As I turned, Cristiano touched my arm, leaning in so only I could hear. “But stay close. I should be able to reach out and touch you whenever I please.”
He returned forward, leaving me with his clean scent, promised heat, and a chill that raced down my spine.
Dusk encroached, and true darkness would fall soon. And when it did, Cristiano would touch me whenever he pleased.
4
Natalia
Standing over a hand-painted sink, with cobalt blue and white shiny tiles at my back, I stared at myself in a bathroom mirror, my wide, nervous eyes and pale face bathed with warm, honeyed light. Over an hour into the Easter party, and it was the first moment I’d had alone. Cristiano carried on conversations and shook hands as if I didn’t exist, yet if I ever left his side, he’d reprimand me with a look or a clipped command under his breath to return.
I touched the dark circles under my eyes, and my new wedding ring caught the light. I inspected the small, meaningless diamond Cristiano had probably found in a pawn shop. Or, more likely, one of his men had been ordered to pick it up.
“In order to make the deal, I’ve taken a wife.”
Literally.
How far back had Cristiano planned this? For Diego and me, the union had been sudden, but had Cristiano known my fate since the night of the costume party? If so, then he’d played with us—and I feared the game wasn’t over.
Cristiano had admitted as much at his nightclub. This was all a game, and I had to play, or I’d lose.
But how did someone like me, with nothing except the clothes on my back, beat a man who had every resource available to him?
I had only one thing to offer—one bargaining chip.
I hadn’t forgotten Cristiano’s threat to Diego earlier.
“Envision me taking her with the same fervor on this, our wedding night.”
I pressed my hand to my stomach as my insides wrenched. How long until Cristiano ended the party and took what he felt he was owed? I needed to prepare for tonight, mentally and physically. For me, sex was no longer about love. It was an exchange, and perhaps a tool I could use to make my time here bearable.
With a knock on the bathroom door, I opened it and met Alejandro, the guard who’d shown me to the bathroom and who’d also stood for Cristiano at our wedding. “Don Cristiano is asking for you,” he said.
“Can’t I use the restroom in peace?”
“It’s been twenty minutes.”
“Don’t have the shrimp,” I snapped at him.
I thought I detected a smile in his eyes, but he remained passive. “Noted.”
He led me back through the house. In the kitchen, people continued to buzz, coming in and out with trays, though it seemed to me everyone had eaten plenty. Jaz stood at the sink washing dishes with her head down. Her bun sagged, and pieces of her red hair had come loose around her face. I’d thought she was young and pretty before, but as I studied her profile, I realized she was beautiful.
I stopped where I was, and without consulting Alejandro, I seized an opportunity to gather more information while Cristiano wasn’t around.
I walked over to her. “Do you need any help?”
She looked at me with brown, startled eyes. “No. This is my job.”
I rolled my lips together, glancing at Alejandro. “How long have you worked here?” I asked.
“Years.”
My mouth fell open. She looked my age. “Is it . . . did you live here before? Are you being paid?”
“¿Qué?” Her gaze shifted over my shoulder to Alejandro. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Where are you from?” I asked, touching her forearm.
She flinched back. “I’m from here. This is my home.”
“Is there a problem, Natalia?” Alejandro asked behind me.
Everyone in the kitchen went quiet. The chef leaned against a counter and slurped stew from a bowl like a server on his dinner break. The scarred, elderly woman glanced at Jaz and me, and then quickly away.
I faced Alejandro. “I was asking for . . . aspirin.”
Jaz turned off the faucet, yanked off her rubber gloves, and slapped them against the counter with a thwack. “I’ll bring you some, doña Natalia,” she said with obvious sarcasm and a glare before walking away.
“Come on,” Alejandro said. “Jaz will find us.”
I’d clearly upset her, and I hoped I hadn’t gotten her into trouble. “How old is she?” I asked.
“Not sure. Early twenties?”
“But she’s worked here years?” I asked. “Doing what?”
He frowned at me. “What do you mean? She’s part of the household staff. Cooks, cleans—that kind of thing.”
“But is there more that’s . . . required of her?”
“Well, it’s a big house,” he said, his eyebrows drawn. “She helps keep the rooms in order, manages the landscapers—”
“Never mind,” I said with a sigh. I just didn’t understand how such a young girl had come to work here, and whether she was in any kind of trouble. She didn’t seem to be. So what was the truth about the Badlands?