“Yes, Patron.”
15
I HAVEN’T HEARD from him in a few days.
Not so much as a note, and it makes me unhappy. A bit moody.
I’m missing him, and it’s messing with my head. It makes my chest feel tight.
“You look beautiful, Sol,” my mother says, entering my room, and I give a small jump in my seat in front of my vanity. How did I miss the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor outside? “Are you ready to head down?”
“Almost.”
“Baby, please look at me.” The sadness in her tone causes my heart to clench and I sigh, looking back over my shoulder and meeting her eyes for the first time in days. “I don’t have much time.”
“For?” Her smile slips at my one-word response and practiced grin, shoulders dropping, but I don’t have more in me to give. Not when I still feel the sting of her betrayal. When she’s lied to me.
“Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Turning my attention back to the mirror, I apply my lipstick, a red shade that brings out the hints of blue in my eyes. The combination works for me, and the small moment of satisfaction fades when I remember that Alejandro won’t be here tonight to see it for himself. To tell me how beautiful I am or how he can’t deny himself a taste.
“Give me that practiced first daughter smile. I hate it.” She fully steps inside, and I hear the click of the door closing and lock engaging. There’s a beat of silence that lingers, and she comes closer. Mom stops an inch or two from me and I watch her through the mirror as she fights to speak. To find the right words to express whatever is on her mind.
I take the moment to look at her.
Yes, she’s beautiful and without a single deep wrinkle on her face at the age of forty-eight. However, behind the makeup and expensive jewelry, there’s a sadness I’ve never seen before. The mark of a woman near her breaking point.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
“Can we talk for a few minutes? I can’t take your disappointment in me.”
“Don’t we need to leave soon? Can this wait?”
“Your father and Signio are waiting downstairs.” At the mention of their names, I force myself to swallow back the harsh words sitting on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I go back to adding the finishing touches to my makeup, dread sitting heavy in my stomach as the clock ticks away.
My distress comes from having to endure that idiot’s attention all night with a fake in-love expression on my face.
My nightmare is having to pretend to love a man I loathe for fear of retribution from my father.
He’s on the warpath. Angry. Almost frothing at the mouth after Alejandro attacked the judicial building four days ago, and more so after the man himself sent him a card with his condolences.
No one has been spared as the country looks at him with distrust. As if he were an imbecile
His ego is wounded. His hopes for a constitutional change is hanging on a precarious thread if he doesn’t convince those in attendance tonight. Those with enough money to make it happen even without public support.
Another reason why tonight feels as though it’s the final nail in my coffin.
My fingers wrap around the closest perfume bottle. “Mom, now isn’t the—”
“I’m leaving your father.”
The glass slips from my hold and crashes back down atop the mirrored vanity top. They shatter, shards of glass spreading all around me and the floor, a few pieces cutting my hand. It stings and I gasp, but nothing else registers. She’s leaving him? How? Does he—
“Baby! Oh shit!” Her cursing pulls my attention back into focus and I clutch her hand, having no idea when I stood up to face her. Nor when she took my injured palm—where the cloth she’s using to wipe the few beads of blood came from. The cuts aren’t deep and there’s only mild pain, but her words stung. There is hurt and confusion, but above all lies and betrayal.
She’s ready to leave him but has no problem handing me off to someone just like my father.
“How could you?”
“Sol, he’s not the same man I married all those years ago.” Her eyes beg mine to understand, to not condemn her. “He’s a monster. The things he’s planning…” Mom trails off when we hear footsteps approaching, her face becoming ashen. “I promise to explain everything, baby. It’ll all make sense.”
Her whispered words anger me, and I snatch my hand back. “Am I a diversion while you get away?” It’s a low hiss, my grey eyes the exact shade as hers, narrowing. “I get married and—”
“You’re not marrying that hijueputa.”
“What?” I don’t question her cursing. I’m too shocked.
“I’m not leaving you here to marry that man or any other your father has in line.”
“But what about what you told the reporters? That lady at dinner?”
Mom’s smile is sad as she comes closer, hands cupping my face. “I have a plan, mamita. Trust me.”
“Trust you with what?” Dad’s voice cuts through and we both turn to face him, our faces a matching calm that evades his perception. Not that he’ll notice either way. My father cares more for his appearance than that of his wife or the happiness of his family. His eyes are reading something on the screen of his phone. “Well?”
Still, he doesn’t look up, and Mom and I share a quick look. “She says you couldn’t notice the drop of blood on my dress. I cut my hand by mistake when a bottle of perfume—”
“Really, Solimar? Can you try and be more careful.” It’s a command. A decree that needs to be followed. “Is her dress okay, Veronica?”
“Yes, amor.”
“Good. Good.” Dad walks out and stops outside my door, his face turning toward mine. Our eyes lock. In them, I see anger and hate and a warning. His hostility isn’t because of the damage done to the federal building, but because he lost every last bit of evidence the country had against Alejandro’s deceased father. There are no copies, nor does he know the intricate details from the case, and the public demands proof to support his constitutional amendment, forcing him to gain support in other ways. “Signio is downstairs waiting, my daughter. Do not make me look bad tonight.”
