Lydia
The fear was all-consuming.
Since I’d arrived, I’d heard rumors about Juan Carlos and his whip. Santiago was a master with his knife, but Juan Carlos had perfected his flogging techniques to inflict the most pain possible on his victim without causing permanent damage or death.
The idea of enduring his torture shook me to the core. I’d been stupid last night. I should have guessed Chavez would have the whole compound under surveillance. My only hope was to appeal to Chavez’s affection for me. Perhaps it would work.
I put on the sexiest dress I could find that wouldn’t look too suspicious for what my motives were. It was a white, spaghetti-strap sundress that dipped low in the front and stopped a few inches below my butt. The ruffles and color gave it an innocent vibe that I hoped would help my cause.
I left my hair long and loose, the beachy waves flowing down my back. I applied a little blush, mascara, and some peach lipstick and decided to go barefoot, forgoing the shoes.
Opening the door, I was grateful Cruz had unlocked it. Whether he was giving me freedom or had just forgotten to lock it back, I wasn’t sure. He’d never made it clear why he’d locked me in. Maybe he’d anticipated something like this would happen. It was a mystery to me.
I quietly walked through the hallway and down the steps to Chavez’s office. The door was cracked open, so I knocked lightly and pushed into the room. He was standing by the window, cigar in hand, taking in the view of the side yard that ended at the Intracoastal Waterway just beyond it.
“Emilio.” I forced affection I didn’t feel into my voice as I walked towards him, swaying my hips a little more than normal.
Chavez followed my movements and turned, opening his arms for me to enter.
“My darling. What has you all dressed up this morning?”
I shrugged coquettishly, or at least I hoped that was what it looked like, and slipped my arms around his waist, resting my head against his chest, swallowing the bile that crept up my throat.
“I just wanted to come see you. I, um, did something a little stupid last night.”
“Oh?” He didn’t try to look at me, just rubbed my back up and down, up and down.
“Yes. I thought I’d overheard Cruz talking to someone about you. I’d thought Cruz was a traitor. I didn’t even think about the fact that I was only in my robe and nightgown. I just took off after him, determined to get to the bottom of things. I hadn’t planned on anyone seeing me.”
“Is that so?”
I nodded against his chest. “Yes. I crept into the trees to spy on him, but there was a stick I didn’t see, and it snapped. He caught me.”
“And what did you hear before he caught you?”
I thought about his words, that he was working on it. I thought briefly about telling Chavez exactly what I’d heard, but I couldn’t. He’d kill Cruz, torture him to death. And Cruz had tried to get us out of this mess. It was my fault I’d followed him. Not his. “Nothing, really. Once he heard me, he told me what I’d overheard was related to Mr. Berger. He was protecting you. I just, well, I had been so worried that he was betraying you. I just didn’t think. You know?”
“Of course, darling. Of course.”
“Anyway, I understand if you have to punish me, but I’m begging for your forgiveness, Emilio. I’d hate to be anything but perfect for our wedding night.”
Saying the words made me physically ill, but I prayed they would work. Chavez paused his rubbing of my back, then pulled me closer to him. He tilted his head down and kissed me. He tasted of tequila and cigar, and I struggled not to gag. I would never be able to smell cigar smoke again without thinking of Emilio Chavez.
He pulled back, his hands on my upper arms. “Juan Carlos!” He shouted his name, and almost immediately Juan Carlos appeared.
“Yes, sir?”
“Cancel the punishment for this afternoon. I’m going to take my soon-to-be wife out for lunch this afternoon.”
Disappointment clouded Juan Carlos’s features as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Relief flooded my veins, as I inhaled fully for the first time since Cruz had told me of Chavez’s plans for my afternoon. I wasn’t stupid enough to relax or drop my guard around Chavez, but at least for now it seemed I’d avoided having my back flayed open by Juan Carlos’s whip.
He turned to leave, reaching the door when Chavez stopped him.
“Sir?”
“Tell Cruz we’re going out. I’ll need him to accompany us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chavez eyed my outfit and shook his head. “Maybe find something that’s not quite as appealing. I don’t want other men undressing what’s mine.”
Embarrassment colored my cheeks, and I could feel the heat rising to my face.
“Of course. This dress was for your eyes only.”
“Good. Go change. I’ll meet you down here. We can talk about our wedding plans.”
