly gathered the plates and glasses, setting them out on the long wooden table. Her skin prickled with every glance her mother shot in her direction, but the woman stayed thankfully quiet—at least, for the moment. She sighed to herself, knowing that it would not be a peaceful family dinner. The most she could hope for was her father eventually grunting that he'd heard enough, sparing them an evening's lecture for her indiscretion.

When she was through, she crossed through the dining room and into the empty foyer. Sunlight fell from the windows in the upper story, fading light casting long shadows along the far wall. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called up to the second floor.

"Oscar, Felipe! It's time to eat!" Imelda was surprised they weren't already downstairs, eavesdropping on her admittedly one-sided conversation with Mamá. There seemed to be no greater delight for them than to hear her get into trouble. It didn't seem fair at times; they were Mamá's favorites, her little angelitos, and they never got into trouble unless Papá caught them red-handed in the middle of some convoluted scheme.

Imelda made it halfway up the stairs before the two came sprinting around the corner, sliding on the rug at the head of the staircase before barreling down it. Tall as Papá, the twins were stretched as thin as taffy; at only twelve they were already showing the beginnings of a mustache at the corners of their lips, their wild hair sticking up in identical cowlicks. She braced herself for impact, only for them to swing around her at the last possible second, laughing as they flew down the stairs.

Grabbing for identical collars, she managed to nab Oscar before he could duck out of reach. He'd always been the slower of the two, coming into the world a full three minutes after his brother. Oscar wiggled in her grasp, voicing wordless complaints as she held him in an iron grip.

"Was she angry?" Imelda asked, already knowing the answer. Oscar paused in his attempt to wriggle free, eyeing her with a sullen pout.

"I won't say until you let me go."

"You'll say now, or I'll make you sorry!" He twisted, peering over his shoulder to see that Felipe had abandoned him to his fate. Still hesitating, he began to howl only when she wrapped her arm around his bony neck in a signature older-sister headlock.

"All right! She was!" he yelled, shoulders bunched against her forearm. "She made us go upstairs until he left." His pout returned, this time at the memory of being told to mind his manners in front of guests. Imelda felt a small shiver run up her spine. If her mother had scolded the twins, that meant she really was angry.

"Did you tell her where I had gone?"

"How could I?" he grunted, wiggling harder and nearly pulling them both down the remainder of the stairs. It took her by surprise; they were getting so big! The two of them had been able to reach her feet before she was halfway out of her window. If Felipe hadn't slipped on one of Mamá's trailing vines, they wouldn't have dropped her in the middle of her escape. "Didn't know what excuse you'd make," he added in a mutter.

"Smart boy." She let him go, sizing him up with a smile before wrapping him up in an impulsive, almost threatening embrace. Even if they were little devils, they were still her baby brothers. They had no gain in helping her climb out the window to escape their mother, but they'd gone and done it anyway. There was a loyalty there, somewhere beneath the constant mockery and wheedling. It was almost heartwarming.

"Get off!" Oscar finally fought himself free, sticking out his tongue and clearing the remaining three stairs before shooting off towards the dining room. Imelda scowled after him, hands on her hips.

"That's the thanks I get for trying to be nice!" Maybe not so heartwarming after all….

"Imelda! Come!" She turned on the stairs, picking up her skirts so the wet hem would stop slapping against her shoes. She ran back through to the kitchen, stopping only to splash some water on her face and smooth down her hair as best she could. It would only be worse for her if she showed up late and unkempt.

"Sorry," she mumbled, letting Mamá take a seat as she began to serve everyone from the stewpot. A young lady must learn the proper way to manage a household, serving her family until her own daughter—if she were lucky enough to have one—took over the duty for her.

"What's gotten into you today?" Mamá asked, a rare undercurrent of exasperation in her tone. She frowned, her thick brows furrowed as she watched her daughter spoon soup into Felipe's bowl. "Where were you this afternoon?" Imelda didn't answer right away, finishing her duties before taking her seat at her father's left side. She tucked her napkin neatly into her lap, picked up her spoon, and took a bite.

