The Secret Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  This must be the reason for August’s tight-lipped secrecy. “Motherfucker!”

  “Bueñas noches.” Rosa waves goodbye before leaving.

  She vanishes before I can call her back.

  “Shit.” I sit on the bed. Wait until I get my hands on him. And I don’t have to stew for long. I jump at the door closing, finding myself alone with August.

  “You fucking lied!”

  A weak smile staggers over his face. “Technically, I didn’t. We flew into Colombia but drove into this country. Er—that’s why it took forever.”

  The balls on this man.

  I stare at him. “How dare you?”

  “I’m sorry.” A tortured expression contorts his features. “I knew you’d never come if I told you the truth.”

  “Damn straight. President Cortés is a fucking dictator, August!”

  “I know.”

  “He’s killed people. Countless innocents.”

  He sighs, resigned. “Yes.”

  The blade of his betrayal slowly sinks inside me. “You made a fool out of me.”

  “I wanted you.” He walks into my body, taking my arms. “Sorry.”

  I yank from his grasp, striding to the balcony. “Fucking hell.”

  “Lily, I’m not like him!”

  “I don’t care!” I walk into the blast of humid air and lean over the railing. “You involved me in something I wanted nothing to do with.”

  I survey the compound, my heart sinking. There’s a manned exit. Guards. Miles and miles of jungle.

  I’ll never leave.

  A dark edge creeps into his voice. “I am not involved.”

  I turn away from the forest of whistling creatures. I listen to the noise, distracted by the symphony. “You’re the son of his general.”

  “I don’t blame you for the crimes of your government.”

  Fine. “You still lied to me!”

  “I omitted information.”

  “You lied. I trusted you, and you snuck me into this country illegally. What if we were caught? What if, God forbid, your father’s patrols decided we were a threat?”

  “I’ve done this a million times,” he growls. “That wouldn’t happen.”

  “I’m glad you were sure enough to gamble my life—”

  He seizes my wrist inches before it strikes his face, eyes flashing. “You can hit me for being a lying bastard, but not that. I would not endanger you.”

  Everything I knew about him was a lie. “What about the marriage?”

  He softens. “What about it?”

  “Is this ring even real?”

  He folds my hand in his, snaking an arm around my waist. “Yes.”

  Warmth blazes from his touch. I ignore the heat filling my cheeks. “August, I’m not—I won’t marry you.”

  His eyes fracture with pain. “I told you it was complicated, Lily. You said—”

  “Jesus.” My chest tightens. “I was so stupid.”

  Pushing him aside, I step into the room and grab the bag he left by the bed. “I’m going home.”

  “You can’t.” August blocks the exit, anguished. It’s as though I’m reacting the way he feared.

  “What?”

  “Lily, I can’t drive you across the border. Not for a few weeks, at least.” He inhales a sharp breath. “You have to stay.”

  “The hell I do! I’m leaving.”

  He takes my shoulders. “If you wander outside, you’ll get lost.”

  “I don’t intend to escape on foot.” I search for a phone, finding a cordless one attached to the wall. “I’ll—I’ll call a taxi.”

  A humorless laugh graces his lips. “Yeah, you’ll find that difficult. That’s a radio.”

  “Smartass.” I put it back.

  “And there aren’t taxis in the middle of the jungle.”

  The duffel bag drops from my grasp.

  I’ve never been so enraged. My fists hang at my sides, shaking. “Looks like you got me good and cornered.”

  The warmth extinguishes from his eyes. “Don’t say that. If you want to leave, I can arrange that. You have to be patient.”

  I throw him an ugly look. “Says the man who tricked me into flying here. Let me go, or—”

  “You’ll call the police?” he suggests with a pitying smile. “Lily.”

  “The American embassy, then!”

  He chuckles. “Good luck with that.”

  Horrified, I gape at him. “Oh my God. What did you bring me to?”

  “I told you, I’m not connected. My life here has nothing to do with him. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

  Promises from him are worthless. “I’m still leaving.”

