Chapter 28
Alejandra
December arrives, cloaking Los Angeles in a chill that makes my nipples so hard they could cut glass, but inside the Damos mansion, a slow, festive warmth begins to stir. Look at me getting all Dr. Seuss.
Garlands of pine twist up the grand staircase, their deep green a sharp contrast to the cold white marble. The air, once smelling only of lemon polish and floor wax, now carries hints of cinnamon and chocolate abuelita.
The house isn’t the only thing that has shifted.
The distance between Ernesto and I has become smaller.
Every morning, I wake up to the weight of his arm around my waist, his body a warm, solid wall against my back.
The bed, once a cold expanse, has become shared ground.
He no longer wakes up and moves around the room.
He stays in bed and just waits until my breathing changes and I stir, only then does he move.
I even feel his reluctance when leaving me alone in bed.
He also spends every morning sitting in the armchair by the window, coffee in hand, watching as I get ready, and even quietly listens to my rambling.
The first time he did this, I nearly gagged myself on my toothbrush from embarrassment.
Now, it’s part of our morning ritual. His gaze follows my every movement, lingering on every part of my body, from the nape of my neck, to watching my fingers button my blouse.
His favorite mornings include when I ask him to zip up my dress, I don’t need the help but the way his fingertips graze my back sends little goosebumps down my body, always ending it with a soft kiss to my shoulder.
After I'm dressed he puts his coffee down and walks into the closet.
Ten minutes later he’ll reemerge in an outfit that compliments mine to a T.
For example, the day I wore a pink dress, he wore a white shirt with a pin striped suit and a pink tie, and the next day I wore a grey and green plaid skirt which he complimented by wearing a grey shirt with a green tie. Now who’s matching who, Mr. Damos.
One morning he had an early meeting with the European buyers, and when he came back upstairs, I was still wrapped in my towel.
He got so impatient with how long I was taking to get dressed because he came out of the closet so disturbed at the fact he couldn’t find me an outfit to match his today.
I just giggled and gave him a peck on the cheek as he made his way back downstairs to his office.
Later that night, when I came home from spending time with papá, I found a Chanel bag waiting on the bed and inside, a silk blouse in the exact shade of his shirt from this morning.
The closeness that has grown between us feels heady, like a dangerous drug.
I feel safe with him, wrapped up in the warmth of his attention.
The fear that once lived in my bones has quieted, replaced by something softer, sweeter, and more dangerous.
I can feel myself getting attached and I’m willingly walking into the fire, curious to see if I'll burn. It’s reckless, but for once in my twenty-six years of life, I don’t care.
I’m on a ladder in the foyer–wrestling with a strand of Christmas lights, humming along to some Christmas music as the Damos fortune has allowed me to live out my wildest decorating fantasies.
It’s my favorite holiday and I am going all out.
Our first Christmas as a family will go off with a bang as a mountain of boxes full of glass ornaments, velvet ribbons, and beautiful red bows sits below the ladder.
I’ve also gone down to the flower shops and gotten dozens of noche buenas to decorate the house.
No Mexican home is complete without at least one dying poinsettia from the local grocery store but this year, I get to have fresh ones around.
I want to turn this cold mansion into something that is alive, something that feels like joy–a real home even if it’s just for the holidays.
Also, not to mention the thought of running up Ernesto’s credit card bill fills me with endless holiday cheer.
Honestly, it probably won’t make a dent in his accounts but hey a girl can dream.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket so I wedge the lights into the ladder, and look to see who it is.
Miguel.
“What do you want, gremlin?” I answer.
“Hey! Is that anyway to greet your favorite brother?” Miguel’s voice is bright, full of nineteen-year-old glee.
“You’re my only brother, Migue.”
“Uh yeah but if I wasn’t I’d be your favorite one, admit it.
” I can only smile as he continues his nonsense, “Oh, quick questions. Stanford sent over my paperwork to apply for that sponsorship for next semester. I need help filling it out, it’s a little confusing and papá said you knew the sponsor so it also needs their signature.
Figured it would be easier for you. Do you mind? ”
I sigh, glancing up at the massive ceiling. Technically, I promised myself I wouldn’t help him with this kind of stuff anymore, he needs to learn how to get on by himself in this world. But, he’s right I do know his sponsor so this time, I’ll fill it out for him.