"Well?"

"I went to the riverbank. With Lucía." She dabbed her lips with the napkin, wincing as the hot soup scalded a line down to her stomach. "We lost track of time." It wasn't a lie… at least, not a whole lie. Her best friend really had gone with her to the riverbank, but only to give Imelda a solid alibi. That wasn't the reason she'd left the hacienda in the first place, but to reveal that would be the equivalent of suicide.

"Ay…." Mamá rubbed her temples. "You're too old to be running around unchaperoned. You know this. You're a young lady now," she added, as though that explained everything. If it had been the two of them alone, Imelda might have argued that in her book, Lucía was old enough to count as a chaperone. But she must not argue with Mamá, especially not in front of Papá. She bit her tongue, staring down into her bowl.

"What's more, you had a visitor this afternoon, and you were nowhere to be found!" Oscar asked for another helping and Imelda stood to refill both his and Felipe's bowl. He locked eyes with her and for once, it seemed as though the twins weren't silently laughing at her misery. They seemed to pity her instead, offering quiet thanks as they took back their bowls. "Poor boy, he waited such a long time! It broke my heart to see him so downtrodden. And after I'd been all over the house, shouting myself hoarse with calling your name!"

"Who was it?" Papá asked, wiping the soup from his mustache.

"Héctor Rivera. You know, the little skinny one with the patched up coat. Hangs around the plaza with that other one, the… ah… de la Cruz, that's it." Her father nodded his recognition. Imelda let out a frustrated hiss, unable to keep her nostrils from flaring. Her mother caught it immediately, pursing her lips in answer. "And just what is that look for? He was a very polite young man!"

Of course she would think so. Stupid Héctor! What with his big ears and bigger nose, and that pointed chin, and those wide eyes, and that crooked smile! Of course he was polite, of course her mother liked him! She would fall head over heels for any man showing preference for her little girl! Stupid, stupid Héctor!

"Listen to me: when I was your age—"

Oh, boy. Here we go. Shoulders slumped, Imelda sipped her soup and settled in for another one of Mamá's marriage spiels. "When I was your age, lindita, I was already married to your father for two years! I was barely out of my quinceañera dress when we began courting. Here you are, almost seventeen, and you've turned down nearly every man in town! What are you waiting for? A prince? Is no man in Santa Cecilia good enough for you?"

"They just don't like me!" It was her traditional response, void of all meaning. Everyone at the table knew the truth. Men in Santa Cecilia liked Imelda just fine… until they didn't. Unfortunately for her, Mamá was in no mood to play games.

"It's because of your temper! No man will ever want you when you act so irritable and impatient!" Mamá nodded in time with her words, fingers folding the napkin back into her lap. "You must be genteel. What have I told you? A lady is tranquil, well-mannered, orderly, and kind. No rudeness, no shouting, and certainly no violence!"

"Mamá—"

"Tch!" her mother interrupted, shaking her head. "You must throw aside these childish tendencies of yours," she continued, holding out her own bowl for another portion. "They are like the muñeca your father gave you. It's a symbol of leaving childhood behind and embracing womanhood."

"But—!"

"No buts! It is simply the natural course of life!" Helpless, Imelda turned to her father.

"Papá, if I can just explain—"

"Enough." Imelda closed her mouth, cheeks burning with frustration. Angry tears pricked her eyes as she averted her gaze. "Your mother and I have given you many liberties growing up." He shared a glance with her mother. "Perhaps too many liberties."

"You are still young, mija." Her mother's smile seemed almost indulgent. "But you must understand, the time has come for you to—"

"I will not understand!" The twins gasped, spoons clattering in their empty bowls. "I will never understand!" Her parents looked at her in utter amazement; even at her worst, she had never dared to be outright defiant to their authority.

"Imelda!" Her mother's voice took on a sharper edge. "You will not raise your voice in your father's hearing. That is almost as bad as swearing."