  “Lily, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, just fix it.” We’re over.

  Misery shatters my rage. Now what?

  He combs his hair. “Father expects you at dinner.”

  Is he serious? “I'm not going.”

  “You’re coming,” he says, voice darkening.

  “Screw you.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice.”

  8

  This is a paradise in hell.

  My heart breaks at how beautiful August’s home is. Aside from the ominous presence of guards and the general lack of freedom, it’s perfect. Tree frogs and crickets chirp a storm as we walk through a path lined with soft, twinkling lights. A striped cat darts into a bush at our approach.

  The lush trees form a canopy that makes the property feel cozy. A heady scent clings to the water-soaked air. We pass a tennis court. August wants me to ooh and aah at the amenities as if they’re enough to seduce me.

  August takes my silence as permission to take my hand. “You can go wherever you like.”

  My skin bristles at his voice. Liar.

  “We’re headed to the dining hall. It’s over there.” He points past a magnificent six-lane pool. “The cooks can make anything you want.”

  “Can they bake me a ticket out of here?”

  He laughs, far too loudly to sound believable. He kisses the shell of my ear in a pretense of affection.

  “Careful,” he whispers.

  I’d be stupid to vent my feelings, fiancée of the general’s son or not.

  He leads us to the courtyard, where they’ve set up a rustic table and chairs. Three white-and-blue ceramic dishes sit on the wood. The general rises. He waves off the guards.

  I freeze, my back against August’s chest.

  “It’ll be fine.” He draws me close. “Smile.”

  I grimace.

  General Espada doesn’t notice my dread. Perhaps he’s so used to sowing fear and discord that my panic barely registers. He gestures to the seats. “Please, sit.”

  August takes the chair next to his father.

  Words fail me. I have nothing to say to men like him.

  August’s father unstoppers a bottle, pouring dark red wine for everyone. He grips the stem and toasts me. “Welcome.”

  I sip the drink. The acidity burns my throat. “Thank you.”

  He smacks his lips in appreciation of the liquor and offers me a plate of cheese. “My son says you have never left America.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I hope you find it as comfortable as your home.” He smiles, toasting me again.

  Yeah, everything’s peachy.

  Without tearing his gaze from me, he utters something in Spanish with a bawdy slant. August laughs, eyes trained on me with the same calculating heat as his father’s.

  The flames leap up my skin. Is it an act to appease his dad?

  He said he wasn’t involved. “Can you tell me more about this place?”

  “Augusto runs my cacao and coffee plantations. They’re a short drive east.” He watches me over the rim of his drink. “I’m curious. What drew you to my son?”

  “I—we met online.”

  His wolflike grin widens. “Yes, but why move here for him?”

  “Papá.”

  “Cállate. I want to hear wh
at she says.”

  Men like him need to have their egos stroked.

  My cheeks flush under his stare. “Well, for starters, your son is very handsome.”

  “Yes, he is.” He chuckles, amused at my response. “Augusto is almost as good-looking as his father.”

  General Espada grabs August’s chin, giving it an affectionate squeeze. August jerks away with an impatient sigh.

  They look normal.

  Espada’s attention drifts as a waiter appears, sliding appetizers toward me. I seize a piece of bread, suddenly ravenous, and tear into it.

  He taps his nose. “I hope you’ll be—ah—amenable to helping me in the next few weeks.”

  “No.” August bristles. “I’m her fiancé, and I say no.”

  A cruel smile plays on his lips as his son falls silent. “Let’s not argue.”

  “You’ve met her.” August’s lip curls, his voice easily as gritty. “Now you can go.”

  Blood leeches from my face as he continues to smirk. “Soon.”

  My fingers gouge my thighs as his gaze turns on me.

  The fuck does that mean?

  August’s expression remains unreadable as I stumble from the table. “Bathroom.”

