“What is it, mamá?” I bite my lip, feeling the nerves ripple through me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Her voice tightens, her face returning to its usual expression. “Just remember that your father loves you, Isabella. He would never do anything that wasn’t best for you and this family.”
Well, that sounds ominous.My stomach clenches as I finish my makeup—light champagne eyeshadow, a hint of brown liner, soft at the edges, rose-pink lipstick. The maid starts in on curling my hair, reinforcing the waves that are already there, but my stomach is doing flips as I try to figure out what my mother is so worried about.
I can’t imagine who my father could have picked that would upset her. There’s only one—but no.It can’t be. He wouldn’t. It must be something else, my mother’s worries about some aspect of the party bleeding through and fixating on my engagement instead of the catering. Or she’s worried that I’ll balk at the last second and offend our guests.
I wish I could. I wish I could say no, assert myself, and walk away. But there’s nothing for me out there. Nothing but danger for someone like me, a pawn who could all too easily be used to manipulate my father—because however I feel about his decision tonight, I do know that he loves me. It’s just the means of showing that love that’s sometimes hard to reconcile.
Sitting there through the long process of the maid curling, pinning, and spraying my hair until it’s gathered in a pretty, elegant updo, it’s hard to keep my nerves in check and harder still not to think of Niall.Where is he now?I wonder as I watch my reflection in the mirror, listening to my mother and Elena talk about the party as I’m primped for my own sale.Is he flying back? Is he already gone?He hadn’t told me exactly when he was going home, when his vacation ended, only enough information to let me figure out it probably was around this time. A fitting dovetail ending for our brief fling—him going home on the night that I’ll inescapably be chained to another man.
A man who I will have completely swindled out of one of the only things he wants from me—and possibly both.
That’s the only thing that gets me through, the knowledge of my successful rebellion. They can force me to do this, my family, but they couldn’t force me to save the one thing in my power for a man who didn’t deserve it.
Instead, I gave it to one who did.
I can hear the bustle of the party when Elena leaves to find her maids and get ready herself, the door opening to let in the first strains of the music and the buzz of the conversation from downstairs. I stand up, slipping my feet into the designer heels, dyed pink to match my sash with a cluster of pearls and diamonds above the toes to match as well. The nerves start up again, waves of nausea going through me as my mother clasps the ruby necklace around my neck, handing me the matching earrings to slip into my ears.
This is it.I can’t run from it anymore. I can’t pretend it’s not happening. But I remind myself of what I did, what I won for myself. I can live through this. All the women before me have, and the ones to come after me will, too. It will be Elena’s turn eventually.
This is the way of our world. I’ll have to be satisfied with my tiny rebellion. It will have to be enough.
“Are you ready?” My mother touches my arm, the greatest show of support she’s ever given me, but in this particular moment, I’m too anxious to reject it. The words don’t come at first, lodged in my throat, and I think of Niall, of our time together, and how I don’t want to let go of it.
I force myself to tuck it away, into a tiny corner of my heart, the way the necklace he gave me is tucked into my jewelry box, and take a breath.
“Yes,” I say softly, forcing out the words. “I’m ready.”
“Good girl,” my mother says, beaming at me, and I wince, remembering those words coming from Niall’s mouth in a very different way. This feels demeaning and makes me cringe, but I don’t let it show on my face. Instead, I step forward towards the open door, my mother behind me. Elena is waiting for us, dressed in a lighter pink confection that suits her younger age. She falls in behind me as my mother goes ahead, walking down the staircase to greet the guests and let them all know I’m about to come down.
It’s like my quinceañera, but worse, all the focus is on me. I pause at the top of the stairs, looking down into the crowded room, trying to clear my head. I see all the guests gathered just below turning to look up, most of the faces unfamiliar—except one.
No. It can’t be.It’s got to be my imagination, my yearning for the one thing I can’t have—but then I blink and look again, and I feel as if I’m going to faint.
Standing not far from the foot of the stairs, next to my brother, is Niall.
And he’s looking straight at me.
23
NIALL
Iwalk into the Santiago house ten minutes after I was told the party was going to start, ready for a drink. There’s already a throng of guests filling the space, tables at the far end of the room waiting for caterers to bring out food, an ice sculpture as the centerpiece of one, a champagne tower on another, and a chocolate fountain on a third. I catch sight of waiters moving around the room, passing out appetizers and drinks. I decide to skip the champagne being passed out and go for something stronger, heading for the bar still being set up to get a tequila and ginger with lime.
“Niall!” I hear Ángel’s voice behind me, greeting me enthusiastically, and I turn to see him, tall and resplendent in a bespoke suit, his own drink in hand. “Glad to see you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t do to not show up at the celebration for our big announcement.” I tip my glass in his direction before taking a sip. It’s strong and good, high-quality tequila, and I take another. “The alliance between the Santiago cartel and the Boston Irish Kings. It’s quite an accomplishment.”
“Indeed it is.” Ángel laughs, taking a sip of his own drink, what looks like a double shot of Blanco tequila. “But sadly, that’s not the focus of tonight’s party—although it is a part of it, for sure.”
“Oh? What is?” I tilt my drink back and finish it, nodding to the bartender for another.
“My sister’s engagement. She should be coming down any moment now. Our father waited a long time to betroth her—too long, really. She’s twenty-one. But tonight, all that won’t matter any longer. Between her engagement and our alliance, the Santiago future will be secured.”
He preens as he says it, gesturing for me to follow him as I accept my second drink from the bartender. “There’s my mother.” He nods towards a woman coming down the stairs, handsomely elegant in a deep blue evening gown, her dark hair swept up and sapphires glittering on every available bit of skin shown in the modest dress. “She’s probably letting the guests know that Isabella is about to come down. Follow me.”
I see no reason not to. Ricardo had mentioned something that would keep the peace, his daughter’s engagement must be that thing. Over the course of our arrangements, he’d barely mentioned his daughters, but I suspected it was to keep us getting any ideas about how to include them in negotiations.