Chapter 7 Bajo La Misma Piel
Alejandra
Consuelo stands in the kitchen, her wrinkled hands busy wiping down the countertop.
She stops when she sees me come into the kitchen and place the tray down with a hard slap, the plates almost spilling from the force.
She doesn’t even flinch when I slap my hands onto the edge of the island and glare at nothing on the counter.
“Dejeme adivinar,” she says, in a soft, knowing voice, setting down the cloth she was using to clean. “You poked the bear, no?”
“Poked? The bear basically stomped me into the ground,” I snap and let out a huff as I spin and slump into the nearest barstool. “I’ve known him for one evening, and I already can’t stand him. How do you all put up with him?”
Consuelo wipes her hands on a simple white towel, her face softening, her eyes showing a hint of sympathy. “Le advertí, senora, pero usted no me hizo caso. I told you not to disturb him when he’s in his office.”
“I didn’t disturb him because I wanted to be friends!
” My voice rises higher than I intended–sharp and defensive.
“I need answers, Consuelo. He can’t just uproot my life and expect me not to ask any questions or adjust without any issues.
What’s worse is that any time he speaks to me, it’s like it’s an inconvenience.
It’s like he forgets he’s the one who chose me, not the other way around! ”
She clicks her tongue and grabs an empty glass from the cupboard. "Ay, muchacha, you're not used to men like him. Control is in their blood, and to them, questions are a form of rebellion." She pours water from a pitcher into the glass, setting it in front of me. "Drink. You'll feel better."
I push the glass away, the cool condensation brushing over my fingertips. "I don't need water, Consuelo. I need my life back!" My voice cracks halfway through, and my anger suddenly feels more like exhaustion. "If having a wife is such a burden, why even bother?"
Consuelo's softness is replaced with something akin to pity.
"Senora, you already know the answer. He doesn't want a wife; he needs one. Don’t make it harder for yourself.
Ernesto wants your compliance, so do yourself a favor and just listen to him and do what he says.
But…" She hesitates before continuing, her hands folding a towel next to her.
"Mi nina, Camilla,” she sighs, “Ernesto knew she needed someone. Camilla needs you, so if you can’t do it for him, please do it for her. "
Camilla. That sweet little girl who literally ran into my life.
The thought of her freckled smile and the innocent hopefulness in her voice dulls some of the anger still in my chest. She doesn't deserve to be a part of the mess her father has dragged us into. I’m a woman of my word, so now that I’m in it, I have to stay true to it and be there for her until it’s my time to go.
I grab the glass of water and sip it, giving me some time to clear my thoughts.
"’ta bueno, pues," I finally say, voice steadier this time. "I need a shower and some of my headache meds before my head explodes."
She smirks faintly, amused by my dramatics but wise enough to keep quiet about it. "I’ll take you to your bedroom."
Just like everything else in this house, the master wing–as she calls it–is unnecessarily extravagant.
The walls are lined with Latin art in muted tones, and the floor is black-and-white marble that gleams under the faint glow of wall lights.
It's polished, cold, and perfect, much like the man who owns it.
We step into an impressive room. If this is a guest room, I can’t even imagine what the master looks like. She places my duffel bag at the foot of a massive California king bed so perfectly made I don’t even want to sit on it.
"Were you always this stubborn, or is it just because of him?" She says barely above a whisper. The question catches me off guard, and I can't help but laugh.
"Oh, this is nothing. You should've met me before nursing school. If you ask my friends, they'll tell you I could argue with a fence, and I’d win the argument." Consuelo chuckles, but I can tell she’s still a bit curious.
"And yet you chose to marry him."
"I didn't choose to marry him," I mutter, grabbing my medication from my bag and quickly popping one, setting the bottle on a sleek black dresser.
"I had to take this…arrangement to keep my family safe and taken care of.
It was a price I was… am willing to pay.
" She hums softly, skeptical of course, but smart enough not to press further.
"Let me help you unpack."
"Oh, don’t worry about me, Consuelo. I can take care of myself," I say dryly, yanking a bundle of shirts from the bag and shoving them into a drawer. "I have no intention of getting used to this kind of lifestyle. Heaven forbid Mrs. Placeholder dare inconvenience His Majesty’s home."
Consuelo doesn't respond, though the faint twitch of her mouth gives away her amusement. When everything is put away, she nods toward the bathroom.
I take her advice and head to the bathroom with everything I need.
If I thought the lobby downstairs and the hallway were too much, this bathroom is ridiculous—white marble, gleaming chrome, and a rainfall shower.
A girl could definitely get used to relaxing in a place like this.
But even as the hot water washes away today's problems, my mind refuses to be quiet.
El Santuario flashes through my thoughts—the beginning of this unbelievable nightmare.
I place my hands against the cool tiles, droplets running off my hair as I picture that dark room.
The mirror in front of me with all those men watching from behind it.
Had I known what truly waited for me, I'd have run away from that place.
But it's not just the club that haunts me. It’s the way papás face was etched with worry cuando me persigno antes de irme.
It’s also Miguel's face, all happy and excited to start his first year of college, so eager to get his life started.
For the past few months, I have carried my family—been their backbone—but this feels like I'm carrying something I’m not sure I can handle.
I feel out of my depth, like a fish surrounded by sharks.
I step out of the shower, dry myself, and wrap a fluffy towel around my body, and for once, there’s no need for me to pinch the ends together and waddle since the towel is large enough to cover my entire body.
I towel-dry my hair and twist my unruly curls into a braid before smoothing Pond's over my face and body.
