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The stranger tilted his head and smiled at me in bemusement. “Doesn’t that meanWednesday?”

I nodded. In Spanish it sounded close tomierda,a curse word I was not allowed to say. Mamá made my father use it around me.

“Well, we ought to get you all settled,” he said, rummaging around his pockets. He pulled out a creased ticket and handed it to me. “No need to pay me back.”

“No need to…” I began dumbly, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. “You never told me your name.” Another realization dawned. “You understand Spanish.”

“I said I worked for your uncle, didn’t I?” His smile returned, charmingly boyish and at odds with his brawny frame. He looked like he could murder me with a spoon.

I was decidedly not charmed.

“Well then,” I said in Spanish. “You’ll understand when I tell you that I won’t be leaving Egypt. If we’re going to be traveling together, I ought to know your name.”

“You’re getting back onto the boat in the next ten minutes. A formal introduction hardly seems worth it.”

“Ah,” I said coldly. “It looks like you don’t understand Spanish after all. I’m not getting on that boat.”

The stranger never dropped his grin, baring his teeth. “Please don’t make me force you.”

My blood froze. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, you don’t think so? I’m feeling quitetriumphant,” he said, voice dripping in disdain. He took a step forward and reached for me, his fingers managing to brush against my jacket before I twisted out of reach.

“Touch me again and I’ll scream. They’ll hear me in Europe, I swear.”

“I believe you.” He pivoted away from me and walked off, heading to an area where a dozen empty carts waited to be used. He rolled one of them back, and then proceeded to stack my trunks—without my say-so. For a man who’d clearly been drinking, he moved with a lazy grace that reminded me of an indolent cat. He handled my luggage as if it were empty and not filled with a dozen sketch pads, several blank journals, and brand-new paints. Not to mention clothing and shoes to last me several weeks.

Tourists dressed in feathered hats and expensive leather shoes surrounded us, regarding us curiously. It occurred to me that they might have observed the tension between myself and this annoying stranger.

He glanced back at me, arching an auburn brow.

I didn’t stop him because it would be easier to move my things on that cart but when he hauled all of my belongings out onto the dock, heading straight for the embarking line, I opened my mouth and yelled, “Ladrón! Thief! Help! He’s stealing my things!”

The well-dressed tourists glanced at me in alarm, shuffling their children away from the spectacle. I gaped at them, hoping one of them would assist me by tackling the stranger to the ground.

No such help came.

CAPÍTULO DOS

I glared after him, his laughter trailing behind him like a mischievous ghost. Prickly annoyance flared up and down my body. The stranger had everything except for my purse, which contained my Egyptian money, several handfuls of bills and piastres I’d found after scouring the manor, and Argentinian gold pesos for emergencies. Which, I suppose, was the most important thing. I could try to pry the cart away from him, but I strongly suspected his brute strength would prevent any real success. That was frustrating.

I considered my options.

There weren’t many.

I could follow him meekly back onto the ship where Argentina waited for me on the other end of the journey. But what would it be like without my parents? True, they spent half the year away from me, but I always looked forward to their arrival. The months with them were wonderful, day trips to various archaeological sites, museum tours, and late-night conversations over books and art. Mamá was strict but she doted on me, allowed me to pursue my hobbies with abandon, and she never stifled my creativity. Her life had always been structured, and while she made sure I was well brought up, she gave me freedom to read what I wanted and to speak my mind and to draw whatever I wished.

Papá, too, encouraged me to study widely, with a concentration in ancient Egypt, and we’d loudly discuss what I learned at the dinner table. My aunt preferred me quiet and docile and obedient. If I went back, I could predict what my life would look like, down to the hour. Morningswere for lessons in running an estate, followed by lunch and then tea—the social event of the day—and back home for visits with various suitors over dinner. It wasn’t a bad life, but it wasn’t the life I wanted.

I wanted one with my parents.

My parents.

Tears threatened to slide down my cheeks, but I squeezed my eyes and took several calming breaths. This was my chance. I’d made it to Egypt on my own, despite everything. No other country had fascinated my parents, no other city felt like a second home to them, and for all I knew, maybe Cairowastheir home. More than Argentina.

More than me.

If I left, I’d never understand what brought them here, year after year. Never learn who they were so Iwouldn’tforget about them. If I left, I’d never learn what happened to them. Curiosity burned a path straight to my heart, making it beat wildly.