“Dad, I’d never—”
“And you also don’t want to find out what happens if you do.”
I’ve been here a little over an hour and have done nothing more than shake hands and smile. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. It’s always a different name. Some dignitary or influential family or a member of the conservative press that sings President Quintero’s praises.
Over and over.
Same pleasantries.
The same amount of brown-nosing.
I hate this. Every last bit.
“Thirsty, beautiful?” Signio offers me a flute of champagne, sidling up close while all eyes continue to drift toward us. We’re entertainment. Young and in love, according to national headlines.
The couple to be married in what they consider to be the wedding of the century, a paparazzi’s wet dream, while I want to shrink away and hide.
This sham isn’t my dream. He’s not someone I want to spend more than ten minutes with.
And yet I’m stuck. This is my reality.
He’ll never be Alejandro. I’ll never get to choose for myself.
“Thank you,” I say, my tone even while meeting his gaze. His eyes hold a predatory edge that’s never been so blatant. Yes, he’s hit on me in the past, but not like this. Signio tries, but at my rebuff seeks comfort in my cousin. “How kind of you.”
“Are we upset tonight? Not having fun?” The mocking edge to his tone pisses me off. The sleazy smirk disguised behind a flirtatious smile makes me want to punch him in the mouth.
I’m not a violent person by nature, but I’ve thought about it. Breaking his nose or jaw. Maybe even asking Alejandro for help. I know he’d do it, too, without asking me why.
Widening my eyes, I giggle and bring the glass to my lips. “I’m going to reserve my answer,” I say before taki
ng a few sips. “Women and secrets. They come hand in hand.”
“Careful, little girl.” His hand grips my arm, pulling me in closer— fingernails dig in and break the skin, but I’m not allowed to show pain. Instead, I grit my teeth and don’t give him the satisfaction. My smile widens, and his annoyance mounts. “Don’t be smug or taunting. I know too much. Things your father doesn’t and would heavily compensate me for.”
“I’m not afraid.”
With his other hand, he taps my nose. “You should be.”
To the outside, we look playful and laughing and compatible; it’s a lie. Signio makes my skin crawl, and the only reason I’m still having this conversation is my father’s eyes across the room. It’s better to keep them on me and not Laura, who’s sulking in her seat not too far from him. While he’s talking to the vice president, his wife, and Signio’s father—she watches him with sadness and betrayal in her eyes. While the men look tense and the women offer a laugh or two as they pretend to like each other, she wipes away the stray tear that falls.
I’m protecting her by not making a scene.
I’m letting the room in on this movie-star quality performance, so questions don’t arise.
She doesn’t understand the position she puts me in.
She doesn’t appreciate how I’ve covered for her in the past. Excused myself from the last dinner he invited us to so she could be alone with him.
“You promised we could go, Sol. Come on.”
“I have other things to do, Laura.”
“Like what?” her tone is grating on my nerves. Demanding and pushy, as if I owe her.
“Like not sitting there while you paw at him and he laps up the attention.”
She giggles at that. “Are you jealous?”
“Hell, no.” It’s hard, but I manage not to gag and shake my head. “He’s not my type. At. All.”
“But I need you there, prima. Please.” My cousin puckers her lips, and I want to flick them. I feel bad for her, I do, but other people’s happiness can’t always come at my expense. If he loves her as she claims, then he needs to stop being a dog and man up. Be with her. “Just one more time. I’ll never ask again.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it.” At my words, she has the decency to grimace. “But I’ll cover for you instead. I’ll stay at your apartment while you two go out. That’s the most I’ll do, and only because I know this is hard on you.”
“Oh my GOD!” Laura throws her arms around me. “You are the best and I owe you.”
“Then please stop putting me in this predicament. If you get caught—”
“I won’t. I’m talking to him tonight.”
At this point, I have to come to grips with the fact Laura’s so blinded by her emotions that she simply doesn’t care.
“Don’t threaten me.”
“Or what, Solimar?”
I don’t answer him. Can’t.
My lips part, and a stuttered breath escapes because I feel him. That inexplicable fluttering in my stomach and the throb between my thighs. Every single inch of me becomes hyperaware, discreetly scanning the room, but I can’t find him.
Alejandro is here, but where?
So close. So consuming.
He’s the kind of man who owns the room, and I’m not the only one noticing that something is different. Signio pulls his hand from my arm as if I’ve burned him, pretending to wipe a sweaty palm while around us a few people laugh, but they too sense the change.
Eyes are shifting. My father’s brow is creased.
I need to get out of here.
My chest rises and falls rapidly, and I close my eyes for a second. “I’m going outside for some air.”
“Not by yourself, you’re not.”
“You sure about that?”
“Your father—”
“Would either of you care for an hors d’oeuvres?” a male voice asks, and I open my eyes, coming face to face with the same man again. He’s smiling, while Signio’s face is pale and his head shakes minutely. “I have mini arepas stuffed with ham and cheese. Simple and delicious.”