I smiled, even though the thought of saying “I do” to this man made me sick to my stomach. I’d at least bought myself some time with my “waiting till marriage” speech when I’d first arrived. Apparently Chavez liked the idea of a virginal bride. I just hoped the wedding was far enough off that I’d have time to come up with a plan to escape the hell I’d been living in.
“Sounds wonderful.” I pulled away from his embrace and sauntered out of the room, again allowing my hips to sway seductively back and forth. I could feel his eyes on me, but this was the game I was playing. I had to play it well.
I returned to my room to find Cruz standing there, hands on his hips.
“How did you do it?”
“I just told him the truth. Wore this.” I pointed to the dress. “I didn’t have to do much more than that.”
“I don’t trust him.”
Interesting. Cruz was supposed to be loyal to Chavez, and yet he’d warned me about my impending punishment, and now was admitting he didn’t trust him. Which meant—what? That he trusted me?
“Well, whether you trust him or not, I have to get ready. We’re leaving shortly, and you’re coming with us.”
I busied myself with finding suitable clothes for a day outing with my drug-lord fiancé. What exactly does one wear for that?
“Be careful, Lydia. The man has no sense of chivalry. If he’s suspended your punishment, he has something else in mind.”
I spun around, finding him close. Too close. I was terrified he could see all the emotions I was trying to keep under wraps. Fear. Anxiety. Confusion. Longing.
“What am I supposed to do? Tell me.”
We stood merely inches from each other. I could feel his breath on my face as he exhaled, and for a moment, I almost forgot that he was my prison warden or one of Chavez’s thugs. He was so much like Lorenzo. And I was tempted to find out for myself once and for all if my suspicions were true.
Cruz must have seen my intentions in my eyes, as he took a step back.
“Be careful.” Whether he was talking about my outing with Chavez or with him, he didn’t clarify. Seemed appropriate on either front.
He rushed out of the room, and I put a hand to my stomach, trying to calm my racing breath, my thumping heart.
I dressed in black shorts that hit mid-thigh and paired it with nude heels. They’d be miserable to walk in, but I knew Chavez would like the added height it gave me. I put on a blue silk blouse that had cap sleeves and buttoned up the front. I left one button undone to show just a hint of cleavage. Just enough to keep Chavez intrigued but not so much that I’d draw attention from other men’s wandering eyes. Why any man would punish his woman for another man’s attentions, I just didn’t understand. But I wasn’t taking any chances.
I grabbed my mostly empty clutch purse which held my lipstick and the single credit card. It was more a matter of habit and formality than a necessity.
With a quick glance in the mirror to make sure I looked appropriate, I left my room and met Chavez in his office. He glanced up from his desk and took in my attire. With a quick nod of approval, he stood and rounded the corner of his desk to greet me.
At first, he simply bent down to brush a light kiss across my lips. Something sounded in the doorway, and I started to turn around and see what it was when Chavez gripped me tighter and forced his mouth on mine. His teeth bumped against my own, catching my lip between them, and hitting hard enough to split the skin. The tangy taste of blood filled my mouth, seeming to only fuel Chavez’s desire. His tongue plunged in, taking what he wanted without invitation. I knew I had no choice but to go along, but it was getting harder and harder to play the role. Pretending to enjoy his attention, I slipped my hands up to his hair and then stroked the back of his neck. It had the intended effect, and Emilio tempered his passionate response.
Opening my eyes, I saw that Chavez’s attention wasn’t on me but whatever was going on over my shoulder. I knew in my gut exactly who was there.
Cruz.
Chavez lifted his head and laughed lightly.
“Sorry, Ortiz—I didn’t realize you’d come in.”
I could see by the expression on Cruz’s face that he wasn’t buying his load of bull.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Ready, my dear?” Chavez offered his arm to me, and I looped mine through his as we walked to the car, Cruz following behind us. He opened the door for us both, before circling to the driver’s side.
Cruz drove us to a Peruvian restaurant known for its fine dining and unique assortments of ceviche. The decor spoke of elegant modernism, the giant Peruvian bull head the focal point of the room. I savored the Papas a las Huancaína, the Andean cream and potatoes so unique to Peruvian food. We sampled several of the ceviches, and even though I wasn’t a huge fan of raw fish, I couldn’t deny how amazing the chef was. It was a treat I wouldn’t take for granted. I’d learned to make the best of even a really horrible situation.
After lunch, Chavez and I walked to the beach where we strolled hand in hand, and he talked about the wedding ideas he’d been thinking about. It was now only a few weeks away, and my chances to escape were looking slim.