  The general barks at a guard, who escorts me a short walk away. Wildly, I search for escape paths. I could break free, but even if I outran the guards where would I go? The jungle could provide cover. I’d hide until morning, slip out, and follow the road until I found help.

  And then what? Get kidnapped by a cartel?

  I can’t leave. It’s not safe.

  I’m trapped.

  He leads me to a small bathroom. My composure collapses the moment I’m alone. The tiled walls spin. I grasp the sink, trying to breathe through the moisture.

  This isn’t happening. I didn’t come all this way to exchange one prison for another.

  A soft knock raps the wall. “Lily?”

  Yesterday, his rough voice made my thighs clench. Now it makes me seize up in panic.

  I open the door with a violent swing.

  “Are you okay?” He searches me, apprehensive.

  “What do you think?”

  He steps into the light and takes my arm. His touch grounds me. I don’t want comfort from August. “He won’t hurt you. Promise.”

  I could debate the point, but making a scene won’t win me any favors.

  I plaster a smile on my face and grip August’s blazer as he escorts me back.

  General Espada calls from the table, mouth crammed with olives. “Come. Enjoy the food.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  As I sit, I reach for the glass. If I have to sit in his company, I’m not doing it sober. I take a deep sip. It’s a full-bodied cabernet. Much richer than I’m used to.

  The same can be said for the food. We dig into tamales wrapped in corn leaves topped with flavorful salsa verde. Everything tastes delicious. Homemade. It puts the Latin cuisine I enjoyed in California to shame.

  I don’t talk except to compliment the courses. It’s easier if I don’t have to lie, and I love what we’re served. Somehow that makes me feel guilty. I can’t shake the feeling that the meal was bought and paid for with blood money.

  So I keep drinking. The wine-soaked evening descends into a pleasantly warm buzz. Before long, my head is spinning. I’m not afraid. I’m still convinced this is a highly realistic dream.

  Eventually, Espada releases a rib-cracking yawn. “I’ll leave you alone. Augusto, we should pick a date for the wedding.”

  “Yes,” he agrees. “A small ceremony will be fine.”

  “Two weeks.” The general scrapes his chair, standing. “That should be long enough.”

  My jaw drops. Fourteen days to get a dress fitted and plan the event.

  Is he insane?

  “Okay.” August pinches my waist. “Good night.”

  General Espada bids me farewell with a peck on my cheek. Then waitstaff pour from the arcades, clearing the plates. August stops me as I attempt to help and tugs my arm. We watch his father pile into a car with at least half the soldiers stationed at the compound.

  August sighs. “Finally.”

  I release his hand. “Does he visit all the time?”

  “Only when he wants to remind me who’s boss.” August frowns. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

  Alcohol numbed my anger throughout the dinner, but it rises in my throat like acid as we walk to his room. We climb the staircase and once inside the heavy oak doors, I pull from August and sit on the king-sized mattress. I’m so tired I could sink into a coma.

  August rips the tie from his neck and strips from his button-up shirt, revealing a canvas of hard muscle.

  I look away. “Where’s my bed?”

  “You’re sitting on it.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  August tosses his clothes in the corner and slides the belt from the buckle. He slowly slips leather from the loops. “Why not?”

  “Because you’re a liar.”

  “And why does that have to stop you from crawling under the covers?” The belt falls with a jingle. He unzips his pants with a ghost of a grin.

  “That must be a joke.” My cheeks flush with heat, and the space between my legs burns. “I don’t want to be around you.”

  He sighs, kicking off his slacks. They fall down his thighs. Tight, black boxer briefs cling to his ass and his thick bulge.

  August’s body is perfect. The bastard knows it.

  He looks at me, eyes smoldering. “I didn’t fly you here to stay in a guest room.”

  We both know that. I’ve listened to him tease me for hours about what he’d do if we had an hour together. Graphic images burst through my mind.

  I don’t want to hate him while he’s fucking me, and right now I could slap the smile off his face.

  “This room is mine. I’m claiming it.” I pull the covers. “Find another one.”

