The Secret Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  “Are you crazy? That was silk!”

  He yanks the last stitch of clothing off my body, his trembling palms running over my skin.

  “I told you, I’m fucking okay!” I move away, heart hammering. “If you had just stopped to listen for one second.”

  Relief softens his face before shadows darken it. “Why the hell were you down there?”

  “Because I heard shots and you were nowhere to be found!”

  “Damn it, Lily!” His fist smashes the nightstand, sending the lamp crashing to the floor. “You don’t run toward sounds of war. What were you thinking?”

  Naked, I slide from the mattress, fists shaking. “I didn’t know where you were. I panicked.”

  “You should’ve stayed here! Jesus, anything could’ve happened.”

  “So I’m supposed to hole up here forever? I am not a goddamn pet, August! I will not wait for you to fill me in while there are people getting fired at.”

  “You put yourself in danger,” he hisses. “Again!”

  “I was helping a wounded man! And then you attacked that guard like a maniac. What’s wrong with me? What about you?”

  The fury melts from his face but his eyes are red, as though he ran through a field of smoke. “I apologize.”

  “Yeah, you sound really sorry.” I return his glare with interest. “Tone it the fuck down.”

  Despair radiates off August’s silhouette. “I don’t know how.”

  Rat-at-tat. Rat-at-tat.

  I flinch at every shot of gunfire, imagining them extinguishing a human life. “You're in your thirties and you can’t control your temper?”

  He shakes his head. He’s tense. Like a coiled spring. “I don’t want to be here any more than you.”

  “August, this is crazy. Listen to that noise.”

  “I have my whole life. There’s nothing I can do about it.” Shadows widen his bitter smile. “It was stupid of me to think you’d be happy here.”

  That’s sad. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  He stands from the bed, his expression unfathomable. Unbridled rage wrestles with restraint. I feel the chaos wafting from him. Waves of rage, but not toward me. Never for me.

  I block him as he attempts to leave, palming his chest. “Stay.”

  “Lily, you don’t understand. I’ve had this problem ever since my mother passed.” He searches for the right words as I approach him. “I can’t turn my emotions off for people I care about.”

  “Then don’t.” I link our hands, guiding him to my breast. “Get it out of your system.”

  His heart pulses against my ribs. “What?”

  I wrap my arms around his neck, meeting his lips with mine. “Fuck me.”

  My command triggers something dark inside him—the unhinged beast I met on my wedding night.

  He throws me on the mattress. I’m yanked to the edge as he grabs my hips. My legs encircle his waist. He struggles from his jeans, freeing himself. A growl reverberates from his throat as he strokes my thighs. Excitement throbs through my veins.

  August positions himself and drives into me. His cock slams the breath from my lungs. My wrists are pinned. He attacks me. He grazes my breasts, sucking and biting. With every ruthless thrust, I’m thrown back. He keeps me from sliding too far, digging deep.

  I gasp with mingled pain and pleasure. They’re indistinguishable. He bites me. He pounds me.

  He stares at me, eyes narrowed with greed. “Is this what you want?”

  “Yes.” God yes.

  It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. He fucks with his whole body. He moves with a desperate urgency, as though he’ll die if he doesn’t. The headboard crashes against the wall.

  All restraint is gone. His brutal movements cut my shouts into whimpers. He covers my nose. I sigh into his palm.

  I never knew I wanted to be taken like this—with punishing thrusts as he muffles my cries. It’s liberating. He loses himself and so do I. He glides through me, and I tighten. The pressure builds to ecstasy, and I beg him for release. I lose my voice.

  His hands slide from my lips, capturing my moan. He catches my tongue. And then he anchors himself, collapsing into me. A groan jolts him from me. My orgasm joins his, shuddering and shaking down my limbs.

  He kisses me, rough at first, and then softening as the light fades. He pulls back. A smile staggers over his face.

  I trace his grin. “See? You’re not angry.”

  “Hmm.” He strokes my hips, nudging himself deeper. “I don’t think I’m done.”

  22

  The general requests an audience.

  I crumple the note in my fist. They’re such polite words for a ruthless man, but this isn’t a request. It’s a demand.

  I don’t have a choice.

  After a short drive, Alex escorts me down a road bordered with marsh. It’s the same camp we drove into all those weeks ago, when General Espada posed us next to a fighter jet.

  A few days of heavy rain has transformed the jungle. It’s like walking through a thick soup. Moisture clings to every surface, swirling around the hangars in pearly mists. A few minutes’ walk in the stifling heat, and my shirt is soaked. Soldiers track mud everywhere.

  We stop at a green building. It’s small. A black and gold flag stands on a pole, lifeless. It’s surrounded by soldiers. At the sight of Alex, they move aside. He opens the door.

  The inside resembles an office. It’s supposed to be a command center—the windows are blacked out and hanging sheets cover cork boards. Roasting coffee hits my gut. I swallow, fighting the nausea. Ginger tea hasn’t made a dent in my suffering. I hope this visit is short.

  “What’s this about?” I watch Alex as he guides me to his father’s door. “Another stupid photo op?”

  “Not quite,” he whispers. “Be careful.”

