Chapter 9 Las Bandidas
Alejandra
“Alejandra, I'm going to ask you a question, and I need you to be completely honest with me.” Veronica’s nails tap three times on the ice lavender matcha she’s drinking.
“How exactly did you and my brother meet and get married without anyone knowing? I know my brother likes to keep his business private, but a whole secret wife? That’s extreme, even for him. ”
She watches me over her white-rimmed sunglasses, clearly and determined to get her answer.
We’ve been walking up and down Rodeo Drive for about twenty minutes and have visited ten different stores.
Each store drives my anxiety up higher–like the price tags.
I give her the practiced smile I give my difficult patients–polite, but with sass.
“We met through a mutual friend,” I say, technically not lying. The friend is El Santuario, but she doesn’t need to know those details. “It wasn’t a whirlwind romance or a love at first sight story like you want to hear. We both had needs that needed to be met. Call it a partnership.”
Veronica’s lips perse, disappointment peeking through her mask of indifference. “That’s a damn shame. I was hoping for something con más chisme.”
I shake my head, maybe a little too earnestly.
“Veronica, two days ago, I was a nurse in East LA, working twelve to fourteen-hour shifts, trying to keep a roof over my family's head. Ernesto needed a wife for–” I pause, realizing I don’t actually know his reasoning.
“Look, all I know is he needed a wife, fast, and I agreed. With my dad’s medical bills piling up and my brother’s tuition, I had to find help, and your brother offered to help me if I, in turn, helped him.
That’s all it is. Not one ounce of romance involved. ”
She sighs dramatically as she removes her glasses, twirling them in circles.
“Uy, qué aburrido. Pero ?qué se puede esperar de Ernesto? I wanted something juicier than,” she does the air quotes motion, “a business transaction. Leave it to my brother to suck the passion and romance out of something as important as marriage.”
“You and every person working in that mansion.” We laugh as we cross the street towards a white store on the corner.
Her eyes flash, then she grins, much more genuine this time.
“At least you’re not pretending, I mean, from what I can tell.
Most women in our circle would’ve already posted hundreds of ring selfies and probably tagged all of us on social media just for her fifteen minutes of fame. ”
“If I did that, your brother would take away the small amount of privileges he left me and change all the locks by tomorrow.” My laughter comes easier now, echoing hers. After our conversation, the shopping begins to feel more friendly and carefree.
We decide to stop at another fancy store, which has a bunch of C's all over the store. I’ve only ever been to Coach once before, after graduating college–I wanted to treat myself as a reward.
But as soon as I saw one price tag, I got my little ass out of there without looking at anything else.
I can only imagine the price tags at this store because it looks way fancier than Coach.
Veronica, on the other hand, sweeps across the store like she owns the place–which, let’s be honest, she probably does.
I immediately expect her to start throwing clothes at me and send me off to a dressing room like at the other stores. Still, she pauses by the window and looks me over from head to toe as a blonde sales associate approaches us–probably hoping to get the high commission this spree will surely bring.
Can’t remember the last time I bought expensive clothes for myself that weren’t from a discounted scrub store or the racks at Ross–not that there’s anything wrong with those clothes, they just have good discounts for people in situations like mine.
I touch a navy silk dress so carefully, scared that if I touch it the wrong way, it might fall apart at the seams. Suddenly, I feel Veronica’s hands grab both my arms and face me towards her, looking very serious.
“Listen to me very carefully, Ale. Can I call you that? I heard Mila say it.” Oh, I shouldn't feel so happy to hear my childhood nickname, but I am, so I nod at her. “We’re not here to buy you just any boring trophy wife wardrobe. You need to embody Ernesto’s power and make it your own.
If you dress as if no one can touch you, then no one will ever see you as an afterthought again.
Not even my brother.” Veronica slides an arm through mine and tugs me toward the mannequins with price tags, each amounting to one month’s rent.
I trail behind Veronica, like a child, letting her terrorize the store as she had promised.
Black and cream silk blouses, power suits, and denim.
So, what’s the issue? They’re not my size.
Every single article of clothing Veronica has me try on is either too short, too tight, or my boobs spill out of them.
After what feels like the twentieth outfit change, I’m starting to feel discouraged.
I walk out of the dressing room and hand the clothes to the sales associate to put back, and head back to where Veronica is looking at some jackets.
“Veronica, I think maybe we should try a different store. Nothing I’ve tried on fits me.
” I sigh in disappointment. “The clothes here are really pretty, but” I point at my belly and boobs, “they’re not meant for women with real curves.
These are designed more for women who are built like twelve-year-old boys.