To anyone watching, we looked like a normal couple in love strolling along. But it was all a lie. Chavez’s attention and reason for his interest in me was still unknown. I had no idea why he’d chosen me. And I was simply biding my time, looking for an opportunity to escape.
We came to a local ice-cream vendor, and Chavez turned to me, my hands in his. “Ice cream?”
“I’d love some. Strawberry, on a sugar cone, please.” The smile on Chavez’s face didn’t meet his eyes. He approached the cart and ordered, returning with his chocolate cone, piled high, and a single scoop of strawberry in a cup.
“Oh. No cones?” I asked as he handed me the cup.
“You need to keep up your figure, darling. You don’t need the extra calories.”
I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth. “You’re kidding—right?”
Chavez gripped my arm in a tight hold. His smile wasn’t warm or friendly—just mean and cold. “I never joke about such things.”
He released me, and I resisted the urge to rub the spot on my wrist where he’d squeezed. No doubt there’d be a bruise there tomorrow.
Chavez walked ahead of me, and I picked at the ice cream, letting it melt as I pretended to eat it. When Chavez had finished his double-scoop chocolate cone, I found a nearby trash can and threw the rest away.
The air was tense after that, so there was no more easy banter or discussion of the wedding. He’d already lined up fittings for dresses for me and had everything else planned out.
“Pilar will help with anything else you might need.”
Poor Pilar, caught in the middle of a situation she had the intuition to know wasn’t a happy one, but yet, each time I saw her she made me feel as if everything was perfectly normal.
Cruz was waiting for us when we returned to the car, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his arms hugging his broad chest. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, so I couldn’t read them, but I could read the ticking in his jaw just fine. He was angry about something.
The ride back to the mansion was quiet and tension-filled. Between Chavez’s abrupt mood swings, and Cruz’s palpable anger, the air fizzled with electricity just waiting to spark. I slid down in my seat, hoping to make myself as small as possible.
When we returned, Chavez opened the back door for me and pulled me to him for a hug and a peck on the lips.
“Thank you for a beautiful afternoon, darling. Dinner will be at eight. Dress appropriately.”
With those parting words, he left me standing in front of the house. Cruz followed him in, and I rushed up to my room, closing the door behind me and breathing a sigh of relief.
I stripped the clothes off I’d been wearing and ran a hot tub full of bubbles. I needed to relax. Two meals in one day with Chavez was more than my nerves could handle on a good day, but it felt as if I was waiting for the other shoe to fall. Something wasn’t right. And I had a feeling Cruz was correct in his assumptions that Chavez was up to something.
I soaked until my hands were all prune-like, then wrapped a towel around myself and slipped into my silk robe. I still had hours before dinner, so I opted to read in bed for a little while. Exhaustion from being tense all day took over, and I fell asleep on the silky sheets.
When I woke, it was to pounding on my door.
“Just a minute.” I tried to clear the sleep from my voice, but it still sounded husky and off.
Apparently Cruz thought so too, since he rushed in without an invitation. When he saw me standing there in only my silk robe, his eyes scanned every inch of my bare skin before landing on my face.
“I thought something was wrong.” I guess that was as close to an apology as I was going to get.
“No. I fell asleep.” I nodded towards the bed that was rumpled and a book lying open on the top of the sheets.
“Oh. Right.”
His nostrils flared, and the little muscle in his jaw ticked away as if it was a countdown to an emotional explosion. And in that moment, I knew. I knew it like I knew my own name.
Cruz Ortiz was Lorenzo Gallos.
“How could you keep it from me all these weeks?” My voice sounded calm, but I wasn’t even close to serenity.
“Keep what from you?”
“Don’t play games with me. I know who you really are.”
Cruz cocked his head, a new emotion taking over those haunted brown eyes. Fear.
“Oh, yeah? And who is that?”
I took two steps closer to him, closing the space between us, and placed my hand on his cheek, my finger circling the spot where his jaw was spasming wildly.
“Lorenzo.” His name came out like a prayer on my lips, sweet and forgotten, and so very sad.
Cruz caught my hand and squeezed lightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How did you do it? Everyone thinks you’re dead.” I whispered the words, afraid someone might hear, afraid if I spoke too loud it wouldn’t be true. He wouldn’t be alive and well, standing here looking like perfection.
His hand covered my mouth, and he shook his head slightly, the warning clear in his eyes.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
I nodded, understanding that whatever was going on here wasn’t something we could talk about in this room.
“It’s almost time for dinner. Chavez is expecting you. He has guests.”