"Why must I do this?" she argued, fighting to keep her voice level. "Why should I have to choose a husband and give everything up, just because I've reached some arbitrary age? I don't want a husband, and I don't want a family! If my only choice is to surrender everything to some burly oaf, I'd rather die!"

"What on earth are you saying?" her mother snapped, shaking her head in disbelief. "Do you want to see your life without men? Look at your Lucía! Look at her mother, at the shame she has brought on her family! On her own daughter! A man keeps you respectable, Imelda. A man keeps you safe. Do you really believe your father—"

"Papá, may I be excused?" Imelda did not speak above a low voice, yet it felt as though she'd been shouting at the top of her lungs. "Please?" It would be shameful to cry, grown as she was, but she felt the first tears clutch at her lashes and knew she would not be able to escape them for long.

"Yes." For once, Papá did not rebuke her for interrupting at the table. Nor did he hint at her clearing the dishes. "Go to your room." She nodded, feeling numb all over. It felt much like the time the twins had poured a pail of spring water over her head. She stood, pushing in her chair, and slowly made her way upstairs.

By the time she reached the bedroom, standing alone in the dark corridor, she was thawed enough to feel the tears warming her cheeks.

Imelda couldn't settle enough to sleep.

The twins had gone to bed some time ago, the muffled chatter of their voices dropping off into quiet snores. She combed the snags out of her hair with slow, even strokes, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She considered herself a somewhat beautiful woman, even if she had inherited more of her father's genes. She didn't have Lucía's perfectly sculpted cheekbones, perhaps, or Gabriela's naturally arched eyebrows, but she made up for that in other ways.

Papá said that she looked like Mamá, with her dark eyelashes and lithe figure.

Mamá said that she looked like Papá, with her soft brown eyes and rounded nose.

Oscar and Felipe said she looked like a horse, only to take it back the moment she cornered them with shoe in hand.

Deep down, she knew that her parents were right. The men of Santa Cecilia didn't like her because they were threatened by her, of her. She was not the type of woman to giggle or act coy when tarrying by the fountain in the plaza. She didn't blush when a man called her pretty. She didn't let them tug on her braid or pinch her cheeks, or sing love ballads.

And Mamá was right: it was her temper that got her into trouble more often than not. It always seemed to flare up before she could think to smother it, coals bursting into a raging inferno. A man whistled at her, and the next thing either of them knew he was on the ground and she was standing over him with an empty basket in her hands, groceries staining his once-pristine clothing. They never cared to speak to her after that.

Bah! What did she care? A tiny, miniscule part of her always sort of hoped… wished… that she could go on unmarried forever. She could live with her parents, or with the twins, and life could go on as it always had. But of course that was only a dream. It was her duty to marry, and so marry she would. To be unwed—a spinster—would be an embarrassment to her father's name.

Why should it? She frowned at her reflection. Why can't I do as I please? She knew the answer to that, too: marianismo. Her mother had quoted it to her often enough, tongue dragging on the syllables to further hammer them in.

A woman's place was in the home. She put her family ahead of her own desires for the greater good, to the benefit of all. A good homemaker, a frugal spender, a caring mother: in short, all the traits of a proper Mexican wife.

"Imelda?" There was a soft knock at the bedroom door. Her mother peered in, the corners of her eyes creased with worry. "Are you still awake? It's getting late."

"I'm going to bed now." Imelda felt a lump at the base of her throat, the delayed shame of making a scene at the table. She knew, without being told, that she was far too old to be throwing a tantrum in front of her parents. She looked away, clutching the comb in tight fingers.

"Ay, Imelda…." Her mother closed the door, looking her over with a sympathetic eye. "Come here, mija." She sat on the end of the bed, patting the empty mattress at her side. Imelda obediently came to sit next to her, staring down at her lap. Mamá took her face in both hands, turning her head to the light and wiping away the last remnants of tearstains from her cheeks. Her fingers were rough, calloused from years of hard labor, but each touch was as gentle as a caress.