“Email it to me today and I'll take care of it. But Miguel…this is the last time. Next year you need to do this yourself.”
“Ay, you're the best, Ale. Seriously, thank you.” A pause, then, in a conspiratorial whisper, “so…do I get to meet him when I come home for Christmas break?”
I already know who the “him” is but I ask anyway. “Meet who?”
“?Mi Cunado!”
I groan. Of course papá would have told him about Ernesto. “Miguel…por favor.”
“No, listen! I googled him the other day.”
“Oh my god Miguel! You did not google my husband.” For some reason this time it didn’t sound fake when I called Ernesto my husband.
“Yes I did, but listen, he’s the CEO of El Rey del Sol Tequila! Not only that, he’s a board member at ten other fortune five hundred companies. The guy’s a legend. He’s like Bruce Wayne, but Mexican. The guy could literally be Batman if he wanted to!”
“?No manches, Miguel! I need you to tone it down. You’re at like a ten right now, I need you at a two. Please don’t call Ernesto “cool”, he’s a very serious man, and when you meet him, for the love of god, I’m begging you, act normal. Do not test his patience.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Be chill, don’t annoy him.” He laughs. “Since we're on the subject of super-rich brother-in-laws… I think a PS5 would put him in my good graces for marrying my sister without my permission.”
“Goodbye, Miguel." I hang up and shove the phone back into my pocket–teenagers.
Later in the afternoon, the cheerful chaos of the lobby gives way to the quiet of the library.
The scent of books and leather settles over me like a comfort.
Since moving into this house I’ve spent so many hours in this place reading and going through all of the first editions Ernesto has.
I’ve even learned some history about the tequila territories and treaties in Mexico.
I sit with my laptop open to a dozen tabs of NP programs around LA. Since I mentioned the idea a few weeks ago my desire to further my education has taken root. Something I thought would take me years to achieve is now within my reach. Something else Ernesto has unknowingly helped me achieve.
An email pings from my laptop notifying me Miguel sent over his paperwork.
Subject: Stanford Tings.
Oh dear lord, he can’t even title an email appropriately.
Damn it, I hope this isn’t how he’s emailing his professors.
I download the PDF and start typing in all the information needed until I get to the last page.
It asks for the sponsor's information and signature. Technically, I’m allowed to sign but I’d rather it be Ernesto’s name on that check.
I know he should be in his study since he promised Camilla he’d be here when she gets home from school. I save the file and send it to print in his office.
When I get to his office, the door is closed, as always. I knock softly but receive no answer. I knock again and still no answer. I crack the door open slightly and see the room is empty and dark. I open the door wider and see the chair behind the desk empty. I can’t help wondering where he went.
Heading downstairs, I head over to the dining room where I can hear Consuelo speaking to another staff member. She’s sitting at the table teaching a young maid how to polish silver.
“Chelito, have you seen Ernesto? I thought he was going to be home all day?”
She looks up as she continues to polish, “El Patron went to the office for some files. Said he’d be back before Camilla gets home”
Of course that busybody wouldn’t be able to stay away from the office. I guess the paperwork can wait, but Miguel needs this sent as soon as possible. It’ll be fine. I’ll just leave it on his desk with a note for him to sign it.
Back down the hall, I step into his office and my eyes immediately drift to the leather coach and heat flickers through me at the memory of the night Ernesto introduced me to a whole new type of pleasure.
One he indulges in almost every other day and one I don’t mind at all.
Since that night he’s more possessive in a way that he needs to be near me, touching me, whenever he’s near me.
I shake the memory away and move towards the printer.
Opening my laptop I open the document and send it to print.
While that’s going on, I set off to find a sticky note and pen.
For a man who demands a strict structure of his life, this desk is a complete unorganized chaos–papers, files, folders stacked with precision only he can understand.
I slide a slim manila folder to the side when I note a blue sticky on it, I grab it hoping it may be blank.
What I find makes my blood run cold.
On the sticky note it says Carillo evidence.
They say curiosity killed the cat and right now I may have signed my death sentence.
Well, curiosity is my biggest flaw, and it wins.