Just like last time, I chose the most comfortable bedroom for her. Second only to mine. It’s spacious and luxurious in shades of dusty rose and creamy white. The room has large windows and French doors that lead onto the balcony with a view of the avenue of oaks she so loves.
She walks to the plush, king-sized bed draped with the finest duvet and more pillows than she’ll need. She takes it all in as if for the first time. Then she looks at me, ignoring Miriam even as the woman enters and closes the door behind her.
“I’m tired,” Mercedes says.
“Hold out your wrists. I’ll untie them.”
She does, and I undo her wrists. She makes a point of rubbing the reddened skin.
“Hungry?” I ask.
She shakes her head. In her eyes, I see the uncertainty she’s trying to hide. She’s wondering why Miriam is here.
“Just one more thing to do before you sleep,” I tell her.
I note how vulnerable she looks again. How small without her high heels, the armor of her designer clothes and made-up face. The signature crimson lipstick.
“What?” she asks coldly.
“Your clothes.”
Her eyebrows practically disappear into her hairline. “Pardon?”
“Your clothes, Mercedes. I think it’s best there are no reminders of this night. Tomorrow, like Santiago said, you will start anew.”
She glances at the matronly woman standing nearby, the witness to her humiliation, then to me.
“Is this some sort of joke? Because it’s not funny.”
“No. No joke. Your clothes.”
“My brother would not allow this!”
“Your brother initiated the Rite. You’re mine. I will decide what is best for you. You will simply obey.”
She snorts.
“Do you need help?”
“I want to talk to him. Get him on the phone. Now!”
She takes a step toward the door. I grab her arm before she can take another. She tries to shrug me off, but I turn her to face me fully and shift my hands to her shoulders. Her hands close over my forearms, and she stares up at me. Her long black hair hangs loose around her face and over her shoulders, revealing a softness I’ve only ever caught glimpses of. She hides herself well.
“Why are you here, Mercedes?”
Her jaw clenches. She knows exactly why she’s here. What she’s done. Her eyes dart over my shoulder, tears on the verge of falling, but she refuses to allow that. Instead, she narrows her gaze, glaring up at me. That softness from moments ago is gone.
“Why are you here?” I repeat.
After a long moment of weighted silence, she finally breaks the lock of our eyes and lowers her gaze. A fat tear drops onto the back of my hand. I watch it, and for a moment, I forget myself. Forget the point of this. The reason for it.
For a moment, I want to pull her to me and tell her it will be all right.
But Miriam clears her throat and catapults me back into the why of this.
“Answer me,” I say and pause.
Mercedes turns angry eyes to mine. “Fuck. You.”