Chapter 5 – Alana #2
I walk toward him, heels clicking with every step.
God, he looks far too good for anyone’s sanity sitting there—shirt sleeves rolled up, dark hair catching the light, confidence oozing from his every pore.
I open the door and slide inside. The leather is cool and supple beneath my skin, and the interior smells like money and power and adventure.
Even more importantly, it smells like him.
“This is like a million-dollar car, Alex. When did you get it?”
He shrugs, casual. “More like three million. I’m only test driving it.” His eyes flicker to me, dark with desire that makes heat coil low in my belly. “I’m going to see if it makes this sexy chica I’m into put out before I make a decision.”
I snort a laugh that is not at all befitting in this incredibly sexy car. “Well, if she doesn’t, be sure to let me know, because I will so put out for this car.”
His laugh fills the interior, deep and warm and sexy. And then we’re moving. “You like it then?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Then it’s yours,” he says casually. “As long as you don’t mind me breaking it in for you first.”
Before I can process the words, he presses his foot down on the gas. The engine roars. The world outside becomes a blur. I shriek, half in shock, half in exhilaration, as the force pushes me back into the seat, excitement spiking through my veins like liquid fire.
“I can’t take this car. It’s too much,” I insist when I can speak again.
He eases off the gas and glances at me, brows pulling together. “Too much? You’re my wife, princesa. It’s not a gift.” His voice softens, but there’s a hard edge underneath. “My money is yours. You know that.”
I laugh, but there’s something vulnerable tangled in with it. “I’m not quite sure it works like that.”
He takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth, kissing my fingertips with slow reverence. “It does where I come from.”
My stomach does a full somersault. Sometimes this life feels like a fairytale, the kind that doesn’t come true for people like me.
From the outside looking in, my life might have looked glamorous, working with my dad in politics.
But the reality was far from it. And it’s only now I see how much he exploited my love.
Alejandro couldn’t be more different, and I know he means every word he says.
That what’s his is mine. It fills me with emotion.
“Anyway,” I say, trying to steady myself, “where are we going? And what have I done to deserve this?”
“I told you,” he says, “The car isn’t a gift.”
“I didn’t mean the car.” I smile at him. “I thought I was meeting you at the hotel later.”
His knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “I heard what you did today. At the Bakers’ house.”
My cheeks heat instantly. “You heard?”
Of course he heard.
“Yes,” he says calmly. “Ever since the Amanda Grant lunch incident, Hugo tells me everything.”
“Oh yes, the lunch incident.” The memory makes me roll my eyes.
Alejandro thought I was having an affair with Hugo because I wasn’t attending those ridiculous charity luncheons he’d arranged.
The women dripping in diamonds and fake smiles, more interested in gossip than helping people.
I walked out of that first one and straight into the shelter instead.
It’s a decision I’ve never regretted for a second.
“I cancelled my late meeting,” he continues. “Thought we could get ready together. I had some dresses sent over for you.”
A warmth spreads through me at that revelation. He always chooses things that make me feel like the best version of myself. Not a doll or an accessory, but his queen.
“Thank you,” I tell him, settling deeper into the seat. “That sounds perfect.”
“I’m proud of you. Standing up to that woman.”
The words have warmth and pride blooming in my chest. “I don’t like conflict,” I admit.
“You know that. But the things she said about Lucia…” My throat tightens at the memory.
“I just saw red. It was like something inside me snapped.” Lucia called me a momma bear, and I guess she was right.
I would do absolutely anything to protect the people I love.
“You’re going to be an amazing mom to our kids, Alana.” His tone changes, serious yet soothing.
My heart stutters in my chest. “You really think so?”
My own mother is still alive, but truthfully, it feels like she has never really been present in my life, even when I moved back to be with them after my grandmother died.
With her constant ailments and all the pill-popping, she checked out as a mom.
I don’t really know how much of that was down to my father’s bad behavior, but I do know that I never felt loved or protected by her.
That’s a shadow that never fully leaves me, and I wonder sometimes if selfishness is inherited.
I hope not, because neither of my parents did a bang-up job of looking after anybody but themselves.
I was raised mostly by my grandmother—strong, steady, unshakeable.
She loved like it was a duty and a privilege all at once.
I want to be like her. But what if I’m not?
“I know so,” he says firmly. “Mi reina feroz.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. I really do need to take those Spanish lessons I’ve been talking about.
He kisses my fingertips again, slower this time. “My fierce queen. Our kids are going to be incredible. You know that, right?”
I picture it for a second—dark-haired little boys with his stubborn jaw, girls with my grandmother’s fire. Chaos in the hallways. Laughter at the dinner table.
“Yes,” I whisper, overcome with emotion. “I know they will be.”
“I can’t wait for little Montoyas to be running around,” he says, grinning before turning serious again. “You’re ready for that with me, princesa, aren’t you?”