The chamber music, a string quartet whose notes rose with mathematical elegance under the vaulted ceilings, suddenly seemed distant to Isadora's ears. In leaving the balcony, she had not only left behind two disconcerted men; she had left behind the Isadora of the working-class neighborhood. Each step of her heels on the marble resonated like an affirmation of power.
— Isadora, wait!
She did not slow down immediately, but finally stopped near an immense Ionic column.
Julian Vaca had caught up with her, short of breath, his face displaying a mixture of confusion and irritation that he clumsily tried to conceal beneath his mask of a professor.
— You should not wander off like that with men like Alejandro Jáuregui, he began, his voice lowered so as not to attract attention. You don't know him. That kind of family... they don't see people like us, Isadora. They see pawns or distractions.
Isadora turned toward him. Her green eyes, usually so bright, were now of a glacial neutrality. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear with a gesture of calculated slowness.
— "People like us," Mr. Vaca? she asked with a hint of contempt. Do not make the mistake of putting me in the same category as you. You are content to analyze the world from your books and your desks. I, however, confront it. And concerning Mr. Jáuregui, I suggest you save your advice for your first-year students. I know exactly what I am doing.
Julian took a step back, as if he had just been slapped. There was in the gaze of this young woman a total absence of the vulnerability he hoped to rescue. He was attracted by her intelligence, certainly, but he realized with bitterness that he had no hold over her. To Isadora, he was merely scenery.
— I simply wanted to protect you... he stammered.
— I don't need protection. I need opportunities, she cut him off. Now, if you'll excuse me, Luisa is waiting for me.
She left him there, standing in the middle of the room, and joined Luisa who was talking with a group of young women from high society. As she approached, Isadora noticed that Camila Jáuregui, Alejandro's sister, had joined the group. She seemed uncomfortable, nervously twisting the fine gold chain on her wrist.
— Ah, Isadora! Luisa exclaimed, taking her arm. Come, let me introduce you to Camila. Camila, this is Isadora Perez, the mastermind of our class. She is far more gifted than all of us combined.
Isadora gave Camila a soft smile. She understood instantly that if Alejandro was the fortress to be conquered, Camila was the back door.
— Enchanted, Camila, Isadora said in a melodious voice. Luisa exaggerates, as always. I have only my determination going for me.
— That is already a lot, Camila replied in a timid voice. My brother often says that determination is the only thing that separates successful people from dreamers.
— Your brother seems to be a man of principles, Isadora observed aptly. But principles are sometimes heavy to carry for those around them, aren't they?
A flash of surprise passed through Camila's eyes. It was the first time that someone, in this environment of flatterers, seemed to perceive the pressure she endured as the "sister of."
— It's true, she admitted, lowering her guard. Alejandro is... demanding. For him, everything must be perfect. The image of the Jáuregui family is his absolute priority.
— Perfection is a golden prison, Isadora said with feigned empathy. One ends up forgetting who they are by dint of wanting to be what others expect.
Luisa, sensing that the conversation was becoming a bit too serious for her light temperament, intervened:
— Oh, don't be so gloomy! Look, dinner is about to be served. Camila, are you coming with us? Papa has reserved a table near the fountain.
— I would love to, but I must wait for Alejandro. He doesn't like me wandering too far without him knowing where I am.
Isadora noted the information. Alejandro was not only protective, he was possessive. A character trait she could use later.
Dinner was a test of endurance for the mind. Isadora found herself surrounded by the country's medical and legal elite. She observed Dr. Monterro, Luisa's father, an imposing man whose natural authority commanded respect. Luisa adored him, but she was incapable of seeing the weight of the legacy she carried. For Isadora, every silver fork, every crystal of salt, every drop of wine was a lesson in what she had to acquire.
Throughout the meal, she felt a gaze upon her. Alejandro Jáuregui was sitting at a head table, a bit further away, surrounded by politicians. He participated little in the conversation, preferring to observe the room. Their eyes met several times. Isadora never looked away first. She offered him an imperceptible nod, a silent challenge thrown across the room filled with cigar smoke and expensive perfumes.
Toward the end of the evening, as the guests began to head toward the cloakroom, Isadora slipped away for a moment to readjust her makeup. In the mirror of the marble restrooms, she looked at herself for a long time.
On her way out, she ran into Alejandro again. He seemed to be waiting for her near the side exit.
— You are leaving already, Miss Perez? he asked, a smirk on his face.
— The best parties are those one leaves before they fade out, Mr. Jáuregui.
— A philosopher in a satin dress... You intrigue me more and more. My sister told me that you spoke to her. She seems to have found you... interesting.
— Interesting is an understatement.
Alejandro took a step toward her. The scent of his perfume, a blend of sandalwood and cold tobacco, enveloped her.
— I am hosting a private reception at my home next Saturday. Only close friends, and a few people who deserve to be known. Luisa will be there. I would like you to come.
Isadora's heart leaped, but her face remained as stone. It was the invitation she had been waiting for.
— I will check my schedule, Mr. Jáuregui. I am not sure if I have a free evening.
Alejandro let out a frank laugh this time.
— Playing indifference is a bold strategy with me, Isadora. But I like challenges. Until Saturday, I hope.
He walked away before she could respond.
She remained alone in the hallway, savoring her small victory. She had achieved the impossible: catching the attention of the city's most formidable predator in less than two hours.
The return to her neighborhood was a brutal shock. Luisa's sedan dropped her off two blocks from her home, because Isadora claimed to want to walk a bit to "digest the evening," when she simply did not want Luisa's father to see the deplorable state of her building.
She climbed the dark stairs, her dress brushing against the faded walls. Entering the apartment, she found her mother, Josefina, sitting at the kitchen table, mending one of Mia's socks under the pale light of a bare bulb.
— Look at you, Josefina said without looking up. You come home at this hour, dressed like a luxury lady of the night. What do you think all this is going to bring you? Trouble, that's what it's going to bring you.
— It brings me a future, Mama. Something you forgot a long time ago.
— The future is working hard and thanking God for what we have, Isadora! Your sister Mia spent the evening helping me with the cleaning. She, at least, knows her place.
— Her place is in the dust, if that is what she chooses. Not mine.
Isadora entered her room and closed the door, ignoring her mother's final grumblings. She undressed with care, hanging her black dress with an almost religious devotion and then removed her makeup. She lay down in her narrow bed, next to Mia who was sleeping peacefully, her face serene.
Isadora stared at the ceiling, where a damp stain traced an imaginary map. She thought back to Alejandro, to his hand that had almost rested on hers, to Camila and her loneliness, to Julian and his powerless jealousy.
The threads were stretched. She only had to start weaving. Next Saturday, she would enter the Jáuregui residence. And this time, she would not be content with just stepping out onto a balcony. She was going to start making the place her own.
She fell asleep imagining her godmother Marisa's face when she would tell her about the success of the dress. Marisa would understand. Marisa knew that every stitch was a weapon. And Isadora was ready to use them.