Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Liana
The estate gates swing open, and my stomach drops at the sight of three black SUVs parked in the circular driveway.
What is with these people and their SUVs?
They are sleek and expensive but they sure do look menacing, parked against the large mansion.
Guards I've never seen before stand at attention near the entrance, their postures rigid and faces blank.
Beside me, Frankie stiffens immediately.
The man who just spent the last hour pointing out desert plants and prolonging our drive disappears in an instant.
His shoulders are stiff and rigid, his jaw clenched tight, and the softness in his eyes hardens to something cold and lethal.
Whatever brief escape we had is clearly over.
Reality comes crashing back, leaving me feeling empty.
He pulls the car around to the side entrance I’ve never been to, away from the main doors and kills the engine. He doesn't move to get out though. His hands rest on the steering wheel as we both just sit in silence. Something is wrong.
"Go straight to your room," he orders like I’m a servant. It’s like he’s a different person. "Do not come out until I come get you. Do you understand me?"
I stare at his profile, searching for any trace of the man who held me last night, who whispered things against my skin that made me blush and burn. But he's gone, and in his place is this stone-faced stranger I don’t recognize.
"Who are they?" I ask instead of agreeing to his demands. I deserve to know what’s going on.
"Liana," he says with a growl that has my insides melting. How can he do this to me even when he sounds angry? My name is a warning on his lips and yet, my body flushes with desire. "For once in your life, do as you're told."
‘Rude.’
He gets out without waiting for my answer, slamming the door hard enough to make me flinch. I watch him walk away, contemplating my next move. I never agreed to do as I was told. He’s not my boss anyway. I count to thirty after he disappears through the side door before I grab my bag and follow.
The house feels all wrong today. I hear too many low voices speaking a language I don’t fully understand.
I slip in through the kitchen as quietly as I can.
Thankfully, it’s empty with not even Pita in sight.
My heart’s still pounding, though, because I can hear them.
There are loud voices signaling a group of men in the foyer.
Someone barks out an order and his voice is rough and dominating like he’s used to getting what it wants.
I drop my bag lightly and move fast down the hallway, keeping myself hidden in the shadows.
When I peek around the corner, it’s worse than I thought.
There are six, maybe seven men, all in dark suits, taking up way too much space in the small room.
I can smell the expensive cologne and testosterone from here.
I recognize a few faces I’ve seen Frankie speaking with before noticing him at the center of all of it.
He’s standing there looking tense and on edge, facing an older guy who oozes danger.
Silver streaks his hair but he doesn’t look much older than Uncle maybe.
He is good looking for his age, that I can see, and he carries himself with poise and grace.
This guy is important, that much is clear.
He’s important, pissed off, and currently making himself at home in what is supposed to be my house. My eyes widen and my stomach drops.
‘Is this Rio? Please don’t let it be him.’
I knew he was older but I didn’t think he was uncle’s age. I watch him as he speaks to Frankie. He’s not ugly, not even a little, but he is old. Much older than I would like my husband to be. At this rate I’ll be changing his diapers along with our children’s.
Frankie responds, his face a blank mask.
Is this why he wanted me to go to my room?
Was he saving me from seeing who I am supposed to marry so that I might have a little longer to live in innocent bliss?
I can't understand most of what they are saying, but I catch my name mentioned several times.
The older man's voice rises, and though I don't know the words, the tone is unmistakable. It’s demanding.
Frankie doesn't back down from him like I would expect though. He stands his ground, responding with clipped sentences that make the older man's face darken. I press myself closer to the wall I'm hiding behind, straining to understand.
"Ella no aguanta la verdad…no lo soportaria," Frankie growls.
Something about me not being able to handle it? What are they talking about? The older man laughs, but he doesn’t look like he’s having a light-hearted conversation. He looks annoyed.
"No es ella la que no aguanta," the older man replies.
It’s not her who can’t handle it.
I’m pretty sure I heard that message loud and clear.
The argument intensifies as the older man steps closer to Frankie but he doesn't flinch. If anything he seems to be trying to pacify the situation as he places his hand on the older man’s shoulder and speaks lower.
I lean forward just slightly, trying to hear better, and my foot nudges a small decorative table.
It doesn't move much, but it's enough to make a small sound.
The scrape against marble cuts through their argument like a gunshot.
Every head snaps my direction and Frankie’s eyes find mine across the room. For a split second, something like panic flashes across his face, but then it's gone. Without missing a beat, he nudges the older man's arm and steers him toward the forbidden wing.