"Imelda, your papá and I… we don't say such things because we want you to be angry or upset. We are only thinking about what's best for you. There will come a time—sooner than you might think—when you realize that family is the most important thing in this life. Nothing comes before it. Nothing can be allowed to come before it."

"Marianismo," she replied flatly. Mamá shook her head.

"Not just marianismo." She took a deep breath. "We all make sacrifices for our families. Men, women: that part doesn't matter. It's all the same in the end. Sometimes, for the people we love… well, some things are worth giving up."

"But—" The words fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird, desperate to break free. "I'm not ready to be a wife yet! I'm still—!" She fell silent, reaching for her mother's hand and holding it against her cheek.

"You are my Imelda." Mamá wrapped her in a hug, one of the tight ones that she usually found suffocating. This time it was not constricting at all; on the contrary, it made her feel warm, loved, safe. She could hide from the world in her mother's arms and she did just that, burrowing her head into the soft meat of her neck and clutching the back of her faded dress.

"You will always be my little girl," Mamá continued, rubbing her back in soothing circles. "It's frightening to think about, I know." She rocked her gently, as though she were only six and not sixteen. "I've taught you everything I can; the rest, you must learn on your own. But hear me when I say: anyone in Santa Cecilia should be honored to have a wife like you."

"But I—I'm—"

"You are our strong, our proud, our beautiful Imelda. And we are not asking you to change your ways completely! Such a thing would be impossible." Mamá pulled back, smoothing the hair from her brow and kissing her forehead. "Me, Papá, your brothers: we love you just the way you are. Now, we must find someone who can do the same as your husband."

"They really don't like me, Mamá." Her mother's eyebrows rose in feigned surprise.

"What? Why, Héctor likes you just fine!" she protested lightly, chucking her chin. "And even if he is not the one for you, there will be others in time. But if you show them nothing more than anger and resentment, that is all you will receive in return. They will never know the beautiful angel you are, deep down."

"But what if I'm nice to them and they still don't like me? What then?"

"What then? Uff! What good are they?" Mamá made a face, waving the pretend suitors away. "If they can't realize they're vying for the hand of the most priceless woman in all of Mexico, then they are not worth your time! I'll send your papá and your brothers to beat them across the head until they see clearly!" Imelda couldn't help but laugh at the thought of all the men in her family standing in a row, taking turns to dash some poor fool's brains out for daring to insult her. Mamá smiled, picking up her hands and kissing her palms.

"Just give them a chance, mija. That's all we ask." She gave the slender fingers a squeeze. "I know you will make the right choice. For your family."

"For my family," Imelda agreed reluctantly. She tugged her hands away, folding them in her lap. "Was Papá very upset after I went to my room?"

"Hmm? Don't worry yourself about him. I've taken care of that." Imelda looked up in surprise. "What?" her mother laughed, mouth twisting wryly. "You think I can't handle your father? Just who did you think you got that temper from? It's honest, I can tell you that much."

She laughed again, and suddenly Imelda thought of her childhood. Her mother, haggling with the grocer and the butcher, physically yanking her and the twins apart, boxing their ears soundly when they complained, the fiery glint in her eye whenever anyone aside from Papá tried to coerce her into doing something she did not want to do.

Perhaps she does know what it means to sacrifice for family. Imelda felt as though she were seeing her mother for the first time, as a fellow woman instead of the person who dictated orders to the house.

"My goodness." Mamá wiped her eyes, standing up and fixing the front of her dress. "That's enough talk for one night, I think. Don't stay up too late, Imelda."

"Yes, Mamá. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Imelda waited until her mother shut the door before letting out a low exhale. She was lucky that her parents weren't angrier with her. Mamá seemed to understand, at least. Even so….

Thump.

Imelda jumped, startled by the loud noise. She stared across the room, at the wall separating her bedroom from the twins' room. Muffled speech, too low to make out, and then all was silent once more. She stole across the room on silent feet before pressing her ear to the wall. The last thing she needed was for them to start making noise!

