Chapter 27 #2
The entire room is holding its breath. My jaw is so tight it aches.
Casimiro's smile widens as he takes Alejandra's hand, which she had resting on the table, and brings it to his lips. His touch is dry, reptilian. "Ernesto is truly a lucky man to have such a woman with him.”
Alejandra pulls her hand back, her revulsion subtle but clear to me. "Gracias, Don Casimiro."
After his little act, he finally sits and we continue our dinner, but the atmosphere is soured.
Casimiro ends up holding his own court on his end of the table, his presence feels like a dark stain on the entire event.
Never missing the opportunity to make subtle jabs about my family or me, he throws his poisonous darts disguised as casual conversation.
"An interesting choice, Ernesto, launching the new mezcal line now," he comments, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
"A bold move, considering how aggressive the southern markets are right now.
It requires a steady hand and quite a mature vision.
" The implication hangs in the air as he accuses me of lacking that vision.
Then, he turns his attention to Alejandra.
"And you, my dear. From a simple nurse to the lady of the Damos household, that’s quite the feat.
I hope you're aware that the Damos name carries a certain… weight. A responsibility, I trust you’ve prepared for the scrutiny that comes with it.
" How dare he question her capabilities as my wife.
I’m about to speak up for her, to cut him down, but I feel a soft pressure on my thigh under the table. Her touch is a silent plea for me to keep calm. It’s a shock, the simple gesture. But it works. The rage simmering in my blood cools down to a low boil.
But Casimiro isn't finished as his gaze drifts toward the empty seat at the far end of the table.
"A shame Camilla isn’t here to celebrate with us," he says, his voice laced with a false sympathy.
"It must be very difficult for that child, not having a mother.
So important to have such an important role in her life.
" He looks directly at Alejandra, his eyes cold and cruel.
"I’m sure you are a… comfort for the child.
A lovely stand-in until Ernesto finds someone suitable to be a true mother to his heir. "
The room falls dead silent. The insult is not only aimed at Alejandra, but for me as well. White-hot fury consumes me and the glass in my hand creaks under the pressure of my grip. I’m seconds from rising and dragging that fucker from this house and ending him–permanently.
Alejandra's hand, which had been under the table, moves to rest on top of mine for everyone to see. Her touch is not a plea this time. No, she’s making a statement as her fingers lace with mine, she becomes a warm steady pressure.
I turn my head and look at her. Her face is a calm mask, but her eyes are blazing.
They meet mine, and in them, there’s no fear, but fire.
The sight of her, so resolute and proud, douses the inferno inside me.
Exhaling slowly, I let the tension drain from my body.
The guests watch our silent exchange, their expressions shifting from apprehension to fascination.
They see a wife calming her notoriously volatile husband.
Casimiro’s face is one of pure, unadulterated hatred. He despises this, our connection–real or feigned– is a fortress he won’t breach.
A smile spreads across my face as I lift our intertwined hand and place a kiss to her knuckles. Checkmate.
Several of the women sigh, their faces melting into sentimental adoration as the men raise their glasses in our honor.
I’ve won this round and it is all thanks to her.
After dinner, the party migrates to the garden.
The cool night air is a welcome relief after the stifling atmosphere of the dining room.
Strings of soft, golden lights are woven through the trees, casting a magical glow over the manicured lawns.
A mobile bar has been set up near the patio, its shelves gleaming with bottles of Rey del Sol tequila.
"I must say, Ernesto," she begins, taking a sip of her neat tequila. "Marriage suits you. I heard from my assistant you haven't thrown a single piece of equipment in over a month. That’s a new record."
Elia Huerta, one of my father's oldest friends and the only board member I trust without reservation. She is a small, formidable woman in her late sixties, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a wicked sense of humor.
Alejandra blushes, a faint pink hue appearing on her cheeks. She looks down at the rose she is idly touching, her fingers tracing the delicate edge of a petal. "I highly doubt it has anything to do with me, Mrs. Huerta."
"Nonsense, my dear," Elia cackles, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"A happy man is a calm man. And you, my girl, seem to make him very happy.
