by V. F. Mason
Could those two events be connected with the scars on his body? What happened in this mansion that shifted the way this family lived and interacted in public?
Jimena’s laugh tears me away from the disturbing discovery and pulls me back to the conversation at hand. She finishes her apple and drops the core into the nearby trashcan. “Dile eso a mamá.”
Santiago smiles smugly, although it doesn’t reach his eyes; in fact, their dead, stone-cold expression chills my blood a little as if he is a predator ready to face an attack at any moment, his body tensing the minute we stepped inside this house.
How weird. I would think those who grew up in love view their parents’ house as a safe harbor where nothing could hurt them. “I’m her favorite, so I think I’m safe.” Before Jimena sees it coming, he ruffles her hair, and she tries to avoid it, but he traps her in the crook of his arm, messing her hair even further before letting her go.
Jimena glares at him. “You’re such a jerk.” She sticks her tongue out and hooks her arm into mine, dragging me toward the common room, chattering on the way. “I’m so happy you are here. Finally, you guys can answer all their questions. They wouldn’t let me sleep.” She rolls her eyes and then drops her voice to a murmur. “I knew I should have stayed at my apartment, but to be honest, I couldn’t miss it.”
She’s one year younger than me, so she lives closer to her university in the center of Chicago while getting her degree after coming back from abroad, where she attended high school.
“Miss what?” I ask with confusion, and she opens her mouth to answer, but that’s when we enter the common room to find their parents sitting on a red velvet couch.
Rebecca waves the paper in her hand with a sketch on it while Lucian presses her closer to his side. “Are you serious right now? That’s all you have to say?”
Her husband chuckles, the wrinkles on his face deepening. “You wanted an honest opinion.”
She places her hand on her hip and narrows her eyes at her husband. “Yes, and an honest opinion doesn’t include you destroying my plans.”
“Mi amor, the greenhouse doesn’t need renovation.”
“It does.”
“No. It doesn’t.” He traps her chin between his fingers, pulls her face toward him, and kisses her lightly on the mouth. “You’re just angry. Pour your energy into something else,” he says gently, love shining brightly between them, and I almost spin around so I won’t intrude on the intimate moment.
I knew they loved each other. I just didn’t know their feelings stayed so intense all these years.
Which brings another question.
How is it possible such a loving marriage could produce a serial killer, cold to every emotional attachment, pretending only obsession and madness exists in his heart?
Shouldn’t he at least respect women, considering he loves his mother and sister?
“Of course I am.” She turns her attention to us, and I still. Her sapphire eyes flash in anger, yet I notice her purple hair falls in waves down her spine, so unusual but still fits with her artistic attire.
She gets up, her yellow summer maxi dress reaching the floor where her bare feet peek out, and she moves in our direction while I mentally prepare myself for her anger, hoping I’ll be able to withstand it…
Only to double blink when she pushes past me and points her finger at Santiago. “My baby had a wedding without me.”
“Ha, ha!” Jimena exclaims. “Who’s her favorite now?”
Their mother ignores the comment, continuing to address him as her finger digs into his chest, and he stays still, dutifully listening to her outburst. “A post on social media. That’s how I find out about my first born getting married.” Santiago opens his mouth, but her splayed palm stops what he wants to say. “Because apparently in this family, my thirty-one-year-old son thinks he doesn’t have to inform me about it. Who am I, after all? Just a mother.”
Lucian gets up from the couch, and tearing my gaze away from mother and son, I study up close the man who became my father-in-law.
And it’s like looking at Santiago, just thirty years older, same height and tan skin with the silky dark hair, only Lucian’s has several gray strands in it. His high cheekbones emphasize the perfect symmetry of his face, and his dark eyes stare at me, as if looking into the depths of my soul to find answers to all the questions he has.
Lucian sends a smile my way and throws his arm around Jimena, kissing her on the head as she rests her cheek on his chest, both of them watching Rebecca and Santiago.
Uneasiness rushes through me at how easily she trusts her dad, finding solace in his arms, something I’ve never known in this world.
