One of thecholossays something to her as she approaches. The one gripping his gun keeps his eyes trained on my car. Another one reaches for her thigh as she steps toward the front door, his palm sliding up under her skirt, and she flinches and attempts to dodge him. The rest of them laugh and heckle her as she slips inside, and it’s so fucking demeaning that I can’t fucking stand it, and I shove out of the car.
The guy with a gun draws on me as I march up the walkway, and I wave my hand at him dismissively. “Put the gun away,” I order him in Spanish. “I’m here for her, not you.”
He lowers the gun slightly and retorts in Spanish, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Her husband,” I say, and just like earlier at the pool when I called her my wife, it’s foreign and weird, but simultaneously evokes a strange sense of duty and protectiveness. Apparently, just finding yourself suddenly and unintentionally married to someone can really get in your fucking head, and Lili’s advice to justroll with itkeeps sounding better and better.
Thecholosthink my declaration is friggin’ hysterical, and they cackle, but they also back off and let me step into the house without hassle. And if this “house” is supposedly Natalia’s “home,” it’s a fucking travesty.
The air is rank with all manner of toxic sludge; mold, rot, stale and fresh cigarette smoke; the heady, skunky smell of pot; the faint, burnt-plastic, metallic scent of crack smoke. The floor is covered in tattered, half-rotted carpet that may have been cream-colored in another lifetime, but is now a stained, dingy brown. Ash trays, empty beer cans, liquor bottles, and red Solo cups litter every available surface. A random chick, who’s skinny as fuck and half-dressed, is passed out on the weathered, stained sofa.
Beyond the living room, Natalia is standing at a sliding glass door with her back to me as she stares out at the patchy, yellow lawn in the backyard.
“Querida,” I call out quietly, half to not startle her, and half to not wake the junkie on the couch.
Natalia turns to me, tears still spilling down her cheeks. “Don’t soil your fine suit by being in here, Joaquin. You should just go.”
I really fucking hate being told what Ishoulddo. And I hate the way she keeps basically rubbing my fuckingprivilegein my face like that. I mean, maybe that’s not what she’s doing, but it sure fucking feels like it.
It all feels way too much like Papá and his disdain for my lifestyle, his constant comparing me to Colin and Malachi, andblah-blah-blah. Colin isn’t even blood family, Malachi married in, but they always managed to be Papá’s favorite sons. Colin has a super successful career, and Malachi comes from a royal family, a relationship that benefits Papá’s media corporation in ways that will exponentially increase our already absurd wealth. I don’t have a career. I don’t even have my own place. Why the fuck would I ever need any of that shit with a bottomless well of money and a fucking mansion at my disposal?
Papá has never placed actual expectations on me, but at the same time, he’s always had plenty of disappointment when I never did any of the shit he never actually told me to.
I don’t know who I’m trying to prove myself to right now, but I suddenly have something to prove. I also suddenly can’t find it in me to walk away from this shithole without Natalia. Beyondthat,Mamá is the only person who ever placed an expectation on me, and it was just to settle down with a nice girl.
So,fine.
Fuck it. Why not? If this marriage gets trulyawful, I can divorce Natalia later, and at least then she can get alimony and never have to live like this again. Because the one thing about this that’s excruciatingly obvious is that, despite being a total stranger, I can’t help liking her. The physical connection ispotent, and all day she’s been nothing but a total sweetheart. She also passed the brunch test with my sisters, who obviously like her, and what the fuck more could I want in a wife?
Other than never actually wanting awife.
But I’ve got one now, and in the words of Lili, it’s time to justroll with it.
“I’m not going without you,” I tell Natalia, assertive and firm, while holding out my hand to her. “I don’t remember getting into this situation with you, but we’re in it now, so I’m taking you home with me.”
She blinks her big, smoky gray-blue eyes at me. “What?”
“If you have stuff you need to bring, go get it,” I continue, “but once we’re back in New York, I’ll get us all set up with a place to live, and clothes, and anything else you need or want.” I wag my upturned palm at her. “I’m still in the dark about whatever we talked about last night, but I have a feeling this place is one reason I decided to marry you. And right now, nobody’s going to convince me that it was a bad decision. Not even you. So, let’s go.”
Natalia’s pouty bottom lip does that heavy quiver again, and she hesitates for a few seconds before striding across the room and throwing her arms around my neck. “Thank you, cariño. I promise I will make you so happy.”
That scent of hers—the cinnamon and warm vanilla—is a drug I’m already addicted to. Standing in the middle of this rank-as-fuck shithole, it’s such a heavenly contrast that I can’t help holding her close to me and burying my nose in her hair just to escape the stench. I also can’t help noticing just how good she feels in my arms; how well she fits and molds against me; how much the reality of her life bothers the hell out of me; how all of it triggers a strange, dull pain deep inside me that all but screams the obvious.
I am teetering on the ledge of falling hard and fast in love for the first time in my life with someone I haven’t even known a whole day.
I’m twenty-eight years old. Actual love was bound to happen at some point. And I guess if I’m going to try to be married to this woman, I might as well let myself fall in love with her just to make all the shit I know we’re going to have to deal with a little easier.
“We’ll work it out, Natalia,” I murmur against her head, and the words feel like the vows and promises I don’t remember making last night. I don’t know how well I’ll be able to back up any of it, but right now, trying seems to be the best thing I can do. And because of that, I pull away from her only long enough to pick up her hand and slip the ring back on her finger.
It’s not a decision based on love because, even though I can feel myself standing on the precipice, my heart hasn’t taken the leap—yet. It’s just a decision based on principle, and I’ve never been principled about anything—at least, other than eight months ago when I killed three men to save my sister’s life. But in that situation, the rubber met the road, duty called, and I did what needed to be done.
And for whatever reason, fate has dropped this helpless woman into my lap, and duty is calling again, so I have no choice but to answer.
FOUR
NATALIA
AS A PERSON WHOSE sole existence is to lie, deceive, and ultimately murder, I have no place to talk about anyone else’s sins. My own are among the worst of the worst, despite me not having any say in the matter and being plucked from the life I had as a child and forced into the life I’ll live until the cartel disposes of me.