  August grips my neck, his thumb sitting on my pulse. He wears confidence like a goddamn cologne. He smiles, suddenly fierce. “Fine. I’ll leave. If that’s what you want.”

  No, it’s not.

  I was looking forward to this. I wanted my first night to be in his arms.

  He kisses my forehead, a chaste peck. It doesn’t soothe the flames inside me. They bank higher with every second we’re alone. The moment he’s left my side, I miss his heat.

  “Sleep well,” he says. “Or try to—at least.”

  With a flash of a grin, he’s gone.

  9

  The heat wakes me. My legs are slicked with sweat.

  I peel the sheets and sit upright. A strip of light bleaches the room because I forgot to close the French doors. Moisture drips down the walls.

  Gross.

  I walk over sticky tiles to the balcony, where a wonderful sight beckons. A thick maze of jungle covers the compound. The tree frogs have stopped singing, but birds of all colors fly from branch to branch, chirping madly. I’m surprised I slept through it.

  Where’s August?

  The cogs work through my fatigued brain, spreading poison to my gut when I remember last night’s horrible revelation and my response. The wedding. Our life together. I called everything off.

  Did I mean it?

  My heart sinks like a stone as I finger the engagement ring. A tide of uncertainty threatens to overshadow the glorious scenery. It’s not as though I can call a cab and leave. I’m stuck here. Might as well enjoy the vacation while it lasts.

  A stainless steel tray sits on the table. I pour coffee into a cup, replacing the pot for the creamer. Steam spirals into the air. I sip the dark roast, tongue curling against the bitterness. After a lifetime of Folgers, anything else wages war on the taste buds. It was probably brewed from his beans.

  God, I forgot about the damn plantations. He expressed zero interest in agriculture in our chats. Suddenly, he’s a farmer. No, characterizing him that way doesn’t seem right. He’s like a Bond villain.

&n
bsp; Sighing, I take a croissant from the basket of pastries and tear a piece, mouth watering at the buttery flakes. I throw crumbs for the birds.

  A black and yellow sparrow flaps to the railing. Its brilliant wingspan fans as it glides to the balcony to peck at the pastry. After I finish breakfast, I head to the laptop to send a quick email to Marcia. My fingers hover over keys.

  There’s no point in making her worry. She can’t help me.

  Hey, Marcia. I arrived last night. His home is fantastic! It’s humid and warm, but no complaints. Everything is fine. :)

  Best,

  Lily

  There. That should placate her.

  I dress quickly, choosing mid-thigh shorts and a pink tank top. I rifled through my bag before abandoning my attempt to find clothes. What I own is ridiculous compared to the wardrobe August bought for me. I slide my feet into flip-flops and head for the door.

  I might as well get the layout of the land.

  After yesterday’s activity, I expect more security but the hallways are curiously empty. I descend the staircase and stroll under the arcades, balmy air clinging to my skin.

  I choose a path leading from the house. I pick directions in the forked tracks at random and find the pool. A swim sounds fucking amazing, but that’s playing into August’s hands. He wants me to forget about California.

  Where the hell is he?

  Another fifteen minutes wandering the compound, and I’m lost. It’s huge. Without the constant presence of the guards, it feels like a resort.

  I’m at the pool again. I approach the rippling turquoise and dip my toe in the cool water, fighting a smile. It’s nice.

  Someone’s here.

  A male grunt echoes from the building nearby. I walk toward the smacking flesh and groans of pain. They’re coming from the outdoor gym, which has a rubber floor and wall-to-wall mirrors.

  August pounds the shit out of a boxing bag. His fists crush the leather, white gauze trailing. The bandages are stained with blood, but August doesn’t seem to notice or care. He hammers the bag with a savagery I’ve never seen on a man.

  Jesus, he’s pissed. His face is screwed in concentration, sweat covering his body in a thin mist. His tank top is nearly translucent. I watch him throw a punch, marveling at his fitness and more than a little smitten.