Chapter 26
Alejandra
I spend most of the week during my free time, in the kitchen with Consuelo going over the dinner menu. With my family, we make chicken along with the usual side for a thanksgiving dinner. My dad has never liked turkey, says it's too dry, and so we just never bothered learning how to cook turkey.
After much googling, and probably getting on Chelito’s last nerve–God bless that woman–we decide on a roasted turkey with a mezcal infused gravy.
When she first told me about the gravy I grimaced at the thought of alcohol and gravy.
She explained how the heat would remove the alcohol content from the mezcal and leave just the taste of it giving the gravy a little bit of a kick.
We decided to use the new Mezcal the Rey del Sol just launched and since it has little notes of smokey amber that it will go great with the smoked paprika and garlic rub.
Oooo look at me, a whole beverly hills house wife. Have Bravo TV draw up the contract, their new star is here.
No but honestly, all the instructions and what she said went in one ear and out the other.
I’m not saying I'm the best cook but I can cook, well at least I think I can, but mostly it’s just putting things I find in the fridge together.
Not having a lot of money for groceries has you thinking on the spot and making different things from the scraps.
All of these extra ingredients around the kitchen island are things I would have a clue how to put on an overgrown chicken.
Besides the main course Consuelo also decides to make mole poblano but instead of chicken it’ll be turkey as well. Talk about culinary imagination, this woman took one meal and ran with it, leaving me with my jaw on the floor.
For the sides we’re having the traditional green beans, buttered corn, and macaroni and cheese, but we’re also adding some sides to display some Mexican gastronomy into the mix.
I’m most excited about the Pure de Camote, and the best part, she’s going to make it with piloncillo and pecan which is gonna be so fucking good!
The evening of the dinner party I feel like I’m dressing for a war.
Veronica took me shopping once again to Rodeo Drive against my will.
I had already told her before that I have plenty of dresses from the last time we went out shopping–which honestly is almost every other week–but she said tonight I have to outshine everyone else around me.
Apparently, Uncle Casimiro is going to be here tonight so we must be dressed to the nines and act as lovingly as we can.
I smooth my hands down the emerald silk dress Veronica chose, feeling the cool fabric under my palms. It fits every single one of my curves embracing them in a sensual way, but not like when you wear a tight dress and your lonjas are out for the entire world to see.
The off-shoulder neckline frames my collarbones perfectly and the knot at my waist draws the eyes down to the slit that grazes my right thigh.
I see my reflection in the mirror, the way the dress drapes, the way it moves, and for a moment, I can’t help but marvel at the woman I’ve become–or at least I'm pretending to be.
Some Hollywood hairdresser Vero knows, who had some time in his schedule, made a house call to do my hair and Veronica’s as well.
My dark hair falls effortlessly over one shoulder, the loose curls adding a softness to the look.
The diamond drop earrings Veronica insisted I wear sparkle faintly any time I tilt my head, catching the golden light of the bedside lamp.
A matching diamond bracelet is on my wrist. The entire ensemble makes me look more delicate and refined than what I really am.
The wrist and the earrings aren’t the only glistening items I don, my matching silver stilettos have me stand taller, and make me feel more secure in myself.
I adjust one last strand of hair, and take in the full picture.
The rich green against my tan olive skin, the shimmer of diamond, the quiet confidence in my eyes.
I’m totally not being vain–right? I mean I’m just appreciating the work Veronica and her team did to put this together.
It’d be a disservice to them if I didn’t at least say I looked hot.
I’m about to make a damn good impression on these old farts, I mean, the board members.
Tonight I won’t just be Ernesto’s Damos wife because tonight is about cementing myself as the woman everyone will remember as the one and only Mrs. Damos.
I take one last deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and step toward the door, ready to make my way downstairs.
Can’t be good manners if the guests arrive and the hostess is still upstairs getting ready.
My hand is already on the doorknob when I hear the soft slide of the closet door opening behind me and Ernesto steps out.
And just like that, every bit of composure I’d built completely shatters.
That tuxedo fits him like a sin. Black satin lapels frame the hard lines I know are hidden under the fabric, the crisp white shirt fitted perfectly, the bow tie is slightly undone like he couldn’t be bothered.
His hair is combed back, neat but not too polished, and that faint stubble along his jaw makes him look infuriatingly good.
Ernesto is the kind of man who doesn’t try to be sexy—he just is.
My pulse betrays me as heat curls between my legs, traveling all the way up my body until it reaches my cheeks.
God help me, he looks so fucking dangerous in that tuxedo.
The type of dangerous in the way it’s hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to remember that I’m supposed to be the gracious host tonight and not dreaming of jumping his bones right now.
He freezes when his eyes meet mine. For a moment, neither of us speaks as his gaze drags down the emerald silk hugging my body, slow and deliberate. My chest tightens under the weight of his gaze as I wait for him to say something, anything. A compliment. A critic.
But he says nothing.
Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a rectangular velvet box.
He crosses the room, unhurried, and when he stops in front of me, the faint scent of cologne fills the immediate air around me—clean, smoky, and wickedly male.
It’s absolutely intoxicating. Ernesto steps around me, his hand brushing my hair aside as the cold brush of metal kisses the back of my neck as he fastens a necklace on me.
The diamonds settle against my skin, cool and heavy. His fingertips linger, dragging along my shoulders, before he steps away.
“Thank you,” I whisper, as I turn and meet his gaze straight on.
He gives a slight nod, the kind that says we’re done here, and steps back opening the door.
I smooth my dress again, the diamonds heavy around my neck, the scent of him clinging to the air, and walk out the bedroom. The necklace may be cold against my skin, but the heat he left behind… that’s what lingers.
As we step out of the bedroom, the soft murmur of voices from below reaches us— faint but growing.
“Senor, Senora.” Consuelo appears at the top of the staircase, her posture straight, her expression polite with a smile that beams with warmth.
“The first guests have arrived,” she says softly.
Her gaze lingering on us for a moment, taking in Ernesto’s tuxedo and my gown, then she smiles. “You both look perfect.”
“Gracias, Consuelo,” I reply, smiling brightly back at her.
Ernesto takes my hand and leads us towards the top of the stairs, Consuelo stepping aside with a respectful dip of her head.
Ernesto leans in enough for his lips to brush against my ear. “My uncle called,” he says quietly, his tone smooth but firm. “He’ll be late. When he gets here, I don’t want you alone with him at any time.”
“What do you mean?” I glance towards him, his eyes showing how serious he is.
“I mean stay by me. Do not wander off. I want you by my side all night.”
The warning in his tone carries more weight than the words themselves. I want to tell him I can handle myself, as I did at the event, but this isn’t the time to do that.
So, I only nod as I adjust my grip on his arm.
We reach the top of the stairs, the chandelier’s glow reflecting off the diamonds at my throat and the polished black of his tuxedo. To anyone looking up, we must look untouchable, the perfect couple.
“Smile,” Ernesto murmurs, voice low and deliberate
And I do. Together, hand in hand, we begin our way down the stairs.