  Alex never relaxes in the presence of his father, but this is different. A warning gleams in his eyes.

  Shit. “Something happened.”

  “Have you read the news?”

  There was no time between struggling to keep my breakfast down and preparing for a long day at the kitchen. I shake my head.

  Alex grips my arm. “The UN voted on tougher sanctions. They’re cutting off oil imports and freezing international assets.”

  “Wow, that’s huge.” It’ll be harder to fund President Cortés’s warmongering. “Your father must be furious.”

  “He is.”

  Alex acts like someone died. “This is good.”

  “Maybe for the world, but not for you.”

  I don’t understand. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “The States pushed hard for the sanctions. He’s not friendly toward Americans at the moment.”

  Fear pierces my heart. “What should I do?”

  “Don’t provoke him.”

  I stare at the doors, imagining the fury they’re containing. “What if he hurts me?”

  “You’re his daughter-in-law.” Doubt tinges his words. “I’ll be outside. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Alex meets my gaze. He’s still hurting from my rejection.

  “Thank you.” I squeeze his bicep.

  Alex ushers me inside a richly decorated office themed with black and gold. The flooring is dark hardwood. Leather armchairs surround a wall of books and a coffee table. I expected it to be Spartan. Touches of excess decorate the room—the polished box sitting on his mahogany desk, a gold-plated handgun, a decanter of liquor, a chess set with off-white tiles probably made of ivory.

  Scumbag.

  General Espada sits, boots propped on the desk. “Please, come in.”

  He gestures to a seat. I take it, fighting a throb of anger as his mustache pleats with a smile. “How are you?”

  Like he cares. “Good, thanks.”

  “Do you have what you need?”

  “Yes.”

  The chair creaks as he leans over. He flips open a small box and grabs a thick cigar. He offers it.

 
“I don’t smoke.”

  “Suit yourself.” Carefully, he unwraps it and discards the plastic wrapper. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  I shrug. “My parents were smokers.”

  He rotates the cigar, inhaling its rich flavor. “A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.”

  “‘The Betrothed.’” I cross my arms. “Not Rudyard Kipling’s best work.”

  His eyebrows lift. “Beautiful and smart.”

  August said the same, but it’s different coming from the general. “Why am I here?”

  “To make my life easier.” He seizes a cigar cutter and clicks it shut. “You have been useful, no doubt. But you’re not enough. The world is united against us.”

  Maybe you should resign.

  I turn responses in my head, searching for an innocuous one. “I’ve done what you’ve asked.”

  “You have.” He glares, warning me not to interrupt. “And you’ll do more.”

  Palming a sheet of paper, he slides it across the desk.

  I grab it, scanning the text. It’s in Spanish. “I can’t read this.”

  “You don’t have to. Just repeat what I’ve written, word for word.”

  He cuts the cigar. The metallic shriek of the guillotine sends a thrill down my spine. The page shakes as I try to decipher the foreign words.

  It looks like a script. “What is this—anti-American propaganda?”

  He picks up a lighter. It’s old-fashioned, tarnished from years of use. “Recite the phrases for the cameras. A crew is waiting outside. It’ll air tomorrow morning.”

  My hand trembles. “I need to know what it says.”

  “You do not.”

  “I won’t be your mouthpiece. I will not badmouth my country.”

  He stabs the table. “This is your country.”

  My mouth drops. Does he expect me to believe that? “It’s—it’s where I live, but—”

  “Do you care about us, or is the volunteering an act?”

  How dare he throw that in my face?

  Silver vapor wafts between us. I resist the urge to fan the air. “Lying to them won’t help.”

  “You’ll do this or there will be consequences.” He stares at me through the gray cloud. “Your choice.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe I’ll shut down the kitchen.” He waves the cigar as he lists more atrocities. “Torch my son’s plantations to the ground. Destroy everything he’s built. Maybe you’ll go on a no-fly list. Who knows. It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “How angry you make me.”

  My heart slams into my ribs. I grip the chair, my nails gouging wood. “I’m not doing anything that’ll hurt Americans.”

  “Then I’ll have to strike at the people here.” His feet slide off as he straightens, cigar clenched between his teeth.

  “You are a monster.”

  “And you’re a stupid American.” The bright red circle smolders as he inhales. “Exchanging insults is a bore. We both know you’ll cave.”

  My eyes burn. It’s easy to blame the cigar for the tears.

  He slides the sheet toward me. “Be a good girl and smile.”

  23

  I smiled for the damn cameras. I spoke in awkward Spanish. Then I posted on Facebook that I was coerced. The general responded by cutting my Internet access.

  Now I’m silenced from the world.

  Today will not be fun. My stomach pain is at an all-time high.

  Thwack.

  August swipes, severing a thick branch. I told him I fancied a walk, but what I wanted was privacy. His machete hacks at the vegetation, clearing a path with ease. A floral scent drifts into my nose with the gentle breeze. He ducks under crisscrossing vines. I follow him onto a small, white beach. Ocean waves crash the shore.

  August tosses the blade into sand. “What is it?”

  The sun beats my neck. I collapse onto shade as he follows.

  Rip it off. Band-Aid.