" She winks at Alejandra, then turns her sharp gaze to both of us.
"So, now that he's settled down, when are you two going to give Camilla a brother or sister? A house this big needs more children’s laughter filling it. "
Beside me, Alejandra goes rigid, her hand snatching back from the rose bush as if it were on fire. Her face is a mask of stunned panic. The idea of a child with her—a real child, one of our blood and bone—is a thought so dangerous, that my mind shies away from it like a startled horse.
I clear my throat, the sound loud in the sudden silence. "Elia, you are relentless."
"I'm old, Ernesto. It's my prerogative to be so shameless," she retorts, clearly enjoying our discomfort.
I need to get out of here. "I, uh, need another drink, excuse me" I mutter. Without another word, I turn and practically flee toward the bar, leaving Alejandra in her too curious care.
As I walk away, I hear Elia's throaty cackle behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and Alejandra has turned her back to the party, her shoulders hunched as she pretends to be deeply fascinated by the roses.
Elia's phone rings, her expression shifting to one of business, and with a final, amused glance at Alejandra, walks away. I left Alejandra alone.
From the shadows of the patio, I see Casimiro emerge. He moves before I do, like a vulture circling its prey. My earlier warning rings in my ears. I don't want you alone with him.
I watch, my body coiled and ready to intervene. He says something to Alejandra, his voice too low for me to hear from where I stand. She turns when she hears his voice, her posture stiff, guarded. I see her lips move, in a polite, curt response. Casimiro speaks again, leaning in slightly..
And that’s when I see Alejandra’s entire demeanor shift.
Alejandra's spine straightens, chin held high. Her polite mask falls away, replaced by a cold, hard fury that reminds me of the morning in the kitchen. When she speaks, it’s no longer soft.
It’s not a yell, but her voice does carry–clear and sharp– loud enough for everyone in the immediate vicinity to hear.
"With all due respect, Tío," she says, the honorific dripping with sarcasm, "my husband's business capabilities are not something I discuss with anyone. Especially not with you."
A pocket of silence forms around them. Heads turn.
Casimiro's smile falters. He says something else, in a low placating murmur.
"No, I don't think you understand," Alejandra cuts him off, her voice ringing with authority.
"You will not speak about Ernesto to me in that way.
I also advise you to never again imply that I am anything less than a mother to Camilla.
She is my daughter and this is my family.
As long as I am Mrs. Damos, they will have someone who cares for them deeply. "
She takes a step closer to him, invading his space, her eyes blazing with a protective fire that is both terrifying and beautiful.
"I suggest you take your bitterness and failed ambitions and stay away from us. Mind your own business. Because this family," she gestures with a sweep of her hand, encompassing the house, the garden, me, "is my business now."
Casimiro stands there, frozen. His face is a mottled canvas of shock and rage.
For once in his miserable life, he is speechless.
He looks from Alejandra's furious face to the curious eyes of the guests watching them.
He gives a stiff, jerky nod, turns on his heel, and stalks back toward the house. He does not look back.
Alejandra remains rooted to the spot, her body trembling with the aftermath of the confrontation. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes closing for a long moment. When she opens them, she looks so small and vulnerable under the glittering lights, but I have never seen anyone look stronger.
And I have never, in my entire life, found anything so fucking sexy.
The world narrows to a single point: her. My blood rushes from my head, pooling low and hot in my groin–primal, possessive.
I want her. Now.
I move toward her, my steps long and purposeful as the guests part, their faces a blur of confusion and intrigue but I don't see them. I only see her.
When I reach her, I say nothing grabbing the soft skin above her elbow. She gasps, her eyes widening as they meet mine. I don’t have time for her questions, as I pull her with me, away from the prying eyes in the garden party, and back inside the house.
I don't lead her toward the stairs. I drag her down the hall, past the living room, and toward my office—the one place where no one will disturb us.
The moment the heavy oak door clicks shut behind us, I shove her, as she lands softly on the leather couch. Not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force that she stumbles back, her body landing softly on the supple leather of the couch.