I cast a glance at Joaquin as he watches his beloved sister’s display of post-traumatic grief, his jaw twitching with the resentment he still harbors for his brother-in-law, and another subtle wave of respect for him crests in my sternum before retreating. Despite that, I still have to play the part of his totally ignorant new bride.
“Should we leave?” I ask discreetly, angling my face toward his.
He tears his face away from Isla and Malachi to meet my eyes with barely restrained fire before blinking it away. Affection and concern creep into his gaze. He answers by framing my face with his palms and pressing a kiss to my mouth that triggers the heat of longing that will make my job difficult for the first time ever.
“Don’t let any of this scare you,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to let my father bully either of us. If he tries to start shit, I’ll deal with it, and we’ll just stay the hell away from him until he chills the fuck out.”
I open my mouth to respond, but can’t put together neutral words quickly enough.
“And what aboutall of this, Joaquin?” Isla snaps, sniffling back tears.
Joaquin and I both turn our heads to look at her. She looks like a ragdoll suspended from Malachi’s arms as he embraces her, mouth resting against the side of her head while she limply presses her cheek to his shoulder. There’s something bizarre about their pairing; the fact that he behaved so unforgivably toward her, but she managed to forgive him and love him anyway. It doesn’t compute in my brain.
Joaquin wraps his hand around my thigh and offers an affectionate rub. “What do you mean?”
Isla lifts one hand to gesture aimlessly at the room. “The persistingproblemwe have.”
I know she’s referring to the Reyes family’s link to the cartel. The retribution owed to Joaquin for gunning down their top soldiers when they came to murder his sister after Malachi threw a wrench in their plan. The threat on Joaquin’s life that I know was communicated to Ernesto. The personified threat none of these people realize is in the very room with them right now. Even though I knoweverything, Iamquite curious to see how Joaquin intends to handle explaining it to me.
I look at him questioningly, but say nothing.
He shakes his head. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“MaybeIshould talk to her about it,” Isla adds, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “After all, nobody’s better acquainted with it thanme.”
Actually, nobody’s better acquainted with it thanme, but Isla is a damn close second.
“Iwill talk to her about it,” Joaquin says firmly. He rubs my thigh again. “Not tonight though. We just got here. We have a few days before Papá and Mamá get back, so I’d rather we just… you know…chill. Until then.”
Isla sniffs. “Delaying anything won’t make it easier or better.”
Malachi cups her cheek and turns her face back toward his. “You should rest. You’re tired from travelling and under a lot of unnecessary stress from this situation, so I think we should retire to our room.” He presses long kisses to her forehead, eyelids, and then her mouth before whispering, “World without end and beyond my last breath, my darling, I will love you, and I will regret all of it.”
She turns her weary eyes up to him. “I know. I love you, too.”
I fight the urge to turn an incredulous side-eye toward them.
I have no experience withlove, but from the looks of it, it makes you stupid andweak. If I were Isla, I would have slit his fucking throat the first time he raised a hand to me. And based on the information I was fed, I know he did that to her at least once.
But then again, who the hell am I to judge her? I’ve been living under the thumb of sadistic monsters since I was a tiny child, and they’ve always done way worse, and I’ve never even considered retaliating or escaping. So, it kind of begs the question:
What really makes a person weak? Love or conditioning by torture?
I’m not entirely sure yet.
Malachi releases Isla and nudges her back like they’re preparing to leave, but she stops in front of me and holds out her hands, palms up.“Escúchame, por favor.”
I hesitantly place my hands in hers and look up at her.
“I am sad to inform you that this is not a healthy, warm family,” Isla says soberly with a glittering sheen on her rich, brown eyes. “My motherwillbe excited to meet you, but it will not be enough to counteract my father’s reaction. My father is a principled and moral man, but he is not a kind man. He is not forgiving, and he is not loving.” She pauses and cuts her eyes briefly to Joaquin and back to me. “But my brother is. My brother is the best man I know. He is loyal, and he is strong. He will be good to you. He will take care of you. He will shield you from our father to the best of his ability.However…” She pauses with intensity and squeezes my hands. “If you ever need anything,hermanita, you call me. You come tomyhome, which is not this place. And I will take care of you both.”
With that, she lets go of my hands, places hers on the sides of my head, and kisses the top of my hair. That kind of tenderness is so foreign that it makes my skin crawl while simultaneously warming my heart and rendering me speechless.
Before she steps away, Joaquin snags her wrist and brings her hand to his lips for a kiss on her knuckles. “Te quiero, chica.”
She gives his hair an affectionate scrub before stepping back to Malachi’s side.
Malachi dips his chin as he touches his brow in a salute. “Good night to you both. Welcome to New York, Natalia.” A subtle cringe tightens his chiseled, aristocratic features. “I wish you good luck with the patriarch.”
