“My family,” he said. “All of them.”

I wondered how he could hate them. They had been so wonderful and kind to me.

“It is torture living in a house of women! They are a bunch of silly old gossips. And I can’t escape them. Ever since I was born, they expect me to run this place. Even my name, Anya. They expect me to do all these things, but they never ask. No one asks. I don’t love you, no.”

“So you said,” I joked.

“No, no, I do like you very much. But ever since you came here … I am jealous of you! I would like to see something other than this farm in Chiapas and those factories in Oaxaca and Tabasco. I want to be like you and not know what I am going to do next.”

“Theo, I love it here.”

“No, it is only fun for you because you don’t have to be here forever. I’d like not to see the same people every day for the rest of my life. They think I love you and in some way, I guess I do. I am happy to know someone like you. I am happy to know someone who thinks I am knowledgeable and who doesn’t talk like me and who hasn’t known me since I was in short pants. And maybe I do love you, if love means that I dread the day you’ll leave. Because I know my world will feel so much smaller again.”

“Theo, I love it here … And this place, your family, have been incredibly good to me. Where I came from … It’s not what you think. I didn’t have a choice. I had to leave.”

Theo looked at me. “What do you mean?” “I wish I could explain, but I can’t.”

“I tell you all my secrets and you tell me none of yours. Do you not think you can trust me?”

I considered this. I did trust him. I decided to tell him part of my story. First, I made him promise never to speak of this to anyone in his family.

“I am like a safe.”

“A pretty noisy safe,” I said.

“No, you know me, Anya. I only talk nonsense. Nothing important ever comes out of these lips.” “You say you are jealous of me, but I swear, Theo, I have far more reason to be jealous of you.” I

told him about my father and mother being killed and my older brother being hurt and on the lam (I decided not to mention that I, too, was on the lam) and my grandmother dying last year and how the only one left was my baby sister and it was basically killing me that I couldn’t be with her every hour of every day. “I only wish I had the problems you have.”

Theo nodded. His eyes and the set of his jaw told me that he wanted to ask follow-up questions, but he didn’t. Instead, he was quiet for a long time. “You have done it again—made me feel like a foolish, stupid thing.” He took my hand and grinned at me. “You are going to stay through the next harvest, aren’t you? There’s so much more I could teach you. And I like having someone to talk to.”

“Yes.” Of course I was staying through the next harvest. I was every bit as stuck as Theo, if not more so. I would stay here until I got word that I could go back to New York or until the Marquezes wouldn’t have me anymore, whichever came first.

DESPITE THE FACT that I was more or less a good Catholic girl, most of my life I have hated Christmas. Not the Christ-being-born-in-a-manger bit, but the holiday itself. At first, I hated it because my mother was dead, and it was awful to spend Christmas without my mother. Once my father died, the hate grew into a true abhorrence, though. This was followed by a brief period when Christmas became only mildly loathsome to me because of all the efforts Nana made. Among other things, she’d take us to see the Rockettes (Oh yes, there were still Rockettes; there will always be Rockettes!) and then she’d make fun of the dancing ladies and slip us orange slices and macaroons.After Nana got sick, of course, those traditions stopped, and I returned to hating Christmas as usual. This was the first Christmas since Nana had died, and my thoughts were with Natty in New York. I could only hope that Scarlet, Win, and Imogen were making things bearable for my sister.

Christmas at Granja Mañana was a serious business. Food was prepared for days. Whatever space could be decorated with a bow or flower or nativity was. The Marquez chocolate factory even made Advent calendars with miniature chocolate figurines inside: a lamb, a heart, a snowman, a sombrero, an egg, a cacao pod, etc. The calendars would have delighted Natty, and how I wished I could have sent her one.

Because they were a large family, the Marquezes played Secret Santa—that way, each person only had to buy one present. I had drawn Luna’s name. I bought her a set of paints I had seen when Theo and I had stopped for lunch in Puerto Escondido. Theo had insisted that he pay me something for all the work I had done. Initially, I had refused but I was glad to have the money so that I could buy Luna a gift. I would pay Theo back as soon as I could.

On Christmas Eve, Isabelle, the eldest Marquez sibling, arrived from Mexico City with her husband. She was very beautiful, tall and severe with a long nose. She looked like a painting of an angel, which is to say powerful and potentially wrathful. I could tell she didn’t like me. “Mother, who is she?” I heard her ask Luz in Spanish. My Spanish was improving, and though I couldn’t say everything I wanted to say, my comprehension was getting decent.

“Anya. She’s come to learn cacao farming. She is friends with your cousin Sophia,” Luz replied.

“Ugh, Sophia. I wouldn’t like anyone on that girl’s recommendation. Why is this Anya person here for Christmas, Mama? Doesn’t she have any people of her own?” Isabelle asked.

“She is staying with us through the next harvest,” Luz said. “She is a very nice girl. Your siblings are fond of her. Give her a chance, my darling.”

At night, we went to Midnight Mass. The service was in Spanish, but otherwise, it wasn’t that different from being in New York.

Finally, it was Christmas morning, and we exchanged our gifts. Luna loved the paint set, as I knew she would. The thing I didn’t know about the Marquezes and Secret Santa was that everyone cheated and ended up buying gifts for one another anyway. Though I had only bought for Luna, I received gifts from all the Marquezes (except Isabelle, of course): a blank recipe book from the abuelas, a sun hat from Luz, a red skirt from Luna, and my favorite, a machete from Theo. The machete was lightweight, but still solid, and had ANYA B. carved into the brown leather–covered handle. “I did the carving myself,” Theo apologized. “I couldn’t fit your last name. And I’ll need to sharpen it before you use it the first time.” I kissed him on the cheek and told him it was perfect.

In the evening, Isabelle left to go back to Mexico City. “Well, I will probably not be seeing you ever again in my life,” Isabelle said just before she kissed me on both my cheeks. Those kisses felt like nothing so much as an order to leave. I wondered if enough time had passed that I could try to contact Simon Green.

All in all, it had been a beautiful Christmas. It was only at night in my bed that I began to feel lonely. Maybe I even cried a little, but if I did, it was very softly and I doubt that anyone heard.

The next morning, I decided to sleep in. I wasn’t needed in the orchard or anywhere else. I was still sleeping when Luna knocked on my door. “Anya, there’s a man downstairs who says he knows you.”

My heart started to beat violently in my chest. Could it be Win?

But then again, what if it was Win’s father? Or emissaries of Win’s father, come to take me back to Liberty?

“A young man or an old man?” I tried to control the quaver in my voice. “Young. Definitely young,” she replied. “And very handsome.”

I threw on the red skirt Luna had gotten me for Christmas as I hadn’t bothered to put it away yet. I put on a white blouse and then a leather belt. I slipped my new machete into my belt, just in case, and then I threw a sweater on over that. I left my bedroom and went downstairs, loosely gripping the handle of my machete.