Chapter 11
Daleyza
A knock on the door interrupted her murderous thoughts.
Before she could even reply, the door was opening, and her aunt was scuttling into the room.
Immediately, the woman began to adjust the train of the opulent wedding gown.
Why? No one was here but the two of them.
She was in the freaking dressing room. It wasn’t as if she were standing at the front of the church, where everyone would be witness to the immaculate fairy tale the family was trying to fabricate.
Her temper fraying, she tapped her aunt’s hand as if she were a naughty child touching something she shouldn’t be. “Tiá Bianca, stop fussing. As long as I appear at the altar, I could be wearing jeans and a T-shirt. It’s not like this is a real wedding.”
“What nonsense! Of course this is a real wedding. Your brother has gone to great expense to make today beautiful for his little sister.”
“Mierda! If you believe that, you’re a fool. None of this is for me. I didn’t choose any of it, including the groom. It’s all for show. A demonstration of our family’s loyalty. Until my father fucked up, my existence was barely tolerated. Now I’m simply a commodity to be bought and sold.”
Her aunt clicked her tongue as she turned her attention to making sure Daleyza’s veil framed her face just right. It was telling that the woman didn’t deny the bride’s words and preferred to believe in the fantasy that this marriage was a love match.
As if! She’d never even seen the groom. Not even a photograph.
Then again, she’d only been told this morning, after being brought to the church, no less, that she was being wed to Hector Colonel’s bastard, wayward son, Ildefanso.
She doubted he’d been asked his opinion, either, but it was different for men.
He’d marry her, then probably go on his merry way with whatever mistress he had hanging around.
That’s how her brothers were. Why would he be any different?
Suddenly, the door opened with no preamble.
Her eldest brother stood one step in the doorway, outfitted in a black suit and tie over a crisp white button-down shirt.
He looked as if he were attending a funeral instead of a wedding.
It wasn’t lost on her that the comparison was probably a more appropriate description of what was about to happen to her.
“It’s time.”
Not “You look beautiful, Daleyza.” Not “I’m sorry you have to do this.” Not “We appreciate your sacrifice.” Nothing.
Before she thought better of it, she took several steps toward him. “Rodrigo, please, I be—”
Crack!
Her body crashed to the floor from the blow. Pain blossomed in her cheek, her hand flying to touch the surface of the skin.
Tiá Bianca gasped quietly behind her, but she remained where she stood, wringing her hands. She didn’t dare help Daleyza while Rodrigo was watching. She probably wouldn’t dare to help her even when he was out of sight.
“Get up,” he ordered, even though it was his backhanded slap that had put her down to start with.
Warily, she stood from the floor. She refused to let him intimidate her.
Her posture was ramrod straight, her fiery gaze boring into Rodrigo’s.
Her fists clenched at her sides so she didn’t claw his heart out.
Yes, she was angry at him, but she was more pissed at herself for reacting before thinking.
It was a fault she knew she possessed, and she was getting better at controlling herself, but high emotions caused her to forget self-preservation.
Rodrigo turned on his heels and walked down the hallway to the foyer of the church, where he waited for her.
Oh, how she wanted to run down the hallway toward him, a blade in her hand to stab into his back, like some female barbarian fighting for her life.
But she didn’t.
Tiá Bianca came to her side and tried to spread out the dress. When she pulled the fine lace netting of the veil over her face and began fussing with it, Daleyza slapped her hands away. “Basta!”
Her aunt drew away, muttering in Spanish about ungrateful girls who just couldn’t see reason. Daleyza also noticed, however, that her aunt made the sign of the cross and began muttering a prayer.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked calmly down the hallway and stood next to Rodrigo. When the music began, he didn’t even look at her as he offered her his arm. Sliding her fingertips around his forearm, she barely allowed her skin to touch his suit coat.
She registered nothing as she walked down the aisle, her mind awhirl with thoughts of escape. She’d have to get through today, see how things were laid out in her new home, and survive whatever came her way until she could find a way to flee.
