I step back and check my reflection. His shirt swims on me, but the belt has cinched it nicely. It falls to my mid-thigh, and in some other universe, it might pass for an odd shirt-dress.
This rebellion is bigger. I swallow hard. Mateo will punish me for it. I need to accept that fact, even if I fear it. But I’d rather meet my parents with my head high. They need to know their backstab hasn’t broken me … Not yet. Mateo’s been holding back.
I peer into the mirror, my eyes tired, and ask the question that’s been chirping through my mind like an annoying insect. “When is he going to take everything from me?”
Loud voices loft from downstairs, and I take a calming breath before turning and leaving the bathroom and then the bedroom.
“—blood is on your hands.” My father stands in the foyer, Mother beside him. He doesn’t sound angry, just chiding. “Everyone saw.”
“I wanted everyone to see.” Mateo’s voice is cold, so much colder than it has been toward me over the past day. “It’s important that they know my family and I are not to be trifled with, Leonard.”
My father shakes his head. “They saw a madman.”
“One who’s already paid you, so perhaps you should focus on gratitude.” Mateo’s biting tone sharpens even more.
My mother huffs. “Are we going to stand here all night, or are there dinner plans?”
My stomach lurches at the thought of eating, of what Mateo has planned for me during dinner. He’s creative with his humiliation.
“This way, Carmen.” Mateo turns on his heel, his eyes landing on me, as if he’s known all along I’ve been standing here.
I grip the stair railing and force my legs to carry me down.
Geno, the guard who was a dick to me in the kitchen, stands at the front door and watches me with a scowl. He’s the least of my worries.
My mother lets out a sharp scoff. “What on earth are you wearing?”
It’s like a whip that draws blood on my heart. Of all the things she could say, could do—she chooses this. What I’m wearing is more important to her than anything else. No matter that she sold me, that my new husband murders without a thought, that he could’ve hurt me beyond repair in the hours since he’s had me in his grasp. None of that bothers her. Only my outfit.
“It seems my bride has taken creative license with my clothing.” Mateo smirks, his gaze sliding up and down my body.
My mother snaps her attention back to Mateo. “Of course she’s acting out. You haven’t taken her on a honeymoon. What sort of groom does that?”
Mateo strides to me, and it takes all the strength I have not to back away. He wraps his arm around my waist and tilts my chin up. “Is that what you want, princess? A honeymoon?”
I want plenty of things, foremost among them, my freedom. I want a divorce, I want to go back to school, I want to be anywhere but here. His light eyes are laughing at me, though there’s no smile on his face. That’s all I am to him, a joke, a game, something he can destroy.
“Of course she does!” my mother answers for me. “She’s not some silly, common girl. She’s our daughter. She deserves more than terrible clothes and a lifetime spent in this gray prison.”
I suppose she wants me in Prada and Chanel, wants me paraded around like a Fontana queen so she can save face. There have been countless times when I’ve thought nothing my mother says can surprise me anymore. It’s heartbreaking how wrong I’ve been.
Mateo keeps his grip on my waist as he turns to my mother. “She will stay in this ‘gray prison’ as long as I wish. She’s my wife. Mine.”
My mother opens her mouth, but Father speaks up first. “We have no quarrel with that. Marriages are difficult at best, and we don’t mean to interfere.” He gives my mother a sharp look. “After all, you’ve been good on your word. The bride price has been paid, so I don’t see why we can’t put all that earlier unpleasantness behind us.”
Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Unpleasantness? Is the cold-blooded murder of an entire family nothing more than ‘unpleasantness’?”
“Lucretia!” My mother’s sharp tone is painfully familiar. “The dramatics are unnecessary.”
Mateo’s smirk has turned into a grin, and he leans close to my ear, whispering, “I didn’t kill the entire family, but it’s only a matter of time, so you aren’t wrong, princess.”
I pull away from him though he doesn’t let me step back. I don’t know who disgusts me more—the monster who holds me in his grip or the monsters who put me here.
My father clears his throat. “Shall we …”
“Come, dinner is waiting.” Mateo guides me forward, his hand on my hip as he leads me to the dining room.