“One of my favorites.”
“He knows.” The man doesn’t need to emphasize just who he’s talking about. All three standing here know. “He’s also not happy with you, Signio.”
“Geronimo, he can’t be—”
“Walk her outside and disappear, Cortez. That’s an order.”
My smile widens as genuine relief consumes me. “Would you like to join me outside for some fresh air, Signio?”
His eyes harden, but his grin matches my own. He knows I spoke louder than usual on purpose. “Of course. Let me just tell your father—”
“No need.” Dad’s voice breaks our stare off, not that he notices just who the waiter is. He’s not one to talk with those he deems beneath him, too busy being surrounded by important men: his security team, some members of the senate, and the vice president. They all look tense. He seems pissed. “Why don’t you two get out of here and have some fun. Maybe have a late dinner?”
He wants us out of here. What’s going on?
“Are you sure, Matias?” Signio’s avoiding the look the waiter—that dad ignores—gives him. It’s menacing and it makes me shrink back a bit, something Alejandro’s employee sees and shakes his head at. The action is so minute that no one notices.
“I’m sure. Get her out of here.”
The way he says that causes me to look over at my father with curiosity. I want to ask why. I want to tell him to stop sending me away with this creep.
My mouth opens, the questions sitting right at the tip of my tongue when Signio grabs my hand and tugs me closer. “Right away.”
“Good. I’ll call you later.” Dad turns and walks away without another word, the group with him following close behind. No goodnight. No “be safe.” Not a damn thing. They exit the room while those in attendance continue to drink, eat, and dance.
“You heard him.”
“Get your hand off me.” I need to find Alejandro. Ask my mother what’s going on.
I’m scanning the room but find no trace of either. This night is making no sense.
“Solimar…baby, why don’t you let me take you back to—”
“Outside to the terrace. You have two minutes.”
“Look, just tell him you missed us. I’ll triple your pay and…” He trails off at the sight of Geronimo’s gun tucked at his hip. Just the butt of it makes him shake beside me.
“A minute and a half left.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t want to be reminded again of the dwindling clock. Without stopping, he walks me outside by the hand and then closes the door behind us when we enter the terrace. It’s dark, the only source of lighting coming from the moon, and yet, I still see him the second my eyes adjust.
Standing in the middle of the terracotta-paved patio is Alejandro Lucas in a tuxedo, and my knees feel weak.
His eyes are hard and his body tense, but he’s more beautiful than anyone has the right to be.
His mouth set in a thin line, and the way his jaw ticks makes my heart thump harshly inside my chest.
He’s angry. Looks like the devil incarnate.
I’ve become a hussy for this man.
“I warned you.”
16
AT THE SIGHT of me, he releases my little flower’s hand and takes three steps back. It’s still not far enough. Nothing short of buried six feet under will ever appease me.
“Alejandro, I can—”
“Quiet,” I hiss out, fighting to control my temper because Solimar doesn’t need to see that. She’ll never witness my wrath. The devil that resides within me. “I warned you, Cortez. Warned you, and yet you decided to not listen. This is on you.”
“He made me do it. They’re planning to—”
“I know every fucking step he takes.” My eyes shift to Solimar, and I shake my head at her. Her eyebrows pucker at the center. I know she’s confused, but now is not the time for this conversation. The sound o
f guns being cocked surround us and while Signio looks around nervously—I mouth later, and she nods. “Here or traveling, it doesn’t matter. Even now, as he sits inside his office surrounded by men that want my head on a platter, I stand without fear. Remember that, güevon, I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
Signio’s mouth opens, but before he can utter a single word, I snap my fingers twice.
My guards step out from under the shadows, all ten that accompany me tonight, while Geronimo walks behind the idiot. One strike with the butt of my guard’s Glock to the back his skull and the idiot goes limp, his unresponsive body a heap on the ground. As Geronimo steps back, another soldier steps forward and grabs Signio, tossing him over his shoulder before all traces of the would-be fiancé disappear.
Then, it’s just me and her.
“You ready, Preciosa?”
“Ready for what?”
“I’m whisking you away for the weekend, Solimar.” Her lips quirk up into a salacious smile while those warm grey eyes admire my attire. Something that I find myself doing to her. Her satin, floor-length black dress is modest in the front yet provocative with a backless design that exposes a large expanse of tempting skin. Then, there are the sexy and strappy heels in the same color as her garment that make her perfect ass perkier. The long, soft curls draped over her right shoulder tempt me to wrap them around my wrist and take possession of her body.
However, it’s those ruby red lips that make me throb the hardest. They make the blood in my veins scorch with a near demonic desire that I’m left fighting to control.
The shade against her sun-kissed skin and striking eyes is delicious.
“Do you trust me?”
“I shouldn’t…”
“But you do.”
“What about my parents? They’ll know something is wrong if I don’t come back tonight.”
“I doubt your father is expecting your return until Sunday.” It’s the truth, and we both know it. That piece of mierda doesn’t care about her safety; he wants her in Cortez’s arms. And if that union fails to happen, both fathers have a back-up plan.
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