"Porfavor…en la oficina," Frankie mutters under his breath to the man.
The older man looks back at me, his green eyes piercing mine, like he doesn’t want to walk away.
To my shock, he allows himself to be led away anyway.
A door slams shut somewhere down the hall of the forbidden wing, making me flinch.
I exhale shakily, not realizing I'd been holding my breath. That was intense.
"Mija, what are you doing?" Pita's voice makes me jump clear out of my skin as I turn away from the room full of the remaining men.
She stands beside me, her usually warm face pinched with worry. Her hands twist in her apron, a nervous habit I’m beginning to recognize. She usually does it when I’m questioning something and she doesn’t want to answer me.
"Who is that man?" I ask, ignoring her question. "The one that was arguing with Frankie?"
Pita's eyes dart to the closed door, then back to me. Is she afraid? She takes my arm, her grip firmer than usual and leads me away.
"Come, we need to get you upstairs," she says, already pulling me toward the staircase. "You probably shouldn't be down here right now."
"Pita," I say as I dig in my heels, forcing her to stop. "Tell me what's going on…please."
She sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly and gestures for me to follow. I have no choice if I want an explanation so I follow her upstairs.
"That is Santiago Sanchez," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Rio's father. Head of the family. I think he must be here to finalize the wedding arrangements but I’m not sure. He doesn’t come here often so this is a surprise."
The wedding. Of course that’s why he’s here.
A breath of relief escapes me when I realize that man is not my future husband, followed by the hope that his son might not be quite as ugly as I imagine.
My mouth turns down immediately after that thought when I remember my brief escape with Frankie and our stolen night in Prescott.
It was amazing and unforgettable but none of it changed the fact that in less than a week, I'll be married to a man I've never met.
"Why was Frankie arguing with him?" I press.
"Porfa, mija," Pita pleads, her eyes darting nervously to the hallway. "Stop asking me so many questions you know I cannot answer."
I notice then how her hands tremble slightly as she tugs me toward the stairs.
Pita, who is always calm, seems nervous.
The realization sends ice through my veins.
Fear. She’s afraid of this man and I think I should be too.
Upstairs, she ushers me into my room quickly and closes the door behind us.
She moves to the windows, drawing the curtains closed quickly.
Her nervous energy is giving me anxiety.
"Santiago Sanchez is not a man to be crossed," she says finally, her voice low. "Maybe he expects to meet you today? To…inspect you? I’m not sure."
"Inspect me?" The word makes my skin crawl. "Like I'm cattle at an auction?"
Pita's lips press into a thin line.
"It's how things are done in families like this. You should know, shouldn’t you?"
I grimace but nod my head yes.
“In Italy it is the same, except we are normally warned ahead of time so we can be ready…for inspection. We also don’t wait until the wedding day to meet our future husband. There is a process.”
Pita laughs at my comment, making me smile back. At least we can make light of this awkward situation.
“Santiago waits for no one. If he wants something, he takes it. All the Sanchez men are like that. You will understand soon enough.”
A weird look crosses over Pita’s features like she’s remembering something before she quickly schools them and her face is neutral again.
"So why isn't he meeting me then? Why did Frankie take him away?"
She hesitates, something flickering behind her eyes. Secret knowledge, maybe?
"Frankie…maybe he’s trying to buy you time?"
Why is every answer I get from her suddenly more like a question?
"And Santiago believed that? From a guard?"
Her gaze slides away from mine like she’s choosing her words carefully.
"Frankie has worked for the family a long time. His word carries weight."
There's definitely something she's not telling me. I can see it in the way she won't meet my eyes and in how her hands twist together again.
"What aren't you telling me, Pita?"
"Nothing you need to worry about, mija." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Just stay in your room for now. I'll bring you dinner later."
She leaves before I can ask more questions, the door closing with a soft click.
I could leave the room. I’m not locked in but for some reason, the thought of running into Santiago downstairs sends chills down my spine.
For once I really am going to listen to what she told me to do.
I sit on the edge of my bed before throwing myself flat on my back with a huff.
The events of the last twenty-four hours swirl in my head like a hurricane.
Last night, I gave my virginity to Frankie. Today, my future father-in-law is here to "inspect" me before I marry his son. And somewhere in the forbidden wing, Frankie is arguing with the head of a cartel about me.
I press my fingers to my tender datura tattoo, feeling the slight raised edges of the fresh ink. It reminds me of the man who called me by that name, who took me gently and roughly all at once. I bite my bottom lip as I rub my fingertips against it absentmindedly.
‘A forever reminder.’