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Mamá had thought of everything.

“She wanted that letter to be found, wanted the suspicion to fall on her brother. I’ve been such an idiot,” I said. “The whole time, she was manipulating me.”

Whit placed a soft hand on my arm. “She used your affection for her against you. It’s despicable. I would have believed my mother, too.”

Shame sucked me down like quicksand. I didn’t deserve any compassion, any grace. What I’d done was unpardonably foolish. “You don’t have to be kind to me.”

“And you,” Whit said sternly, “don’t get to be hard on yourself. Not over this.”

I heard the words, but couldn’t accept them. I’d made a terrible mistake, and everything in me wanted to make things right. “What do I do now?”

“Go to bed,” he said, his voice gentle. “In the morning, we’ll talk to Ricardo.”

My heart leapt. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

“I know. But I will.” Whit removed his hand, and I immediately missed the warmth of his palm against my skin. “Try to sleep, Inez.”

He turned to go.

“Whit,” I said.

He waited by the entrance. “What is it?”

“You’re terribly decent,” I said. “Despite pretending to be otherwise.”

“Just as long as you don’t tell anyone,” he said with a slight smile. Then he ducked out of my room.

I flung myself backward onto my bedroll, my mind whirring. The only way to make things right was to stop my mother somehow.

But I had no idea how to do it.

CAPÍTULO VEINTIOCHO

I opened my eyes on Christmas morning filled with dread. I sank farther beneath the blanket, grief hovering in the room like fog in the industrial part of Buenos Aires. In a matter of minutes, I’d be facing my uncle and telling him I’d betrayed all of them, right under their noses. After washing my face and getting dressed, I stepped out of the room, palms clammy with sweat. Whit stood leaning on the stone frame, a cup of tea already in his hands.

Wordlessly, he handed it to me and I took it with a meek smile.

“He’s by the fire,” he murmured. “With Abdullah.”

I flinched. Of course. I couldn’t have the conversation with only my uncle—what I’d done impacted Abdullah, too, even more so. Most of the crew were already at work, my uncle and Abdullah examining a journal laid out before them. They were probably discussing the opening of the tomb. My stomach clenched.

I’d utterly ruined the moment for them.

We walked side by side and then sat in front of them on the available mats, our bodies close. He was a good friend, one of the best I had.

Tío Ricardo didn’t glance up from the journal. “Shouldn’t you be heading into the treasury to work on the sketches?”

I clasped my hands tightly in my lap. “I have to tell you both something.”

In unison, they lifted their faces and focused on mine. I’d barely slept, exhaustion making my shoulders droop, my voice low.

“What is it?” Tío Ricardo said impatiently. Abdullah dropped a careful hand on my uncle’s arm, as if signaling for him to remember his manners.He knew how to do that well. A useful skill to have as a business partner, not to mention family.

Whit gave me a sidelong glance. The silence stretched. I was stalling, the words trapped in a tangle at the back of my throat. From the corner of my eye, I spotted his slight movement. His warm palm engulfed mine. Squeezed, and then released it.

I took a fortifying breath, and spoke in halting words. I fought to keep myself from crying, to keep my tone measured. Neither of them interrupted, but their expressions became more horrified as I continued. Tío Ricardo seemed to have turned to stone. He barely breathed. Whit stayed by me, silently supporting me. When I finished, the quiet felt heavy and oppressive.

“If it’s the last thing I do,” I said, my voice hoarse, “I’m going to stop her.”