Thwack!

"Oscar! Felipe!" she hissed, knocking as loudly as she dared. "Keep it down!" There was no answer, though the walls were thin enough that they could not have missed her warning knock. "If you wake Papá—" Her words were cut short by a louder thump, as well as a muffled curse.

Imelda froze. The sound had not come from the next room. It had come from her room.

More precisely, from just outside her window.

She turned her eyes to the window, covered by the beautiful curtains her mother had sewn for her last birthday. For one long moment she was motionless, trapped against the wall with her heart in her throat. How could anyone be outside? Her bedroom was on the second floor, far out of reach. But she had not imagined it, either. The sounds were real, and that voice—that voice did not belong to anyone in her family. Nor did it sound like one of her father's quarry workers.

Standing with her cheek to the plaster, Imelda considered her options. She could scream, which would immediately bring her family running to her aid. That was probably the most practical solution, since Papá would easily take care of any would-be intruders. Or she could make a run for it, escape to her parent's bedroom. But what if that put the twins in danger? Of course, she could always just go to the window herself, just to make sure there was no one outside.

Call for Papá. She half-crawled to the door, reaching out and grabbing one of her boots by the laces.

Call for Papá. On hands and knees she crept to the windowsill, ready to bludgeon whatever—or whoever—she found there.

Call for Papá. Trembling fingers reached for the curtains, her breath locked in her chest, pulse pounding in her ears as she gathered the courage needed to throw it aside. I am not afraid, she told herself firmly. Well… I am, but I am also Imelda, daughter of Juan the quarrymaster, and I am brave.

Why won't you call for Papá!?

"Ya-a-a-a-a!" It was a pathetic battle cry, but she was too caught up in the moment to care. Flinging open the curtain and casement in two quick movements, she brandished the boot over her head and prepared to strike the hunched shadow just outside the window.

She gasped.

Héctor gasped, too.

Imelda slammed the casement shut, dropping the boot as she grabbed the curtains and shut them behind her back. She was drenched in a cold sweat, trembling with nerves and shock. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, chest tight and fluttering with adrenaline. She caught sight of herself in the mirror: hair hanging loose from her braid, eyes wider than a barn owl, lips parted in a silent shriek.

Peck, peck. Peck. The sound was not unlike a little bird, tap-tap-tapping at the windowpane. She managed to swallow, taking three deep breaths before opening the curtains once more. Arms crossed, she glared down at the sheepish face in the window, timid and flushed as he continued to peck on the glass with his fingernail. The last wisps of fear bubbled up into anger, and she considered the boot before deciding that a fall from this height would probably kill him.

Even if she couldn't stand him, she was not about to hang for the murder of Héctor Rivera.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Imelda threw open the window, kneeling so that she loomed over his cowering figure. "Why are you here—wait, what are you even standing on?" Curiosity overcame her fury and she leaned out of the window to see that he'd climbed her mother's rose trellis, wobbly legs shaking as he scrambled for a better grip.

"H-Hola, Imelda…." Héctor at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "Can I come in?"

"No! Go away!" she snapped, afraid to speak above a harsh whisper. "What are you even doing here?"

"I, erm… I wanted to see you."

"You couldn't wait until tomorrow? You see me every day in the plaza!"

"Tomorrow would have been too late!" he explained hurriedly, his eyes pleading for her to listen. She rocked back onto her heels, scowling as she watched him grip the windowsill for dear life.

"You were already here once today," she couldn't help but point out, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"And you weren't," he replied easily, steadying himself enough to rest his chin on one elbow.

That's because I was avoiding you! Imelda bit her tongue, unwilling to waste time saying the obvious aloud. If she lost her temper, if she raised her voice…. Héctor would not be the only one in danger. Even if they were trying to marry her off, Papá and Mamá would end her life if they found her like this: unchaperoned, underdressed, unrepentant.

