“This is a new low, even for Papá,” I complain to my sister, flipping through pages of a book without really reading them. The sun is bright and warm, the garden beautiful, but I feel like a trapped bird beating my wings against the bars of a cage. I’m bored, restless, irritable—and everyone around me has noticed. This morning at breakfast, my mother commented on myattitude, which only made me that much more aggravated.
“Whoever is coming from the States, they must be incredibly important.” Elena looks over at me, pursing her lips. “At least we get to go into town today! Shopping, Isabella, foryou. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Sure,” I mumble, ignoring my sister’s deflated expression. I don’t have any desire to go shopping for the dress I’ll wear to my father’s gala—it feels more like a funeral shroud than my engagement dress. What Iamis curious about my father’s meetings—who might be coming, what they’ll be like, what they want—but I know better than to try to snoop or spy. My father has never struck me in anger, never belted me for disobedience like I know other fathers do. Still, there could always be a first time. And even if he didn’t—no matter how upset or angry I am at him for forcing this marriage on me, I love my father. I know he loves me, even if he can’t use that love to break past the constraints of the world we live in. I don’t want to disappoint him.
It’s the only reason I haven’t tried to run away. That—and all the dangers out there for an unwed girl with a last name like mine. A last nameworthsomething.
Elena and I are both valuable. That’s why we can’t leave the compound, why we were tutored at home, and why we don’t have a normal life. Why we’re caged. Because out there are horrible men, ready to take us and threaten awful things in order to get money or favor from our father.
The Gonzalez cartel most of all.
There’s no good arguing with him, either. My family is strict and traditional—it’s always been that way and always will be. Fighting him will only result in tears and disappointment—for both of us.
“You could try to get some fun out of this,” Elena ventures. “Mama says—”
“I don’t care what mama says,” I snap, and then immediately soften at the hurt look on my sister’s face. “I’m sorry,” I tell her quickly. “I didn’t mean to be sharp with you. I just—”
“I know.” My shy-faced, sweet sister scoots closer to me on the bench, her hand resting on my knee. “You’re scared.”
No, I’m not;I want to retort.I’m not scared of anything.But that would be a lie, and Elena would know it’s a lie. I’ve spent most of my life so far with her and she with me, and we know each other better than anyone else does.
I don’t want to be vulnerable with anyone right now. But if there’s anyone Icanbe vulnerable with, it’s my little sister.
“Yeah,” I say finally, picking at a piece of embroidery on my skirt. “I’m scared. Papá says he’ll pick someone kind, someone close to my age—and I want to believe him. But who out there in the cartels, who would be valuable enough to our family to be my husband, is going to be youngandkind? If he’s old, he might have grown kinder with time—but I don’t want an old husband. And if he’s young, he’ll probably be cocky and arrogant. And cruelty—” I take a deep, shuddering breath, my hands clenching together in my lap. “I don’t think cruelty knows any age. And I think it probably hides itself well when that person wants something. Especially something as valuable as me. So I don’t think those promises mean much in the end.”
“You have to trust him,” Elena insists, squeezing my knee. “He’s always tried to do right by us, Isabella, even if it’s hard. I know you don’t want this—I don’t want it either. For either of us. But this is our life, and I just think—” She chews on her lower lip as I glance over at her, worry in her eyes. “We should try to enjoy our lives as much as we can. So little of them are actually ours.”
I know she’s trying to comfort me, but it really does the opposite. My little sister, barely eighteen, shouldn’t have to say things like that. I hate being trapped and constrained by all the rules and expectations of having been born into a cartel family, but I hate it more for her.
“Let’s try to enjoy today,” Elena pleads. “We haven’t gotten to go out in so long. We’ll go shopping and out to lunch, and you’ll get to choose any dress you want because today is all about you. It’ll be fun if we let it.”
I don’t think there’s any way to make it fun, not really. But more than anything, I don’t want to disappoint my sister. So I nod, forcing myself to smile.