Maybe because Howard’s touch always entailed abuse.
“I’m very hurt, Santiago.”
An emotion crosses his face, but it’s gone so quickly I don’t have time to examine it. Instead, a too familiar grin tips his mouth. I’m starting to think his smiles are coping mechanisms he uses in order to hide his turmoil. “Lo siento, mamá.”
“For?” she asks, crossing her arms.
“For not telling you.”
“But not for getting married without me?”
Santiago aims his orbs at me as they sweep over my form, possessiveness shining brightly in them for everyone to see. “No. I wouldn’t be your son then, would I, if I apologized for claiming my woman?”
A beat passes between them, the wooden clock ticking loudly on the wall before Rebecca bursts out laughing and wraps her arms around Santiago’s waist, hugging him close to her. And although it’s barely visible, he tenses in her hold, looking slightly lost.
It takes a few seconds for his hands to land on her spine, where he pats her awkwardly before gently pushing away, freeing himself from her embrace and winking at her. It masks the internal struggle going on inside him, since the unreadable expression once again flashes on his features.
Rebecca sighs heavily and whispers, “Felicidades, hijo mio.”
My brows furrow at their interaction, or lack thereof. He grew up with loving parents; why doesn’t he know how to react when one of them hugs him?
His life inspires a lot of questions, but no one has answers for them.
“Gracias, Mamá.”
Who would have thought me begging my Argentinian roommate to teach me Spanish would be so freaking handy now!
All thoughts quickly vanish though when Rebecca spins around and palms my face so fast I barely have time to blink. “Welcome to the family, Briseis.” Happiness and acceptance fill her voice while her smile sends shame traveling through my system. My cheeks heat up at all the lies spoken tonight, because I’m not truly their son’s choice.
Just an obsession to his dark desires acquired in the middle of madness.
No one had ever welcomed me to any family, and one that did without any questions or scorn attached… ends up being the one I could never get close to despite the love they all share for one another.
Because this dark fairy tale will end someday, and I’ll be broken once again and alone. I already face potential heartbreak, because this stupid organ inside my chest beats wildly whenever my husband is near.
But losing a family who showed me kindness instead of scorn and accepted me while others throw rejection my way?
Yeah, it will be too powerful a blow to withstand.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I whisper, “Thank you.” Fumbling a little with my fingers at everyone’s gaze on me, I shift uncomfortably. “I’m sorry about the wedding.”
She pats my cheeks and rolls her eyes, huffing. “You don’t need to apologize. I know Cortez men better than anyone. If they put their mind to something, it’s impossible to stop them.”
Since our height is about the same, she hugs me close, rocking us slightly, and her scent envelops me along with warmth radiating from her. Her soft body cradles mine while she gently runs her hand over my hair. “I’m sorry about your family, sweetheart.”
Familiar pain echoes i
nside my chest, but I quickly shake off the sadness, because they were never really my family, right?
I do feel sad their lives have been taken away in such a vicious way, and I hope the police find their murderers, because I’m not sure what happened to those two awful men. However, when it comes to their deaths, I’m mostly dead inside, the calmness with which I accepted it surprising even me.
But maybe compassion lasts for only so long before you stop feeling anything toward those who hurt you, and you just attribute anything that happens around you to unfortunate events.
Clearing my throat, I reply, “Thank you again, Mrs. Cortez.”
She leans back, cupping my cheek one last time, before she says, “Call me Mom or Mamá, whatever you prefer.” Blinking in shock at her generous offer, I freeze, a thousand emotions slamming into me so rapidly I can’t even name them or breathe properly.
If you grew up without a mother, these words mean the world to you. Although a razor-sharp knife stabs into me, twisting from side to side, reminding me this is an illusion, a kindness this woman is showing me, because she trusts her son.
Without knowing how, the son deceives her.
