And he’d claimed to be jealous. So he wasn’t completely indifferent to me. Was he? Earlier, he’d claimed he’d wanted me by his side. Now, he didn’t even seem to care if I descended into the party with him.
I hadn’t realized the warmth of his attention until he took it away—especially in a room full of strangers.
Perhaps now that I was caught, I was little more to him than a product of the merger. And that was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? To be nothing to him? To be left alone?
The security guards were suddenly at my back, and my only paths were back through them or down the stairs. They looked even unfriendlier than him.
I followed Cristiano.
As I hit the basement level, a young boy ran up to Cristiano without any hesitation. I braced myself, though for what, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps anger from Cristiano at being approached that way.
“Mira,” he said, opening his mouth and pointing at his missing front teeth.
Cristiano stopped. “What am I looking at, Felix?”
The boy grinned wider. “I lost the second one.”
“That’s too bad,” Cristiano answered. “You won’t be able to eat any cake.”
“Yes, I will,” he declared. “I already had a piece.”
A woman—Felix’s mother, I assumed—took his hand to pull her son away. “Perdón, señor,” she said to Cristiano as she eyed me. “He’s just excited for the el Ratoncito Pérez to leave a gift under his pillow.”
“Who wouldn’t be? There will be one there tonight, Teresa,” Cristiano said and looked to a member of his security team.
The guard nodded in acknowledgement, then limped away to speak into his two-way radio.
“Gracias, señor,” Teresa said and thanked him again before turning her eyes on me. “She’s beautiful.”
“Eduardo told you what I need?” Cristiano asked.
“Sí.” Teresa nodded. “But it helps to see her for myself.” In any other situation, I would’ve demanded they not speak about me as if I weren’t standing there. But I couldn’t be sure who was friend or foe—or who worked for Cristiano and who was in my position.
Teresa guided her son away, and I found a sea of unreadable faces looking back at me.
“Eat, drink,” Cristiano bellowed to them, gesturing at their tables. “Don’t let us interrupt the fun.”
The music resumed, and people turned back to their food, beverages, and conversation. It felt wrong to drink and sing. People almost seemed . . . comfortable. I could see that they were well-fed, and they acted as if they were safe. In some way or another, the people here must’ve been employees of the cartel and their families. Which made this the office Easter party.
Cristiano nodded at the buffet. “You should be able to find something to your liking.”
“I’m not hungry.” I crossed my arms over my stomach and hoped it wouldn’t growl. To me, it just wasn’t the time for tamales and cake. “What was that with the boy’s mom? Some kind of code?”
“Code for what?” he asked.
“You expect me to believe that exchange was really about what the Tooth Rat would put under a kid’s pillow? Did you just order someone decapitated or something?”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he led me to the spread of food. “No, mi amor. Just handled. I’ll do the same to you if you don’t eat something.”
My stomach was in knots. “Food is the last thing on my mind.”
“What is on your mind?” he asked.
“I’m tired,” I lied. “I don’t see the purpose of being paraded around for people who don’t seem to want me here. Is there somewhere I could lie down?”
“Sí,” he answered. “My bed.” Amusement flashed across his features. He was testing my limits. Trying to scare me.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll eat.”
“Good to know that threatening my bed works on you.” He handed me a paper plate printed with party balloons. “While Felix and his mother are here, Eduardo will put a hundred pesos under the boy’s pillow. I’ve also hired her for something personal, but it’s nothing deceitful. Not as exciting as a beheading, just a small favor.”
I eyed Cristiano for signs of sarcasm but was only met with a casual shrug.
A young man walked over, his arm extended in greeting. “Felicitaciones,” he congratulated Cristiano, shaking his hand before turning to me. “Y usted también, señora. You make a lovely bride.”
I couldn’t tell if the man was mocking me by extending his congratulations to me as well—Cristiano had made it clear to all that this was nothing more than an arranged marriage.
“Doesn’t she?” Cristiano remarked as if I were a prized pig, and barely glanced at me as he said, “Go make yourself a plate.”
I understood his order for what it was—they needed privacy. Diego and my father had dismissed me the same way many times. In a way, Cristiano’s true colors were a relief. This was the ice I’d expected to find in my new husband. It was a wonder he didn’t melt in hell.