  He knows something’s up. “Enough with the suspense.”

  I look at him, heart already crumbling. “I don’t think I can stay here.”

  His eyes darken like shutters on windows. “Why?”

  “This situation has blown way out of control. I can’t live like this.”

  He nods, the silence between us dour. “It’s too much.”

  “He’s threatening to hurt people if I don’t follow his commands, which are getting increasingly unreasonable. You keep telling me there’s nothing we can do.”

  “That’s because it’s true.”

  “I can’t accept that. I won’t.”

  August pulls away from me. “I’ve been extremely selfish. This is all my fault.”

  He thinks I’m breaking up with him. “I want us to leave this place together.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He doesn’t answer for the longest time. “I can’t escape, Lily. Not now. Not ever.”

  A dull pain throbs in my chest, shattering through a numb shell. “Never?”

  “He won’t let me.”

  “Why? I don’t understand. What does he get out of forcing you both to be here?”

  August tosses a rock into the water, frowning. “The old bastard keeps us here for his ego. This wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for him.”

  I lay back. An expanse of sapphire fills my vision. Really, it’s indistinguishable from a California sky. But it’s too easy to crash down to reality. This cloying, damp heat won’t let me forget where I am—and neither will the incessant noise in the forest.

  I miss everything about home. Even its flaws feel tolerable compared to what I’m up against. More and more, I’m sick of here. I can’t have a conversation with anyone but my husband and his brother. I’m so homesick.

  After the cameras recorded my televised speech, I stumbled into the nearest bathroom and vomited from sheer adrenaline. Alex told me it was mostly a plea to end the strict sanctions.

  I doubt that’s all I said.

  August takes my hand and squeezes. “Moving you here was a mistake. I’m sorry for involving you in this.”

  “Well, it’s too late for regrets.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Sweat rolls down my forehead. I wipe it away. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll go to California, but I can’t come with you.”

  He must be joking. “What?”

  August turns over, blocking my view of the sky. “He can revoke my flight status anytime he wants—not yours. You can get help at the American embassy.”

  My heart pounds as I process what he’s offering me—a way out of here. “But I’ll never be able to come back.”

  He strokes my hair, eyes softening. “I’m sorry.”

  The gravity crashes into my chest with a sledgehammer blow. “I won’t see you again.”

  “But you’ll be safe and happy.”

  “Not without you!”

  August buries his face in his hands. “Fuck.”

  Tears blind my vision. “We’re married. We made vows to be together. Now you’re telling me that’s impossible? Why did you bring me here only to give me up?”

  His head touches mine as I cry into his neck. “I can’t go without American citizenship. It will not happen.”

  A deep pain stabs my heart like a blade. I thought I’d have him forever. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You have to. It’s the only thing that’ll protect you from him.”

  Leave after I’ve fallen so hard for August?

  Not a chance in hell. “Don’t send me away. Please don’t fucking do this.”

  “It’s the right thing.”

  “How can you say that? I’m your wife.”

  “Wait. Maybe that’s it.” He shakes me, excited. “You could get me citizenship.”

  I stare at him. “How?”

  “We’ll visit the embassy and discover what it takes, but…If we want a stronger ca
se, we’ll need something else.” He hesitates, his smile evaporating.

  “What?” I prod him. “I don’t care how time-consuming it is; we’ll do it.”

  “Lily, we need a baby.”

  Has all sense left the conversation? “What?”

  “Our child will be an American regardless where it’s born. It’ll help speed the process if I’m married and father to a citizen’s baby.”

  Jesus. “That’s a lot to think about.”

  August laughs, grabbing my hands. “We haven’t used condoms since the beginning. You’re not taking birth control, are you?”

  “I—I meant to tell you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s what we wanted.” His breath steams my mouth. “Let’s make a baby.”

  Damn. I can’t describe what that does. It’s exciting.

  I dive into his hair and kiss him. He fists my shirt, dragging it over my head. The fabric slides to my wrists, pinning them together. He breaks from me, eyes narrowed in primal heat. With an impatient growl, he yanks my shorts. He tears my thong from my legs, ruining it.

  I don’t want to wait. “Are you sure this will work?”

  “It can’t hurt.” He lowers his face to my breast. “And I’d rather fuck you than plan your escape.”

  He tongues my nipple.

  I gasp. “Don’t—don’t take your time. I need you.”

  Judging from his impatience, he needs me, too. His fingers thrust inside, matching his teeth’s sting. He glides in my wetness, quickly fucking me to the brink. He puckers over me, tongue flicking hard, and then he moves down. All the way. My thighs squeeze his cheeks.

  I can’t wait anymore. “Please, August.”

  He strips from his clothes. My body spreads as he massages my clit. He sinks, his body sealing against mine. His thick length fills me. My back rakes the sand as he fucks me.

  I close my eyes and open myself to him. Please let us get pregnant. His cock jerks. He anchors, pumping until I’m filled with his warmth.

  But he’s not done.

  We’re committed to this.

  August kisses me, breaking apart to breathe. “That’s round one.”

  “How many times can you go?”

  “Before we try again at home? At least two more.” The glaze returns to his eyes.