"I was not," she finally agreed, lifting her chin obstinately. "I was at the river with my friend."

"So you like the river?" Héctor leaned on the sill conversationally, as though they were standing at the counter of the general store in town. "Do you like to take walks on the bridge path?"

"We were picking flowers." Why was she even bothering to tell him this? Why was she humoring this clown? If she had any sense in her head, she'd shut the window now and ignore him until he gave up.

"What's your favorite flower?"

"My… my what?"

"Your favorite type of flower." He leaned forward eagerly. "I could pick some for you. I'd pick you fresh ones every day, if you want."

"I don't need someone to pick flowers for me! I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself!" His forehead creased, mouth twisting in slight annoyance at her immediate rejection. "I'm still waiting for the reason you're here, you know. This could have been a conversation for tomorrow."

"Ah! Yes, well—I wanted to ask you something." He grunted, lifting himself higher on the sill in an effort to take the weight off his legs.

"Ask me what, Héctor? Hurry up, I don't have all night."

"You see, they're having this dance tomorrow night, at the plaza. And I thought that—what I mean is—" He averted his eyes, chewing nervously on his lip as he looked everywhere except her. "The other day, when the band was playing; you danced very well. I-I wasn't staring!" he added quickly, seeing the look on her face. "I just happened to notice, and… erm… I thought that maybe you liked to dance. And I also like to dance, you see, so I thought maybe you might go dancing tomorrow. With me. Together."

"And the only time you could think to ask me was the middle of the night?"

"I came by earlier, but you weren't here!" he protested feebly. "And tomorrow would be too late. I thought if I could catch you tonight, before you were in bed…." He ran a hand through his hair, making the thick strands stand on end. "I'll admit, this wasn't my best plan."

"You're just now realizing that?" Héctor narrowed his eyes, mouth set in a thin line. She couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him so disgruntled.

I've never actually spoken to him before, have I? At least, not like this. Most of the time she found any excuse to avoid him, scowling at him from across the plaza and ignoring the way her friends giggled at his lovelorn sighs. He's actually funny, in his own way.

"I'm just going to go. Have a good night." He backed out of the window, squinting down at his feet in the dark.

"Wait." Imelda tilted her head, looking him over as best she could from his current position. In all honesty, he wasn't quite as ugly as she'd led herself to believe. Sure, his nose and his ears were large, but they gave him a boyish air that was almost… cute. His hair seemed soft, not oily and greased like some of the men she'd turned down. He did have wide eyes, but they were surrounded by a fringe of beautiful dark lashes. That crooked smile… now that he wasn't so far away she could see that it gave him dimples, which made it all the more charming. And if his chin was pointed—well, no one was perfect.

"Why do you want to take me so badly?" she asked, shaking the thoughts of her mind.

"Well… I like you!"

"What on earth do you even know about me?" she sputtered, flushing from the roots of her hair down to her toes.

"Your name is Imelda. You have twin brothers. You like to dance. People call you a firebrand. You've hit every man in town except for me."

"That can be fixed!" He didn't answer, merely smiling that adorable, crooked smile as he continued.

"You like to eat buñuelos almost as much as Lucía. Your forehead wrinkles when you laugh. Your favorite color is purple. Sometimes you sing as you walk home, when you think no one else can hear."

"Y-You'd only know those things if you'd been spying on me!"

"It's not spying if you know I'm there," he argued. "You frown at me almost every day."

"That—" He did have a point. "Hmph! Who cares? Just because you know something doesn't mean you know everything."

"I would learn more if you agreed to dance with me."

"You really want me to come?" she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"I asked, didn't I?"

"And you're not just doing this to laugh at me?"

"What makes you think I'd do that?!"

"Because I've hit every man in town, except for you." She frowned. "You could be setting me up for a cruel joke."

"I'd never!" he gasped. "Imelda, do you hate me?"

"No." The truth stumbled past her lips before she could think.