Tears form in my eyes, but they don’t fall as I’m swept in Lucian’s bear hug, his arms squeezing me so tight the air sticks in my lungs. “Bienvenida a la familia.” He addresses the rest. “Let’s go to the dining room now. Dinner is ready.” And with this, he lets me go, placing his hand on his wife’s spine, ushering her toward the arch-like door while Santiago does the same with me.
He must read my dumbfounded expression and chuckles, his knuckles running over my cheek. “I told you my family doesn’t go against their own.” I open my mouth to reply, when my eyes widen at the dining room. A spacious oval-shaped brown table spreads right in the middle. Golden-and-red china holding various dishes are placed within easy reach of the five place settings. The staff stands by the door, holding plates, probably waiting for us to sit down, but all I can do is stare in awe at the ceiling made of colorful glass, distorting the streaming sunlight into a colorful display that dusts upon us, creating a fairy-tale-like experience. The terrace doors show fountains and their famous garden in all their magnificent glory, their beauty calling my name. My feet itch to slip the heels off and experience the emerald grass under my bare feet.
“It’s so…” The words fail me, and I sigh. “Pretty.”
“Designed by my wife,” Lucian says, pulling back the chair for her and Jimena while they sit, and Santiago does the same for me as we settle at the table, my stomach growling louder this time… and, kill me, they all start to laugh.
“I think we can discuss it all later. Maria, get the food here,” Rebecca orders, and instantly the staff start to hover around us, placing plates with steaks, beans, rice, and other stuff that smells so good my mouth waters.
Lucian’s next words make me momentarily forget about my hunger.
“A friend called me today. He told me the police are looking for you, so it’s only a matter of time before they appear on our doorstep.”
Panicked, I glance at Santiago, who finds my hand under the table, squeezes it lightly, and then lets me go, addressing his father instead. “What’s the reason?”
“They don’t think she did it or anything, but they are curious if she might know someone who did. Her dad can’t talk; whoever it was cut his tongue out.” I gasp and kick Santiago harshly, but he doesn’t even budge, only chuckling under his breath as if it’s fucking amusing!
That’s why he wasn’t worried he would talk! Oh my God, this is unbelievable. The awful man might not be my father, but him abusing me hardly makes him deserving of all the cruelties in this world.
Unless Santiago knows something I don’t?
God, now I find ways to excuse his behavior too? Why don't I just acquire a flashing sign that says I’m a fool for Santiago Cortez and be done with this internal war of mine?
“She doesn’t,” Santiago replies while Lucian helps himself to a bowl of potatoes.
“We know that, but there are a lot of bodies and no suspects in sight. So keep that in mind.”
Rebecca claps her hands, sending a warning glance toward her husband, who only blows her a kiss, before she zeroes her gaze on us. “Let’s not talk about murders and death anymore. My baby got married. I want to know all the details. Tell me everything!” she exclaims, excitement shining on her face while the staff puts a salad plate next me, and I thank them before they disappear, leaving us alone to dine. “How and when did you two meet? Where did you propose?”
Well, shit.
Groaning inwardly at her curiosity, I hectically wrack my mind for a good explanation or a believable enough story so that our hasty marriage makes sense.
Although that’s a damned hard job with three pairs of eyes watch me like hawks, catching the slightest emotional change on my face, and I glance at Santiago, who stays oblivious to it all, munching on his food as if it’s no biggie.
Arrogant jerk.
Hot, driving me insane, and passionate arrogant jerk who created this mess in the first place and apparently has no plans in helping me out!
Lucian’s chuckles break the stretched silence, and he digs his fork into his steak then addresses his wife. “Mi amor, let them eat first.”
“If I let them eat first, I might not get any juicy details!” She taps her fingers on her wine glass, looking at us expectedly. “So?”
I open my mouth to reply but wince when my throat becomes too impossibly dry to utter a single word, so I wrap my hand around my water glass, sipping it slowly, stalling the inevitable, only to spit it back into the glass when Santiago’s raspy voice finally answers his mother. “I blackmailed her.”
