My head filled with images of Cristiano’s massive arms trapping me to the mattress. An ache formed between my legs as his beautiful but cruel face hovered above mine, his broken soul taking what he wanted. His broad shoulders blocking out everything else. Everyone else. Your first. Your last. Your only.
Had Diego come to my balcony knowing any of this? He said he’d spoken to Cristiano but had decided against bringing me into their deal. My heart said Diego wouldn’t lie, but doubt formed in my mind, mingling with a tinge of humiliation over my complete faith in him. I hadn’t breathed in so long that I gasped with an inhale. Had Diego taken my virginity after promising me to his brother?
Cristiano tilted his head at me, smoothing a hand over his jacket. “You are a virgin, aren’t you, Natalia?”
To admit the truth would mean Diego’s death. To lie, I feared, could mean my own—I would have to take the secret of my night with Diego to the grave. “Yes,” I said. “I am.”
He narrowed his eyes and took a step toward me that echoed around us. “You’re sure?”
I dipped my head in a firm nod. “Yes.”
“Then you, Natalia Lourdes King Cruz, and your virginity—are mine.”
Surrounded by people who stood by and did nothing as Cristiano imposed his will on me, my face burned. As he declared me his and promised to defile and abuse me, his men stood back. And Diego—he had arranged this.
You will die for him, your love.
“What’s your decision, Natalia?” Cristiano asked.
I inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled the things I could not control. I had to trust that Diego wouldn’t accept a life without me in it. He had to have a greater plan that would put Cristiano in the ground—this couldn’t end any other way. Because I knew without being told that when Cristiano said till death do us part, he would mean that literally. Even when my use to him had run out, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe he would release me.
To save Diego, I could hold on until he and my father came for me. I had known strength and poise in my mother. She’d fought back and lost, but her determination would live on—in me.
“Que será, será,” I said. “My answer is yes.”
Cristiano stilled, his eyes dark, bottomless pits that stewed with plans—the games he would play, and the violent delights he would take. “Then it is done,” he said with a rumble. “I will make you a very good husband, Natalia. Come to me.”
I glanced back at Diego.
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’ll be right outside, waiting.”
“You’ll watch every moment,” Cristiano said to him, then turned to me. “And you will not look to him again. You’re finished with him. Now, come.”
21
Natalia
Candles flickered along the aisle, burning a fiery path to the man watching me from the altar.
Cristiano de la Rosa—my future husband.
I picked up my bouquet and twined the rosary around the stems. As everyone around us looked on, I took one step toward him, then another, wobbling in my heels as the room tilted around me. I steadied myself on a pew. Cristiano tightened his shiny tie but didn’t rush me.
Father Rios avoided my eyes, but when I reached him, I saw the tears in his. The suited men with guns flanked him—a bridal party from hell, hired to enforce Cristiano’s will. To force fate’s hand—and mine, in marriage.
I kneeled on the pillow before the priest. Organ music I hadn’t noticed stopped.
“Pilar.” Cristiano faced the back as his voice echoed around the room and vibrated in my chest. “Trajiste un lazo?”
“I-I . . .”
I didn’t have to look back at my friend to know she was scared—I heard the fear in her voice. “Yes,” I answered for her. “There’s a lasso in my bag.”
“Bring it to me,” Cristiano said.
Pilar’s rapid but light footsteps sounded toward us. She handed him the shoulder bag.
“You can sit,” he told her, pointing to a pew behind me and said to no one in particular, “I like this tradition, this unification of man and wife.” He took out a black rope and inspected it, tossing the bag aside. “Where’d you get this?”
“It’s the tie from my curtains,” I murmured. “That was the best I could find on short notice.”
“It will do fine. Someone else lassoes us, no?” he asked the priest. “I haven’t been to many weddings.”
“The priest or a family member,” one of his men answered. “I can, padrino. I did it for my sister.”
Cristiano hummed. “I’d like to do it myself, if it’s acceptable to the reverend.”
As if anyone would stop him. Cristiano came to stand in front of me, waiting until I looked up. Even when I wasn’t on my knees, he towered. Now, he reached the sky. He ran the silken cord through his hands as if deciding the best use for it. He tied the ends of the lasso together to form a circle, then tugged to tighten the knot.