FicWad

Diego woke up with a feeling of hangover without having drunk one drop of alcohol the night before. But what he had had to swallow a few hours earlier was harder to digest than Victoria's wine or tequila.

The thought of Victoria brought up other memories of the night before that weren't making his waking-up any less uncomfortable. What had gotten into her, for God's sake? He had flinched and nearly jumped back when she had so boldly touched his most private area – twice! But deep down he knew that what made him recoil before her very forward advances wasn't some gentlemanly propriety but was indeed sheer fear and panic.

He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to show her all of himself, to remove his mask before her, to show her his face and reveal his identity to her, and thus risk her rejection of him, of his real feelings for her. As himself. He hadn't yet the courage to show himself naked before her, emotionally speaking: to lay his soul bare for her to see.

He could still make love to her with his mask on, as she had precisely offered him – asked him? – to do. Except that no, he couldn't. He wanted her to want him, and not the other one. And he feared that deep down she preferred to make love to the masked man, to the mystery, to the illusion rather than to the real man. And certainly rather than to plain and unexciting Diego de la Vega, even finally knowing he was her secret courtier and heroic fighter. In the course of five years, she had never shown the slightest hint of attraction toward him, so how could she suddenly love him, just because he'd turn out to be Zorro? No way, he thought dejectedly.

He'd end up living his life all alone, with no Victoria to live with everyday that God would make, and with no children to see grow up and become adults, no children to love, no children making him a father, no children to take care of him if, by some extraordinary luck, he finally survived Zorro's fight to become and old, wrinkled and white-haired aged-impaired respectable elderly gentleman.

He sighed despondently. Then he sadly and derisively laughed at his previous thought: it might very well happen that way, after all, and against all odds. Unlucky in love, lucky in gamble, they say. And Zorro's existence and deeds were a constant gamble. So yes, as unlucky in love as he was, Diego may live to become a very old man. But not a grandfather. Not even a father.

This thought drove his mind to his own father: as things were, Leonor was likely to make Don Alejandro a grandfather before Diego, against all initial odds!

Thinking about his newly found half-sister brought another very uneasy thought to his mind after what he stumbled upon on his return home a few hours earlier, a sudden thought vaguely involving his father having another late child in the near future. Oww. What on earth was in this woman's mind? Was she really the good person his father told him she was, or had she come here with ulterior motives? Had she a hidden agenda, or was she just the kind of person to seize the moment, and to hell with planning or consequences?

Nice consequence though, Diego thought, thinking of little Leonor. At least she now was a mother, and a good one for what he could see. Perhaps himself should think a little less and act a little more, he reflected.

Except that he was still sheerly terrified of Victoria, he finally admitted. Yes, he really was the poltroon everyone thought he was, he realised; Los Angeles's greatest coward. A chicken, as Felipe so rightly said. He sighed again, before sweeping these thoughts away.

Time to get up! Staying in bed was only making him think too much, mull over too much and about not-so-pleasant matters.

The sun had already risen but he knew his father would be surprised to see him up so 'early'. Well, if his mind wasn't too occupied by thoughts about someone else, that was.

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Once he was ready, dressed, shaved and his hair combed, just to be sure and to put his mind at rest he decided to go have a look at Leonor's safety.

Well, he obviously wasn't the only one who had had this idea first thing in the morning, since he found Doña Araceli sitting at her bedside. Exactly where he had left her the night before when he had pretended to go to bed. You could almost think she had spent the whole night here, except she was only clad in her night attire – not even a dressing gown over her nightshirt, but a large shawl wrapped around her – and her hair was down and unruly spread over her back and shoulders. It was incredibly long, Diego remarked. He could even better assess its length when she politely stood to greet him as he entered the room: her hair was falling down almost to her... uh... bottom. To the small of her back, to be more correct, in both senses of the word.

Yes, you could almost think that she had spent the whole night at her daughter's bedside, except that Diego knew fairly – and painfully – well that at least at some point into the night she was in a totally different part of the house than the guestrooms' side.

"She is still asleep," she first whispered to him, raising her index finger to her lips in a clear sign meant to tell him not to make too much noise. He nodded his understanding.

"Buenos días, Señora," he told her in a whisper.

"Oh, yes, sorry," she answered likewise, "where are my manners. Buenos días Don Diego," she finally replied to his greeting. "Did you sleep well?" she added.

He probably didn't, she thought, seeing his drawn features. The man had said thrice the day before that he had a headache, and at first Araceli had thought it was just an excuse to avoid her and her mere presence or not to go look for his abducted half-sister, but seeing how listless and weary he looked, seeing how his shoulders were slumped and how he was shuffling, seeing his hollow eyes and the dark circles under these, he may really be unwell, she thought.

