Chapter 13
Emma
So far being the matriarch — or soon-to-be matriarch — of a cartel was absolutely boring.
I didn’t know what I expected after Angel and I came back from our honeymoon, but it wasn’t to be completely without a purpose.
Angel, Omar, and even Lili all had jobs within the family, but so far, I wasn’t given a task.
Mostly I stayed out of everyone’s way and explored the parts of the estate that Angel deemed “safe.”
I found a lot of locked doors. The estate was beautiful, all marble floors and big windows and cream-colored walls, but there weren’t any pictures of anyone anywhere.
The art that did hang on the walls reminded me of much nicer versions of what would hang in a hotel room: tasteful, but impersonal.
Angel told me, in a roundabout way, that he’d grown up here, but I couldn’t imagine a house like this with young children in it.
“Good morning, mija,” Lara greeted me as I came into the kitchen. After hearing literally everyone mention her, I sought her out immediately to make friends. Lara was genuinely one of the warmest women that I had ever met, and what was even better was that she didn’t take shit from anyone.
“Buenos dias,” I said, and the older woman’s smile bloomed even larger.
I wasn’t the most confident with my Spanish, but Lara encouraged me to learn and to use it as often as possible.
They won’t switch to English for you, mija, and you’ll want to know what’s being said around you. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Lara sipped at the coffee in her hands. Unlike most of the house, who liked their coffee with a touch of condensed milk, Lara liked hers black.
It smelled bitter and earthy, and even though I had no interest in drinking the stuff, I liked how it smelled.
“It’s my day off today,” she said. “I’m going into town with some friends, and then I will go to confession. ”
Getting out of the house sounded amazing. “Have a lovely time,” I told her.
Lara gave me a knowing look. “You’re not a prisoner, mija,” she said. “Tell Angel that you want to go somewhere; he’ll make arrangements.”
Those “arrangements” would include bodyguards and time frames and limitations.
I couldn’t just explore the city like I could before.
It made wanting to plan a trip anywhere a pain in the ass.
“I still have so much to explore here though,” I said, although I wasn’t at all sure that was true.
I’d pretty much gone everywhere that I could by now.
Lara sighed. “Promise me that you’ll ask Angel to take you out this weekend,” she wheedled. “A young married couple shouldn’t roost at home so much.”
“Yo te prometo,” I said, and she patted my cheek before putting her now-empty mug into the dishwasher. “Have fun today.”
“Sí.” Lara floated out of the kitchen to gather her purse from her bedroom, which was located in one of the “no-go” zones that Angel had mapped out for me.
I stood in the kitchen, contemplating making a cup of tea or toast or something, and I realized that I hadn’t quite familiarized myself with the space. Lara took care of most meals, and the rest of the time, the Castillos relied on takeout.
The kitchen had a food pantry, obviously full of food that was immaculately labeled and organized, and on the other side of the large space was a door that led to a butler’s pantry that ran between the kitchen and a formal dining room.
The butler’s pantry had a drinks’ station, but it was also where the crockery and small appliances were kept.
As I was rifling through the butler’s pantry, I found a tin box on one of the highest shelves.
When I pulled it down, it was embossed with a floral pattern, and the name “Miriam” was engraved onto it.
My heart kicked against my ribs: Miriam was Angel’s mother.
I should put this back, I thought. It probably was put up that high for a reason.
But my curiosity wouldn’t allow me to put it back.
I pried the lid open and found a collection of recipes, some written on notecards, some on paper towels, bound together with a faded, pink ribbon.
I quickly shoved what I had pulled out back into the cabinets and then took the tin box back into the kitchen.
Perched on a stool at the island, I read through each recipe, treating each scrap of paper with delicacy. All of the recipes were written in Spanish, but Miriam had written them down to the minute detail. I could follow them fairly easily. Would that be an overstep? If I tried one of her recipes?
Would anyone even notice? Would Angel?
The recipe on top was called pabellón criollo — stewed, shredded beef and black beans with fried plantains and rice.
It sounded warm and comforting, and while there were a fair few steps to making it, it was in my wheelhouse of skills.
I checked the cabinet and pantry for the ingredients and found them.
Putting on one of Lara’s aprons, I started prepping to put things in a pressure cooker, and time started to slip by the wayside, as I wondered what Angel’s mother was thinking when she cooked for her family.
Was this how she shared her love for them?
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how much I was enjoying preparing this meal.
There was something soothing about the blend of spices as everything simmered away.
Would Angel appreciate my efforts? I tried to shrug off that question because I wasn’t doing this for him.
Not really. This was me figuring out my place here.
I snorted when I realized that I was lying to myself.
Get it together, Em, and admit that you do care what he thinks. But was that a good idea?
I was in the middle of frying plantains — I ruined the first batch because I was distracted with my thoughts of Angel, and they burned, so I was paying closer attention this time — when Lili wandered into the kitchen. “What is that smell?” she asked.
I glanced up, startled. “Smell?”
Lili took a deep breath. “It’s heavenly,” she sighed and practically scampered over to the stovetop. I had to slap her hand when she reached for a plantain that was sitting on a paper towel. “Hey!”
“Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes,” I told her. “You can have some then.”
“You made me lunch?” Lili was surprised.
I shrugged. “I made enough to feed a small army, I think,” I said. “Would you go tell your brothers, Padre, whichever uncles and cousins are milling about today that lunch will be served in the dining room?”