“We’ll make it fun,” I echo, standing up and stretching out my back and legs after sitting for so long on the garden bench. “We should get ready.”
Elena beams at me, and the smile on her face makes it worth it, even if I’m going to have to fake a pleasant mood all day. She goes back into her room to change, and I stride to mine, ignoring José’s heavy, booted footfalls behind me. I haven’t been in much of a mood to fantasize about him lately, or anyone, not when the reality of my sexual future is bearing down on me so oppressively. If anything, it just makes it feel worse to think about what I can’t have—a young and handsome manof my choosingfor my first time…or any time, ever.
The resentment bubbling up in me is only slightly mollified by slamming the door in his face when he starts to speak as I disappear into my room.
I feel vaguely numb as I pick out something to wear out shopping. I grab a strapless sundress from my closet, a black silk slip overlaid with a black tulle printed with a rose pattern. That and black flats for walking, leaving my hair loose, my face un-made-up. I know my mother will say something about “putting effort in,” but I’m going shopping, not to a fucking ball. And honestly, I don’t want to put any effort in for that, either.
Whoever marries me won’t be doing it forme. Not really. They’ll marry me for money and my name, so what does it matter what I’m wearing? It’s all just more pretty lies to make all of this seem like something more than it is.
My mother is waiting downstairs when Elena and I come down. She’s dressed much more carefully—a jewel blue sheath dress with a gem collar, heels, her hair coiffed up behind her head, a full face of makeup. Next to her, Elena and I look painfully simple—Elena opted for her favorite yellow eyelet sundress and halo braids, her face equally without makeup. She and I have the same ideas when it comes to makeup—so far, we’ve been blessed with perfect skin, so why cover it up? My mother, though, seems to think that we shouldn’t stir one foot out of the house without at least five products applied.
She purses her lips at the sight of us. “You both look like you’re ready to play in the dirt, not go out for a day on the town. But we’ll be late for Isabella’s appointment at the shop if we stay here any longer.”
“You do remember how much this dress cost, right?” I flick the edge of the raw-edged tulle hem. “It’s designer. Hardly something to make mud pies in.”
“There’s designer, and then there’s quality.” My mother’s lip curls. “But like I said, we don’t have time. Let’s go, girls.”
The car waiting outside is a huge black SUV, the kind you see presidents and heads of state riding in on tv, with bulletproof glass. The driver and the five security guards in the car with us are all wearing black, guns at their hips, two of them with assault rifles on their backs. It makes me anxious every time we leave, because it doesn’t feel normal to need an arsenal like this just to go out and have lunch and buy a dress. I remember a time when we used to go out to dinner or to Mass with only one or two guards when I was much younger, but as the Gonzalez family has strengthened, so has our need for security.
Not to mention the smaller, weaker cartels who would love to ingratiate themselves to Diego Gonzalez by delivering Lupè Santiago and her two daughters to him.
I hate this,I think to myself, over and over, as the SUV is driven smoothly out of the gates of the compound and down the long, winding drive out to the main road. The desert stretches for miles on every side. It’s thirty miles to the nearest town, large enough for hotels and bars and shops where a dress suitable for a gala like the one my father is throwing can be found. It’s no Mexico City, where I’m sure we’ll go to find an appropriate designer for my wedding dress, a trip that I’m sure will make Elena squeal with glee—but it beats not getting out of the house at all. Or at least it would, if I weren’t surrounded by reminders of the circumstances.
It settles on me more than ever how much I really hate all of this. In my mind, the danger, the guards, the rules, the fear—none of it is worth the money and the luxury we have. I don’t understand it. We could have had any life. My father could have refused to take up the Santiago legacy and walked away. But he didn’t, and as far as I know, he never wanted to. I know my mother loves this life. She loves the dinners, the jewels, the house we live in, and all the trappings that money can buy. And even I can admit there’s pleasure in it.