Or perhaps Alejandro was right and this listlessness, this languor was just his son's usual attitude. But no, she thought when she saw how haggard he looked despite how impeccably trim he otherwise appeared, he was really tired. And she chastised herself when she remembered that he too had suffered a loss when his father's unknown other son, his own twin brother, had been killed just two month earlier while trying to kill him! That was enough to shatter and upset anyone for several weeks and make him look despondent she thought, remorseful for her first harsh judgement of Alejandro's son.

"I slept alright," he lied, "thank you." Politeness would normally have him ask back the question, but he really, really did not want to inquire about her night. He already knew far too much about how she spent part of it.

He really wanted to turn his back to them, particularly when he saw Señora Valdès's fulfilled look on her relaxed face. But then he turned his eyes to Leonor. His sister, he remembered. None of this is her fault, he had to repeat to himself over and over.

"Are you feeling better today, Don Diego?" Araceli asked in a low voice. "How is your headache this morning?"

"I'm much better, thank you Señora," he simply replied.

Your features say otherwise, Araceli thought inwardly. Anyone who didn't know you were unwell yesterday might think you're in a foul mood...

And yet he was here, at the bedside of this half-sister who was a total stranger to him, although he would clearly be better in his own bed for a few more hours of beauty sleep.

"That's very considerate of you to come check on Leonor first thing in the morning, Don Diego, thank you," she murmured.

"Well, my father is right: we're siblings, we should start to get to know each other a little bit. I think I'll spend some time with her this morning, with your permission Señora."

She stood up and walked to him; he saw her hesitate to take his hands in hers and was relieved when she gave up the idea. But she raised her head to him, with relief and gratitude written all over her face.

"Gracias Don Diego. Yes, I'd be glad to have you and Leonor get better acquainted over some activity in the morning. What do you plan to do with her?"

Do? Oh, yes, children just didn't simply sit in an armchair or at a table and converse for two hours without doing anything else. They generally engage in an activity and then chat while doing it.

"Err... I don't know," Diego admitted, at a loss. "Does she play the piano?"

"Yes, but she's not too fond of it," Doña Araceli answered with a little smile. "You'd better try something she likes, if you want to win her over."

"And precisely, what does she like?"

"Erm... let's see..." she replied. "Riding..."

Diego pulled a face.

"Oh, I'm afraid I have no gift for that, unfortunately," he replied. "As my father didn't fail to point out yesterday," he added in a falsely neutral tone.

She didn't miss the hurt he tried to disguise in his voice and for a split second her heart felt sad and ached a little bit for him. She suddenly felt the need to lighten the mood.

"Well, then... how do you fare at climbing trees?" she asked with an impish smile.

He looked at her with mock horror in his eyes.

"Do you want my death on your conscience, Señora?"

She giggled and he laughed as well. But his previous exclamation nearly roused Leonor and she turned in her bed. They both went silent and held their breath, looking at her, but she didn't wake up.

"Phew," he sighed. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to my voice. I had forgotten. I didn't mean to wake her."

"No harm done Don Diego, don't worry. So, if horse-riding and tree-climbing are out of question, what else? Hide and seek? It would be a good way for you to better let her discover the hacienda and its secret places!"

No way! Diego immediately thought. After all, Felipe was right: children her age were far too nosy. Especially if his own blurry recollections of himself as a six or seven years old were anything to go by.

"I'm not good at hiding, Señora. Too tall for that, I guess. And I'm so clumsy that I would betray my presence within a few seconds."

Decidedly, Araceli thought, Don Diego really didn't have any talent or interest for anything remotely physical. He seemed to be just as Alejandro had told her. Was he really such a great clumsy oaf?

Something more centred on the intellect, then?

"A game of chess, perhaps?" she proposed. "She's started playing it last year. And she already has more patience than her father for that!" she added in a smile. "Although she's an even sorer loser than he is..."

Diego couldn't help but smile too. Indeed, patience wasn't his father's forte.

"More my area," he agreed, "but that's not an activity very propitious to chatting with a child, is it?"

"No, you're right of course," she replied with another feeble smile.

"What else does she like, then?" Diego asked.

"Hmmm... drawing..." Araceli said. "Her lessons are starting to bear fruits and she seems to enjoy these."

"Well, wonderful!" he told her. "I have quite an interest for this too. Perhaps I can show her one or two tricks about technique... and she will show me what she can do and what she likes to draw!"