Coughing on water now, I quickly grab a napkin and wipe my mouth while my gaze glues to his parents, who blink at the admission, sharing a look as his father rubs his chin, his brows furrowing.
What in the hell is Santiago doing? Who admits to something like this? And besides, his father might end all his plans, whatever they are, with a flip of his finger.
Why would he risk it all?
“I see,” Rebecca finally says, lifts the glass to her mouth, and takes a greedy gulp before addressing her son again. “What did the blackmail entail?”
I still, anticipation zipping through my body, ignoring all the sounds around me and focusing only on Santiago’s voice, waiting to hear how the sneaky monster twists the comment he so carelessly threw.
Probably transforming it into some romantic crap where one blackmails another with their hearts and—
“She had a choice. I either killed her father or she’d marry me. She chose the latter, as you see.” My jaw almost hits the fucking table at his honesty, his words hanging in the air and provoking a shift in energy among us all.
This time, silence lasts a bit longer, interrupted only by Jimena’s silverware tapping on the plate. Lucian finally speaks up. “Jimena, did you know?” She continues to nibble on her rice, barely paying us any attention. I mean, obviously she knows the truth, since I blabbed it to her, but shouldn’t she be at least a little bit concerned? “Respóndeme.”
“Si.”
“You told her the truth before the wedding, so she could help you?” Rebecca clarifies, and I nod lamely, confused as fuck with their weird reaction.
Shouldn’t they be… I don’t know… outraged, because their son forced a woman into a marriage?
Or forget the marriage.
That their son threatens murder in order to get what he wants?
How could he disgrace this family like that?
Rebecca slaps Lucian’s arm. “He’s your son indeed.”
“Lo sé,” he agrees with satisfaction lacing his tone and points at Santiago with his fork. “Although my son is smarter than me.”
“You don’t have to sound so smug about it.”
“How can I not? The girl agreed to be his on the first try. I asked five times.” He tells Santiago, “I’m so proud, son.”
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My hands fist the napkin while anger boils my blood, and I want to shout at Lucian that he’s insane, but I bite my tongue, because going against the patriarch of the family won’t win me any favors.
So much for thinking he might disown or punish his son. Instead, he praises his actions, and I’m surprised he doesn’t hug him or promise him a gift at this point.
“Asked?” Rebecca exclaims outrageously, flipping her hair back and narrowing her eyes on her husband. “More like blackmailed. You even promised to destroy my galleries so no artist would come to me if I didn’t agree.”
“Semantics, mi amor.” He leans forward, their noses almost touching as their faces are inches apart. “Besides, you knew I would never do it. You love your art so much.”
“I couldn’t be sure!”
My head continues to move like a ping pong ball, shifting my attention from one to the other as they talk rapidly; yet their kids stay oblivious to it, eating their food, because apparently hearing how your father blackmailed your mother into marriage is a normal fucking occurrence in this household!
“Shouldn’t you be concerned he blackmailed me into a marriage I didn’t want?” The words slip past my lips before I can stop them, and everyone’s attention turns to me. They stop eating all together while I lick my dry lips, finding inner strength to continue speaking. “Asking me if I need help to escape it?”
Rebecca blinks in shock, understanding clear on her face, but before she can say anything, Lucian’s low yet firm voice booms between us. “Howard is a piece of shit coward who always has been a coward, and he’ll probably die a coward too.” What in the hell? Did Howard somehow cross Lucian too, because the darkness flashing in his eyes scares me a little, and unconsciously I shift toward Santiago. “Whatever he got, he deserved it. You look absolutely fine to me, and you don’t tremble in my son’s presence. Plus, I do know my son. You belong to Santiago now, because you agreed to it willingly.” He doesn’t even give me the chance to protest. Doesn’t he see how all this is wrong? Giving a person a choice under dire circumstances is hardly a choice! “You’re a Cortez now, so you have our loyalty, and your loyalty should always belong to us.” Steel laces his last sentence, his gaze so intense that I jump a little when Santiago wraps his arm around my shoulders, reassuring me silently.