I stand in front of the mirror and stare at my reflection, dear God, I look as if I'd worked a fourteen-hour shift.
Fuck Ernesto. This may be a prison of my own making, but it's one I'll make sure to survive.
Opening the door, I step out of the bathroom only to freeze mid-step.
My eyes land on a half-naked man in the room, Ernesto—the very last person I want to see at this moment—casually removing his watch from his wrist. A thin gold chain glints against his chest, and I can’t help but gape at how fucking delicious this man looks under this light.
"What the hell are you doing in here?" I scream out in surprise.
Ernesto turns his head, his brown eyes sweeping over me lazily, as if I just asked him a stupid question. "This is our room, Palomita. Where else would I sleep?"
"Oh, I don’t know, maybe in the master bedroom!" I clench the towel tighter as heat rises up my neck."
“Look around, Alejandra, this is the master bedroom. Are you that airheaded that you missed seeing my things around?”
I’m stunned because…yeah, how the fuck did I not notice his things around the room? That’s how distraught this man has made me. I can’t even keep my head straight anymore.
“Ok, so if this is your room, where am I supposed to sleep?”
His lips tilt in a smirk that makes my heart jump. "Aqui," he simply says, pointing at the large bed. "Conmigo. You are, after all, my wife, and your place is next to me in this bed."
A cackle escapes me, jagged and incredulous. "Uh, placeholder, remember,” I point at myself in emphasis. “You yourself called me that, so why would I share a bed with you?!" I raise my voice at him.
He arches his brow in what I can only assume is amusement.
"Actually, that's exactly what it means.
" He moves closer, his steps a slow fluid motion, and he drops his voice to a purr.
"You signed a contract. Not only did you agree to be Mrs. Damos, but you also clearly agreed to submit to any and all my desires. Or did you forget that tidbit?"
I can’t come up with a response, so I do the first thing that pops into my mind.
I lunge toward the closet to grab something, anything, I can put on quickly, but Ernesto is faster.
His hand snakes around my waist, pulling me back against him.
His arm is firm and unyielding–and to my surprise, full of tattoos–as my back presses against his bare chest.
His breath is a hot whisper against my ear as he leans in.
"This is our bedroom. You will sleep in this bed, next to me, every night until our last day together.” My body trembles in response to his words.
From shame or pleasure, I couldn’t tell you.
“Tell me, Palomita," he teases, "does it do something to you having me so close? "
The heat where our bodies meet has me feeling feverish, and his intoxicating scent of citrus and spice clouds my mind, and for a fleeting moment, I let my mind drift into what his lips would taste like and how his rough hands would feel all over my body.
But the moment is cut short when I remember whose arm is holding me.
I tilt my head back just enough to lock eyes with him. I try my hardest to give him my sultry eyes, and I know I’ve got him when his cocky smirk returns.
"Yes,” I say as sexy as I can muster, “want to know what I’m really thinking?”
He grins and flips me around halfway, still holding my waist with his right arm and grabbing my chin with his left so that his face is merely inches away from mine.
That’s when the towel I had wrapped around me comes loose and slips off.
His eyes immediately leave mine to look at my naked body.
Our bodies are so close that I feel when he starts hardening against my hip.
The feel of his dick thickening sends waves of pleasure straight to my core, making my body feel tingly all over as I find myself getting turned on.
His lustful gaze moves slowly as he studies each part of my body intensely.
Ernesto, no longer holding my chin, moves his left hand to my chest and slowly drags his fingers down the middle all the way to my belly button.
When he’s about to reach between my thighs, I reach out and hold his hand in place.
I don’t flinch as I hold his gaze, steady and calm.
“Although, don’t you think it's a little ironic?” I murmur, thoughtfully.
“Tienes el mundo entero a tus pies, Ernesto… yet the only way you could get a wife was by trapping her in a contract, it’s quite pathetic if you ask me.
” I let a beat of silence linger between us.
“All that power, and still… no one has ever chosen you–willingly. Have they, Ernesto?” I softly add with pity.
His grip slackens, caught off guard by my words, and I take full advantage, slipping from his grasp and strutting my naked self straight into the closet, slamming the door shut behind me with enough force to rattle the shelves. Pendejo.
I take a few deep breaths to calm my heart and my nerves, and cool down from how fucking turned on I got from his touch.
When I deem myself ready, I dress in one of my many Disney princess pajamas—Ariel print pants and an oversized white tee—and exit the closet.
Ernest has made himself comfortable on the right side of the bed, phone in hand. His gaze flicks up for a moment to look at me, grimacing, before returning to his screen.
"Is there really no other room I can stay in?" I question, crossing my arms as I stand awkwardly at the closet’s doorway.
“No,” Ernesto points to the empty side of the bed without lifting his head. "Get the fuck in this bed, or you can sleep outside with my dogs if that’s what you prefer."
Maldito. I don’t stand around any longer and make my way to the loveseat across the bed, grabbing as many decorative pillows as I can and marching to the left side, my side now, I guess, and start setting them up as a makeshift barrier between us.
He watches silently, lips twitching once before schooling his expression.
"Stay on your side and don't get any funny ideas," I warn, as I jab my finger in his direction and crawl beneath the covers.
"I’ll give you a chance to adjust for now, Palomita, but keep in mind, if I want to, not even this sorry excuse of a wall can keep you from me," he replies, “Let this be the last time you need reminding, your body, your soul, and your life belong to me.” With that, he turns his attention back to his phone.
It’s a funny thing, the human body, because instead of hating what this deplorable man just said, his words end up turning me on more, making me fall asleep with an uncomfortable wetness between my legs.