They had reached the end of the aisle and were stopped before her husband-to-be. Rodrigo was standing partially in her way. He had a short exchange and shook hands with Hector Colonel, then the groom. Then he walked away to sit in the pew.
Her hands were shaking as someone raised her veil, carefully laying it over the top of her head and smoothing out the sides. She heard a soft invective pass the man’s lips, and then a warm hand tilted her chin so he could get a better view.
She had expected someone like Rodrigo. Someone older. A man who was vicious and harmful.
He was not at all what she had envisioned.
The man in front of her was her height. She wore slightly heeled shoes, so he must have been around five-eight.
Most men would consider that unmanly, but this man?
He was anything but. His suit was bespoke and clung in all the right places, advertising a muscled physique.
Midnight-black hair, long on top and brushed back, but shaved close from the tops of his ears down.
A closely trimmed beard, just past scruff, framing full, pink, shiny lips that looked like he’d just licked them.
But it was his eyes that caused her to gasp. Molten silver framed the pupils, creating a cobra effect with his tan skin. They were cruel eyes. No laughter in them or admiration. Simply cold. And angry.
“Who struck you, belleza?”
She froze. What?
Her mouth opened, but she stopped herself just in time to keep her brother’s name from falling from her lips.
She couldn’t tell him the truth. If she did, he would know she’d been willful.
It would be a sign that she was trouble.
If she was going to escape whatever hell she was about to walk into, she needed to appear biddable. Submissive.
“No one—”
He interrupted her. “This marriage may be arranged, but do not start it with a lie between us.”
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was a desert, and it physically hurt to try.
“No one should ever strike a woman.”
He was angry at who hit her? It didn’t make sense.
All the men she’d known in her life were abusers.
Her brothers had tormented her when she was young, which is why she learned it was best to be invisible.
Her father’s threats, slaps, and pinches also helped drive the lesson home.
This man, though, was angry over a slap that he had no idea what it had even been for.
“This happened recently,” he observed. “Moments ago.” He turned to Rodrigo. “You do not touch what is mine.”
Rodrigo stood tall, his expression insulted. “She has been allowed to run wild and unchecked. She dared to question the marriage. As her eldest male relative, I disciplined her, as is my right.”
Her groom took two steps in his direction, and by the tension in his body, she knew that while he might be the bastard son of Hector Colonel, he was not a man to cross.
“The moment you signed the marriage contract, she became my responsibility to discipline, not yours. Do not ever touch what is mine again, or you will lose the hand you touched her with. Apologize to her.”
“I will not—”
“Apologize to her, in front of everyone in this church and God himself, or I will take the hand you struck her with.”
Her brother did not respond, but there was a tic in his jaw. She knew he saw Ildefanso as lesser than him, simply because he was illegitimate. But he also knew Hector favored Ildefanso, and he couldn’t run the risk of insulting the jefe.
“Apologize to her. If you do not, you not only offend my bride but also me and my family because she is a part of us,” Ildefanso ground out under his breath.
Rodrigo paled at whatever he saw in Ildefanso’s expression. He flicked his eyes to Hector, standing at his son’s side, but there was only blankness in the returned gaze. A quick glance around convinced him to comply with the demand.
“My apologies, Daleyza, for losing control of my temper.” He was essentially choking on the words. “In my nervousness over your celebration, I lost my head. I should never have struck you.”
Ildefanso stepped back, adjusted his suit coat from where it had pulled tight, and returned to her side.
Gently, he raised his hand to her cheek, his thumb barely making contact with the skin to avoid hurting her. The molten silver of his eyes now burned with heat instead of rage. “No one will touch you in anger again, belleza, or they will answer to me.”
Her mouth ran away with her thoughts before she could corral them. “And who will you answer to when you ‘discipline’ me?”
The corner of his mouth upturned. “Apparently, I will answer to you.”