” Veronica raises an eyebrow at me. “I mean, no offense.” I giggle to lighten the atmosphere.
“What are you talking about? This material is top quality, and the designs are classic.”
A sales associate who has been hovering nearby, a woman with a face so taut she looks perpetually surprised, lets out a sniff.
“Perhaps your friend would be more comfortable at Lane Bryant, or maybe the plus-size area at Dillard’s.
They tend to cater to a…fuller figure.” She smiles directly at me, but it’s one of those where her eyes are squinting, and her lips are pursed. Fucking fake ass bitch.
My cheeks burn, and all the anxiety, the feeling of being an imposter in this world, balled into a hot knot of shame in my gut. I open my mouth to tell the lady we’re leaving, but Veronica is faster.
She advances on the sales associate, forcing her to take a few steps back, her friendly demeanor dissolving into something cold. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
Veronica keeps taking slow, steady steps towards the lady until the sales associate's back hits a nearby counter. Even though Veronica is a bit shorter than the woman, her presence expands, filling the entire store with a palpable chill.
“Um, I'm just saying-” The lady trips over her own words as Veronica cuts her off before she can finish.
“Stop.” Veronica points a finger in the woman’s face, and she flinches and stops talking immediately.
“I heard exactly what you said. Asking you the question was me giving you the chance to correct yourself,” Veronica says smoothly, her voice calm enough to be mistaken for politeness.
She tilts her head slightly, eyes sweeping over the woman in quiet judgment.
“But since you’ve chosen not to…let me make something very clear to you,” Veronica steps back and to address the entire store. “To all of you.”
“This lady is Alejandra Damos. Yes, you heard that right, wife of Ernesto Damos, and what you just said to her is that this store, no, this brand doesn’t believe women with real curves deserve to wear beautiful clothes.” Veronica’s stare towards the sales associate is lethal.
“Ma’am, that’s not what I-”
“Oh, but it is,” Veronica interrupts, her voice dangerously soft. “You took one look at this woman with a healthy, beautiful body and decided she wasn’t worth the clothes in this store. You insulted her, and in doing so, you insulted the Damos name.”
I watch, completely frozen in place, as Veronica pulls out her phone. Her thumb moves with lethal precision, swiping across the screen.
“I’m sure the regional manager would be fascinated to hear how his staff treats Mrs. Damos.
” She holds the phone up, displaying the contact information.
“I’m also pretty certain he’d love to know that my family’s corporation will be pulling its annual funding for his big budget events–all seven figures of it–effectively immediately. ”
The woman’s face goes completely white, the fake smile cracking under the pressure. “Miss Damos, please, I really didn’t mean any offense; it was a total misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?” Veronica asks with an amused smile, but her eyes are still cold as steel.
“No, it was you judging, and judging has its consequences.” She puts her phone away, but the threat hangs over the entire store.
"Now, you’re going to find every single item we selected, in my sister-in-law's correct size, and have them sent to our tailor for custom fitting–which your store will happily pay for. Now, if you don’t happen to find the size she needs, you will have it ordered and overnighted. Do I make myself clear?"
The woman nods numbly.
"Good," Veronica says as she turns and walks over to me, wraps a cream scarf around my shoulders, and tilts my chin towards the mirror.
“You’re a Damos now, Alejandra. No one is ever allowed to disrespect you, or they’ll be dealt with.” Her gaze in the mirror is warm, firm, but no sign of pity. “But keep in mind, you can be a Damos and still not lose yourself to the name. Pero, not in those jeans, please, I beg of you.”
I grimace at the statement. “Yeah, I should probably get rid of them. Your brother already threatened to burn them if I brought any of my old clothes back to the mansion, so I doubt the clothes I brought with me will make the cut to stay.”
“Mendigo bruto.” Her voice lowering, softening. “I don’t know what my brother told you, but if you’re going to survive this family, you need to find your way around all his rules.”
For a moment, the sound of doors and the clicking of stilettos vanish–it’s just Veronica and me–price tags forgotten as two women stand in front of a mirror trying to live a life in a world where men only hunger for power.
“I’m not very good at following orders. Even at the hospital, I would get in trouble for arguing with the doctors.” I laugh as I remove the scarf from my shoulders and hand it to the sales associate.
She hip bumps me, approval all over her face. “Good. You’ll need to keep that same attitude con mi hermano.”
We look through more racks, building piles of clothes prettier than anything I’d ever imagined I would own; silk blouses, blazers, dresses that make my curves and hips look breathtaking.
Shoes I would never wear, but when I put them on, they make me feel like royalty.
Veronica is dressing me as the most exaggerated trophy wife, and I’m one thousand percent sure Ernesto is going to hate it.