"Then why do you act as though you do?" She opened her mouth, but could not think of any good reason. "Is it so hard to believe that someone has an interest in you?"

I… I don't know. They gazed at one another silently: one intense, the other calculating.

"Close your eyes," she ordered. It was impossible to think straight with him staring at her like that. He blinked and obeyed, scrunching his eyes shut before immediately peeking through his lashes. "Héctor!"

"Sorry! Sorry." He squeezed them even tighter, nose wrinkling with the effort. She watched his face warp and smooth again as he waited. He really was a stubborn one, wasn't he? And earnest, to boot. She couldn't help but believe that he was telling her the truth. But… why her? Just "liking" someone wasn't enough, was it? Imelda took a deep breath, biting her lip as she searched for something to say.

Going to a dance would make her mother ecstatic. She didn't want to be seen in front of everyone with Héctor, but… it wouldn't be such a bad thing, either. Was this what her mother meant by giving him a chance? Was she even willing to give him a chance? She leaned in as she thought, counting the lashes resting against his thin cheeks. Héctor wasn't horrid, but how could he possibly make her happy? What would it be like to have him as a husband?

Their noses brushed and he opened one eye, immediately jolting back with a little yelp of surprise. She felt it on her lips, one quick breath.

"O-Oh." She cleared her throat, blushing heavily as she tugged the braid over her shoulder and began to run her hands down its length. Héctor watched her quietly, letting her fidget a moment before offering a shy smile. He leaned in, tilting his head in clear invitation.

Imelda would never forget her first kiss: Franscisco Aquino, the bricklayer's son. Rather, he had kissed her before she even knew what was happening. It had taken her by surprise, and it had been… disgusting. He'd been given a black eye for his trouble, and her friends had all agreed he'd earned it. What man, Lucía had said, tossing her curls with a sly laugh, kisses like a trout? Her revulsion had been drowned with peals of laughter, and she had not kissed anyone since.

Thankfully, Héctor did not kiss like a trout.

His lips were warm, hesitant almost, pressing carefully against hers. He didn't try to crush her against him, or slobber all over her with the eagerness of a hound; in fact, the only parts of them touching were their mouths. She had been too shocked with Franscico to shut her eyes—and it had been over rather quickly, once she'd shoved him away—but now she let her lashes flutter, focusing on the gentle way his lips moved over hers before she pulled away.

"Imelda…." No one had ever spoken her name like that before, raspy and thick with emotion. It sent a thrill straight through her, a funny tingle spreading from her lips down to her stomach, burning her from the inside out. She opened her eyes and met his shyly, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

"Héctor?"

"Will you dance with me tomorrow?" he murmured, his eyes never once leaving hers. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

"I will." He nodded, tongue darting out over his lips. She followed the movement with her eyes, and before she knew it he was leaning back in for a second kiss. One small part of her voiced its protest, but to her surprise she found that she didn't really care. He could kiss her as many times as he wanted.

"Eww!" The two of them flew apart, blinking at one another before turning as one towards the source of the sound. She felt her face heat once more, this time in rage, at the sight of her brothers propped up in their own window. Now that they were noticed, the twins began to do what they did best: mockery. "Imelda kissed Héctor! Imelda kissed Héctor!"

"Oscar! Felipe!" In her anger she forgot to be quiet, grabbing her boot and nearly climbing atop Héctor in order to get a good aim. "I'm going to kill you both!"

"Oye, chamacos," Héctor began sternly, brow furrowing. He leaned away from the trellis, wagging his finger as he spoke. "I think—!" Before he could finish, he was interrupted with a loud cracking sound. With a shout he dropped a few feet, clinging to the splintering wood for dear life.

"I think you're falling!" the twins shouted in unison, nearly tumbling out of the window themselves.