Guests. More sleazy business associates he was trying to wine and dine and show off his little fiancée.
“I don’t think I’m feeling well.”
“You have to go.”
“No, I don’t have to go!” My voice had risen in volume, and it dawned on me that I wasn’t just angry at Chavez for parading me around like his little whore. I was mad at Cruz. Lorenzo. Whatever the hell his name was these days.
He’d been in my presence for more than six weeks, and he’d acted as if we were total strangers. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I was sick of men controlling me.
“You do. You have to go, or he’ll punish you.”
“Tell him I’m sick.”
“He doesn’t give a damn what you are. Get dressed. Now!”
“No!”
The word was shouted loud enough to be heard throughout the house, and yet, at that moment, I couldn’t care less. I was tired. So tired of the lies and the manipulation and the danger. So exhausted from the ever-present fear of a beating or of death.
“Lydia, you have to go to dinner. You don’t want to experience the consequences otherwise.”
I could feel the warmth of his hands through the silk of my robe. I closed my eyes, remembering his hands on me when we were just kids. His lips caressing mine. No other man had ever kissed me like Lorenzo had. I wanted that kiss so badly right now.
“Lydia.” His voice broke through my thoughts, and when I opened my eyes, his face was tormented. “You’re the one who chose to marry him.”
“No, I didn’t.”
The door to my room flew open, and Chavez stood there, casually propped against the doorjamb, taking in the scene in front of him. Me standing there in my silk robe. Cruz’s hands on my upper arms.
How much had he heard?
I took a step back.
“Cruz, if you’ll excuse us. I need to have a word with my bride.”
“Sir, I was just helping Ms. Ayala to—”
“That’s enough.”
Cruz nodded and walked away, closing the door behind him. When it clicked into place, I jumped at the sound.
“I was just telling Cruz that I wasn’t feeling well and wasn’t sure I was up for dinner. He only came in because he thought something was wrong with me. That’s why I’m dressed like this.”
“Yes—it seems you keep flaunting yourself in front of Mr. Ortiz. Is there something I should know about, cara?”
“No. Of course not. It’s fine. I’ll get dressed. I’m sure the headache will pass.”
Chavez didn’t move, just watched as I bustled over to the closet to pull out the most appropriate dress I could find. I found a sheath dress that covered me from neck to knee; the only sensual part was the back that hung low, but not so low I couldn’t wear a bra. It would be perfect for the occasion.
When I exited the closet, he was still standing there.
“Oh. I didn’t know you were still here.”
“I’m not leaving. Get dressed.”
“Emilio, I—”
“Get. Dressed.”
I cursed myself for not wearing underwear after my bath, and dug through my drawer to find some panties and a bra. I pulled out a pair of full-seat hipsters and bent down to pull them on underneath my robe.
“Not those.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Chavez standing, his arms still crossed over his chest.
I returned back to my drawer and took out a pair of black, lace, cheeky underwear and held them up. I couldn’t make eye contact with him. Embarrassment clouded my voice, so even that was off limits.
“Yes.”
I turned my back to him, and started to pull the panties on.
“Take off the robe.”
“Emilio, please, I—”
“Take it off!”
His voice reverberated around the room, the command leaving no room for argument. I untied the belt and let the robe slip down my arms. Terrified that he would make a move to touch me, I bent over to pull the panties up my legs. When I was covered, I met his eyes.
“Turn around.”
Obeying, I turned around, covering my breasts as he took in the backside of me. When a moment had passed, I faced him again.
“Drop your arms.”
I dropped them, and stood as he looked his fill, feeling violated and humiliated like I’d never been before.
“Beautiful.” The word came out like praise, but it felt dirty. I picked up the bra I’d laid on the dresser and pulled it on, fastening it between my breasts. When I was finished, Chavez walked over to me, running his hands up and down my arms and then reaching around to squeeze my rear. Then he took my chin in his grip and forced me to look at him. When my eyes met his, he squeezed tighter, and I couldn’t help the whimper that escaped my lips.
“You are mine. Do you understand, cara?”
I nodded, unable to speak—fear, mortification, and pain trailed a watery path of humiliation down my face. He released my chin and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
When he was gone, I sank to the floor, allowing the sobs to overtake me. When there were no tears left, I washed my face, dabbing on an enormous amount of concealer to cover my blotchy complexion. I finished my makeup routine and slid into the dress.
Then, with my shoulders back and my chin raised high, I made my way to the dining room for dinner.