Chapter 31 #2
Just as she finishes the last bite of her cake, Felipe appears at our table, his presence as silent and sudden as always. "Senora, Senorita," he says with a respectful nod. "The auction is about to begin. El patron is asking for you."
He leads us through the crowd to where Ernesto is standing. The atmosphere in the room has shifted as the lights have dimmed, and a small stage at the front of the ballroom is now brightly lit. An auctioneer with a slick smile and a fast-talking cadence is warming up the crowd.
Ernesto's arm circles my waist, pulling me close as Camilla takes his other hand.
The auction is for charity, a fundraiser for a new children's wing at one of Veronica's hospitals.
The items are what one would expect: extravagant trips, ludicrously expensive watches, a vintage sports car.
I watch, mostly bored, as men try to outbid each other, their egos on full display.
Then, a piece of art is brought onto the stage.
A large canvas, alive with vibrant color and raw emotion.
It depicts a street vendor, an older woman with a face like a roadmap of a hard-lived life, standing beside her cart of brilliantly colored flowers.
The artist has captured something more—the resilience in her eyes, the defiant pride in her posture, the explosion of life and color from the flowers she sells in a dusty, gray world. It's breathtaking.
"That's beautiful," I whisper, my voice filled with an unconscious awe. I instinctively clutch Ernesto’s suit jacket in my excitement.
I catch him glancing down at me from the corner of my eye as I stare at the painting, completely captivated.
The bidding starts. It climbs quickly, the numbers becoming absurd.
"Five hundred thousand," someone from the back calls out.
The auctioneer looks around. "Do I hear five-fifty?"
A man a few tables away raises his paddle. "Five hundred and fifty thousand."
My heart sinks a little. Even with the allowance Ernesto has been giving me, I’m not even close to being able to afford it at this rate. Then, Ernesto raises his hand. Not a paddle. Just his hand. A single, commanding gesture and the room falls silent.
"One million dollars," he says, his voice calm, clear, and utterly final.
A collective gasp ripples through the room as the other bidder slowly lowers his paddle, a look of defeat on his face. No one dares to challenge El Rey.
"Sold!" the auctioneer cries, banging his gavel. "To Mr. Ernesto Damos!"
I stare at him, my mouth slightly agape as he turns to me, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips.
He saw how much I admired the painting, so he bought it for me.
The gesture is so extravagant and sweet that I don't know what to do with the feeling it evokes. I quickly look away and search the program in my hand. Lucky me, it lists the artists with the item description. I flip through it until I find the painting. The artist is a young woman from Oaxaca who’s just starting her career.
This auction was her chance at a big break, and Ernesto gave it to her.
"Her work is incredible," I murmur, tracing the artist's name with my finger.
"I'll have Felipe arrange a meeting," Ernesto says quietly, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "For later tonight, since she’s here for the event. You can tell her yourself."
My head whips around to look at him, my eyes going wide. “Are you serious? Can I meet her tonight?” I practically scream in his face.
“If it’s something you want, then yes.” The simple and direct way Ernesto can make things happen in the blink of an eye leaves me so breathless that all I can do is nod.
After the auction, the ballroom doors are thrown open, revealing an adjacent terrace and garden, transformed into a winter wonderland.
Fairy lights twinkle in the trees as heat lamps cast a warm glow, and a live band plays jazzy arrangements of Christmas carols.
The crowd spills out into the cool night air with ooo’ and aaa’ with their glasses of champagne in hand as the mood shifts from formality to something more relaxed.
But it seems Ernesto is done for the night. I can feel it in the way he holds himself; he’s impatient and fidgety.
"We're leaving," he says, his voice a low command meant only for me.
"What? No," I argue back in a whisper, glancing down at Camilla, whose eyes are wide with excitement at the sight of the dance floor. "We can’t leave yet. You have to dance with her."
He gives me an incredulous look. "I don't dance."
"Well, you will tonight," I insist, a playful stubbornness rising in me. "Come on, Ernesto. It’ll be a sweet memory for her. Then maybe after you can save a dance for your wife." I tell him with a playful wink. He scoffs as he rubs his chin, but I see a flicker of consideration in his eyes.
"Ernesto, querido!"
A woman's voice, sharp and sultry, cuts through our conversation.
A vision in a slinky, white silk dress that leaves little to the imagination materializes before us.