"Imelda?" Imelda muffled her scream in her hand as her mother knocked on the bedroom door. "What's wrong? We heard you cry out." Héctor looked up at her in shock, his mouth hanging open. "Imelda? What—" Mamá opened the door, Papá two steps behind her. Her parents took one look at the tableau before them: their daughter on her knees, dressed only in her nightgown, the edge of Héctor's pale face as he slipped out of sight, vines snapping from the window as they followed the trellis towards the earth. Her father bellowed, turning on his heel and racing for the door.

"Papá, wait!"

"Papá?" the twins parroted, sliding back through their window to better see the chaos inside the house. Frantic, Imelda waved both hands at her stunned mother.

"Mamá!" Caught between husband and daughter, her mother took the more dangerous of the two paths and raced through the open door after her husband. Turning back to the window, Imelda found the trellis jutting from the wall, the thin wooden rails buckling beneath Héctor's weight. There was an overlapping patter of bare feet as the twins shouldered their way beneath her, Oscar on one side and Felipe on the other. The three of them watched helplessly as more of the wood began to snap, its occupant dangling above a bone-shattering drop.

"Grab the trellis!" she ordered, and the boys lunged to obey. Just as their long fingers brushed the edge of the wood, there was an even louder crack as it split wholly in two. Héctor shouted as he fell backwards, scrambling like a lizard to stay on top of the swaying structure.

Just my luck: I found a man I can tolerate, and he's in danger of busting his skull open like a melon.

"Look!" Felipe pointed, tugging at the sleeve of her gown. "His pants!" One of Héctor's suspenders had gotten caught up in the trellis, leaving him hanging a much safer distance from the ground. If he could get himself free, it would be relatively easy to jump down and make his escape. Imelda sighed in relief, only to hold her breath again when she heard her mother—this time, outside the house.

"Stop! Let's at least get him down!"

"Where's my shoehorn!?" Her mother raced around the corner of the house, faster than Imelda had ever seen her run before. Then, several things seemed to happen all at once:

Mamá took two handfuls of Héctor, yanking him with all her might.

Imelda pushed the trellis, slipping over the windowsill as she snapped it beneath her hands.

The twins grabbed her by the waist, holding her up as she lost her balance.

Papá appeared at the edge of the house, a lantern in one hand and his metal shoehorn in the other.

Héctor slipped off the broken trellis, tumbling down into the rosebushes and trampling them as he stumbled to his feet. Mamá took one look at his nervous smile, slapped him hard enough to send his eyes rolling, and then pushed him in the direction of the gate.

"Hey, payaso!" Imelda called, unable to stop herself from cackling at the absurdity of it all. She'd just kissed a man—twice!—she was hanging by her legs out of her own bedroom window, her mother had just let the same man escape, all because they were afraid her father just might kill him if he had half a chance. "You better run!" Héctor waved, blowing her a kiss before leaping the gate and taking off down the street as though the devil himself were at his heels.

"You blasted—!" There was a clanging crash of metal on metal as the shoehorn dinged the gate. "Stay away from my daughter!" Mamá shook her head, taking in the sight of her ruined rose garden with wordless sounds of dismay. Finally she looked up, wringing her hands with a sigh.

"Dios mio, Imelda! This is not what I meant!"

Imelda yawned, wiping at her sockets as she squinted in the early morning light. She opened her eyes to a splash of fading purple; it took a moment to reorient herself, staring around her bedroom as she reached out to touch the wilting stems.

"You need some water," she informed them, sitting up with a creak and a muffled grunt. Recalling her dream, she could not help but smile at the distant memory of that long-ago night. Everything had turned out fine in the end; her mother had smoothed things over, and she had been allowed to go dancing despite her father's residual anger. Aside from a stern lecture about the dangers of being unchaperoned around a man, nothing had come of Héctor's little escapade.

"Mamá was probably just happy I hadn't beaten him down that trellis myself," she chuckled, taking the flowers in hand and looking at them in the fresh sunlight.

What is your favorite flower?

"You were such a child back then," she sighed, pulling herself to her feet. Her bones cracked as she hobbled to the vanity. "Then again," she amended, looking at her reflection with a smile, "so was I."