Lili almost blanched. “You want to feed everyone?” she asked. “Today? Without notice?”
Well, that wasn’t my intention at all. “It’s not mandatory or anything,” I said. “I just want to offer food to anyone who wants to try it.” I checked on my plantains, rescuing the next batch from the hot oil. “I can’t even guarantee that this is going to taste good.”
“Trust me,” my sister-in-law said, “with that smell, it’s going to be wonderful.”
I smiled. “Thanks.” I didn’t need to be praised, but it was nice to be acknowledged that I had done something right. Mostly, I felt like I was floating in the dark, and Angel hadn’t been the best guide in figuring out what I should be doing.
Lili squeezed my shoulder, briefly. “I’ll gather the troops,” she promised. “You finish up the meal.”
I saluted her and checked on the rice. It was ready, so I pulled it off the heat and fluffed it with a fork.
Just as that was finishing, the pressure cooker was finally ready to be opened, and this was the moment of truth: either it would be right, or it would be wrong, and I would be serving meat that might taste good but would have to be chewed relentlessly.
As I heard voices coming closer to the kitchen, I quickly transferred everything into serving dishes and rushed them into the dining room.
I set them up in the center of the table.
“It’s family-style,” I said as the men filtered into the room.
When Omar looked at me, question clear in his eyes, I added, “Grab a plate and serve yourself.”
Then, I turned and went back to the kitchen for the plantains. Angel was leaning against the counter, sampling what I’d made. “You cooked mi esposa,” he said.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Obviously, I cooked. “Is that a problem?” I asked instead.
Angel shook his head. “I’m just surprised.”
“Why? I cooked for you while we were on vacation.”
His jaw clenched, and there was a heat in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed when I walked in.
What had I done wrong? Angel finished his plantain and crossed the space, crowding me against the counter.
“You shouldn’t be trying to impress them,” he murmured against my cheek.
His lips brushed my throat and down to my collarbone.
I smirked, tilting my head for him, sighing.
“You sound jealous,” I accused softly. He wrenched back with a scowl, and I reached up and soothed the line between his furrowed eyebrows.
“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” I said.
“I just cooked a lot of food.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
I knew when I pulled out the amount of food that the recipe called for that Miriam had intended it to feed a lot of people…
and I decided against altering it. Looking at my husband, I tried not to shrink from the intensity of his gaze.
“Why shouldn’t I try to impress my new family, huh?
” I asked. “Shouldn’t I want them to like me? ”
Angel didn’t look particularly thrilled with that idea. “Next time,” he said, “cook only for me.”
I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was being serious or not. Finally, I said, “Next time, I’ll plan for a meal for just the two of us.”
He backed off and, without a look back, stalked into the dining room.
I sucked in a lungful of air and let it out, and then I did it again, forcing my suddenly racing pulse to calm down.
That knife’s edge of fear and want was the shittiest place to be, and Angel kept me hanging on that edge at all times.
Once I had calmed down, I grabbed the plantains and went back into the dining room. Dread pooled in my stomach as I walked through the butler’s pantry. What would I find?
Stepping into the dining room, a hush fell over the men, and then Omar all but shouted, “There’s my favorite sister-in-law!” He motioned for me to join them, and the men all joined in.
Instead of sitting, I walked around with the plate of plantains and served them up, keeping my eyes resolutely off of my husband.
I could feel his gaze as surely as I would be able to feel his hands, and I knew that if I looked up, I would drag him from the dining room and not give a damn what anyone else thought.
It wasn’t until I reached the head of the table that I realized that Padre had come to eat. “I’m so sorry,” I said, head still bowed slightly. Shit. Shit. Shit. I should have served him first. I knew that, so why hadn’t I? “I didn’t —”
The man waved me off. “It’s fine, mija,” he said in that tone that told me that it wasn’t. “Manners must be taught, after all.” He gave Angel a cold look. “I expect her to be prepared next time.”
“Sí, Padre,” Angel said.
I set the near-empty plate down nearest to Angel’s father, so that he could grab more if he so desired, and sat beside my husband. Below the surface of the table, he gripped my thigh, hard enough that I had to bite back a grunt of pain. “I’m sorry,” I murmured to him.
Very subtly, Angel shook his head. “Just eat,” he said.
I sat quietly and picked at my food while the men around me talked and laughed and kept loading up their plates.
Beside me, Angel relaxed bit by bit until he was drawn into conversation with his brother and a cousin.
His hand didn’t leave my thigh, but now he was just touching me, not gripping me in warning.
Angel’s father raised a glass, and we all copied him without question. “To Emma,” he said, “who brought us together for this impromptu lunch. It’s an admirable first try, mija.”
It was an insult wrapped in a warm tone, and we all knew it, but they toasted to me regardless, and I smiled like it was the nicest thank you in the world. “I hope to continue to improve myself, Padre,” I said in as sincere a voice as I could. “Gracias.”
The jovial tone was muted for a moment, but gradually, the men found their merry again.
I kept glancing at my father-in-law, however.
He squatted at the head of the table like a toad.
Even with a smile on his face, I knew he was furious.
Had I overstepped again? With a little squeeze from Angel, I turned back to my food and did my best to tune out the obvious danger that radiated from the man at the end of the table.