The woman glides right up to us, pushing me off so I stumble away from Ernesto.
Y la muy descarada wraps her arms around his neck and plants a fucking kiss on his cheek.
My entire body tenses, bursting with hot rage.
"Te ves muy cansado, Ernesto," she says, her voice dripping with mock concern.
"Esa vieja de Consuelo no te está cuidando bien.
Déjame visitarte, yo te puedo quitar todo el cansancio en una noche.
" She skins her red nail polished finger down my husband 's cheek.
My mouth is wide open at how this woman has the audacity.
Her gaze drops to Camilla. "Hola, sobrina," she says, her tone suddenly saccharine.
"Ay, mirate toda una senorita." She bends down to pinch Camilla’s cheeks but my sweet little girl scrunches her nose and back away before the woman gets close enough to her. That’s a good girl Camilla, stranger danger.
The realization dawns on me, and my blood runs cold. She called Camilla her sobrina. I know for a fact I’ve met all of Ernesto’s siblings, so this must be…Elena's sister.
The woman twists her lips and juts out her jaw with a fake smile and turns her attention back to Ernesto, her hand tracing a lazy circle on his chest. "I was just speaking to the Montoyas," she continues, launching into some gossip, continuing to ignore my presence.
Fuck this bitch, I am not invisible. I take a step forward and push her off Ernesto, extending my left hand so the massive diamond on my finger is on full display.
"I’m sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced," I say, in English with a sickly sweet smile. "I'm Alejandra Damos. Ernesto’s wife." I punctuate the word wife by wiggling my fingers in her face.
The woman's eyes flick to my outstretched hand and to the ring. A flash of pure, unadulterated venom crosses her face before she schools her features back into a mask of bored indifference. And yet, she decides to continue ignoring me, turning back to Ernesto.
I can feel my husband getting irritated, but he says nothing. He doesn't even send her away, just stands there, a stone statue in a tuxedo.
Fine, guess I'll have to take the trash out myself.
I step directly in front of him once more, blocking her view of him, forcing her to look directly at me. "You know it's quite rude," I say, my voice obnoxiously sweet, "to ignore a man's wife when she's standing right next to him."
The woman finally deigns to look at me, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt. "I’m Ernesto's sister-in-law, and I have zero interest in learning the name of his temporary wife."
Temporary.
"Renata," he says, his voice a low warning. He places his hands on my shoulders, a possessive, grounding weight. Oh, now you speak up, idiot. "This is Alejandra.
“Oh, you must be Elena’s sister. It’s nice to meet her family—” My sentence is cut short when a sharp sting hits my cheek.
Did I just get slapped?
For a split second, the room goes completely silent. I look back at Renata, whose face is twisted with anger, mouth practically foaming, and everything. Okay, maybe not foaming, but the image helps the sting from the slap lessen.
“Elena?” Renata’s laugh is sharp and humorless.
“Ernesto, you let this zorra say my sister’s name?
” Her eyes blaze with fury as she steps closer, every inch of her radiating contempt.
“You don’t get to say her name. Elena was my sister.
She was going to marry Ernesto. She was supposed to be the one standing where you are now.
” Her gaze drags slowly over me like I’m something unpleasant she’s been forced to acknowledge.
“You are nothing. A placeholder. A warm body standing where my sister should be.”
“Renata,” he says, his voice a low warning.
Before I can move, Ernesto’s hand closes around my arm, trying to pull me back.
“No,” I tell Ernesto, jerking my arm free from his grip, taking a step forward, chin held high.
“Yeah, if that’s what you call the woman who legally carries his last name,” I say, my voice clear despite the hysteria in hers.
“Then yes, I’m a placeholder. A placeholder who is raising his daughter.
The placeholder he chose to marry.” I hold her gaze, refusing to look away.
“If hearing me say Elena’s name offends you, Renata, then that anger should be directed at him, not me.
But I will not pretend she never existed simply because you believe I have no right to say it.
” My voice turns icy. “And let me make one thing very clear—do not mistake my restraint for weakness.”
Renata’s mouth opens, ready to erupt.
BANG.
The sound is deafening as a speaker near the stage bursts into a shower of sparks. The music cuts out, and the fairy lights flicker, then die, plunging the terrace into a disorienting semi-darkness, lit only by the distant glow of the city and the flickering heat lamps.