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“Good. Good.” Dad walks out and stops outside my door, his face turning toward mine. Our eyes lock. In them, I see anger and hate and a warning. His hostility isn’t because of the damage done to the federal building, but because he lost every last bit of evidence the country had against Alejandro’s deceased father. There are no copies, nor does he know the intricate details from the case, and the public demands proof to support his constitutional amendment, forcing him to gain support in other ways. “Signio is downstairs waiting, my daughter. Do not make me look bad tonight.”
“Dad, I’d never—”
“And you also don’t want to find out what happens if you do.”
I’ve been here a little over an hour and have done nothing more than shake hands and smile. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. It’s always a different name. Some dignitary or influential family or a member of the conservative press that sings President Quintero’s praises.
Over and over.
Same pleasantries.
The same amount of brown-nosing.
I hate this. Every last bit.
“Thirsty, beautiful?” Signio offers me a flute of champagne, sidling up close while all eyes continue to drift toward us. We’re entertainment. Young and in love, according to national headlines.
The couple to be married in what they consider to be the wedding of the century, a paparazzi’s wet dream, while I want to shrink away and hide.
This sham isn’t my dream. He’s not someone I want to spend more than ten minutes with.
And yet I’m stuck. This is my reality.
He’ll never be Alejandro. I’ll never get to choose for myself.
“Thank you,” I say, my tone even while meeting his gaze. His eyes hold a predatory edge that’s never been so blatant. Yes, he’s hit on me in the past, but not like this. Signio tries, but at my rebuff seeks comfort in my cousin. “How kind of you.”
“Are we upset tonight? Not having fun?” The mocking edge to his tone pisses me off. The sleazy smirk disguised behind a flirtatious smile makes me want to punch him in the mouth.
I’m not a violent person by nature, but I’ve thought about it. Breaking his nose or jaw. Maybe even asking Alejandro for help. I know he’d do it, too, without asking me why.
Widening my eyes, I giggle and bring the glass to my lips. “I’m going to reserve my answer,” I say before taking a few sips. “Women and secrets. They come hand in hand.”
“Careful, little girl.” His hand grips my arm, pulling me in closer— fingernails dig in and break the skin, but I’m not allowed to show pain. Instead, I grit my teeth and don’t give him the satisfaction. My smile widens, and his annoyance mounts. “Don’t be smug or taunting. I know too much. Things your father doesn’t and would heavily compensate me for.”
“I’m not afraid.”
With his other hand, he taps my nose. “You should be.”
To the outside, we look playful and laughing and compatible; it’s a lie. Signio makes my skin crawl, and the only reason I’m still having this conversation is my father’s eyes across the room. It’s better to keep them on me and not Laura, who’s sulking in her seat not too far from him. While he’s talking to the vice president, his wife, and Signio’s father—she watches him with sadness and betrayal in her eyes. While the men look tense and the women offer a laugh or two as they pretend to like each other, she wipes away the stray tear that falls.
I’m protecting her by not making a scene.
I’m letting the room in on this movie-star quality performance, so questions don’t arise.
She doesn’t understand the position she puts me in.
She doesn’t appreciate how I’ve covered for her in the past. Excused myself from the last dinner he invited us to so she could be alone with him.
“You promised we could go, Sol. Come on.”
“I have other things to do, Laura.”
“Like what?” her tone is grating on my nerves. Demanding and pushy, as if I owe her.
“Like not sitting there while you paw at him and he laps up the attention.”
She giggles at that. “Are you jealous?”
