8

Salvador Silver Mendoza.

I fill my glass with whiskey as my brothers file in, one by one, like they’re lining up for confession. Anytime they walk in like this, it is two things—they want something and second, they want something.

Diego drops into a chair. Nathan stands. Patrick is missing, but not for long. A few seconds go and he walks in, pulling off his cap like he’s about to deliver a eulogy.

“You’re married!?”

Ah. So he finally heard.

“Again, you’re married?!” He throws his arms out.

“And have you seen her? She’s beautiful too…” Diego chimes in.

I roll my eyes and swirl the whiskey in my glass.

“Salvador, you don’t do rational things…” Nathan starts. “You set out to beat that fucking bastard, and you came back with his bride. Now Mom’s turned her into a damn housekeeper—”

“She broke an expensive vase. You know how Mother gets about those flimsy things.” I reach for a cigarette, then a lighter—where the hell is my fucking lighter?

Nathan tosses one to me. I catch it midair, flick it open, and take a long drag.

“Salvador, our business partners and relatives can’t hear that we beat a man half to death and stole his bride. It makes us look like we can’t control our impulses. Our credibility takes a hit, and that’s bad for business. We have guests arriving in minutes. Powerful men. Aristocrats. And every single one of them has heard the rumors. Do you think it’s wise for them to show up and find your so-called wife scrubbing floors in a maid’s uniform?” Nathan starts.

He is always looking ahead. It’s what makes him our eldest. He does the thinking when I act on reckless abandon. Diego is the one who never takes things seriously, and Patrick—well, he looks like someone just slapped him across the face with the truth.

Diego looks at me before speaking. “He’s right. These aren’t nobodies, Salvador. These are people investing in the mining company, the ones holding shares in our businesses. They’re going to ask questions, and we can’t afford to fumble. We need to get ahead of the rumors, spin a story, and we need to do it fast.”

“The wives of the aristocrats are coming and we our relatives are bloodhounds. They’ll corner every housekeeper in this place, and if they catch so much as a whisper of a lie, they’ll dig until they find the truth.” Patrick adds.

I groan and blow smoke from my nose. As if I don’t have enough shit to deal with.

Then, my study door opens, and in waltzes—our little sister, Maddy who twirls like she just stepped out of a fucking fairy-tale.

“I just met your new bride.” she sings and twirls her blonde curls in her finger.

I arch a brow at her.

“You met her!? Well? Is she as beautiful as Diego claims?” Patrick asks.

“Yes, I’ll give her that. She looks like a pitiful dove, calling her parents, telling them she was fine and that they shouldn’t worry.” Maddy pouts. “I actually felt bad for the poor thing for falling into your hands, big brother. But you know what?” Her lips curl into something more amused than concerned. “I don’t think she’s scared of you.”

I flick ash from my cigarette. “Oh?”

“I saw her speaking to—what’s his name? Your new dog.”

I already know who she means before she even finishes. “Lucas.” I growl—that bastard’s name is venom in my mouth.

Patrick makes a strangled noise. “You saw her meeting with him!?”

“Yes. She was all, ‘Love, I have missed you—" Maddy presses a hand to her chest, batting her lashes, a supposed impression of Catalina.

I don’t hear the rest.

I move past Maddy out of the room. Nathan follows because he knows I am reckless to a fault. When I give an order, it is to be followed, and when someone steps away from my will, I repay them with my temper.

“Salvador!” He calls behind me.

I get into the elevator and it closes before he can follow.

When it opens, I see Catalina walking past and balancing a basket of laundry as part of her new duties. She doesn’t see me coming—not until I slap the basket from her hands. She is startled and thus, steps back instinctively. Better yet, I grab her before she can go anywhere.

“Where is he? You were speaking to that bastard? Look at me and lie to me—tell me you weren’t!” I raise my voice and, in my hands, I feel her small body tremble.

Her lips part as if she is shivering from cold. So, no word comes out. She won’t give me an answer. Which means Maddy was right.

“Did I give you permission to speak to him? Did I give you the right to even look at him!?”

In utter fear of meeting my eyes, she looks elsewhere—anywhere but at me.

“Look at me. I am your husband!” The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. Immediately, I judge myself for saying it.

“You are not my husband.” She finds her voice but it is small like a leaf in the wind.

The elevator door opens to bring out my brothers.

I pull her inside it with me and I do not let Nathan speak me out of it.

The ride up is silent. She doesn’t struggle, doesn’t fight—just breathes in shallow air.

When the doors open to my floor, I take her into my space, into my private bedroom, all muted greys and cold walls until we stand by the edge of my king-sized bed.

“What…what are you doing?” Her eyes dart east, west, anywhere but at me—until she finally looks north, meeting my gaze.

“Since you enjoy defying me, I’m making it clear that I am your husband. What I say goes and if you don’t understand that in plain English, I’ll paint the picture for you.”

She yanks at her wrist, but she forgets it’s my strength that is holding her.

Her brave momentum nearly sends her head straight into the wooden pillars of my bed. But I react, grabbing her and guiding her body to the foamed part instead. She stills.

This is the second time today. The second bloody time I find myself above her. The second time where her skin is warm to mine and her chest, rising with unevenness. She lies there in her divine skin, flustered lashes, parted lips and yes, to bind her to my words, my order that shouldn’t be defied.

Fuck me. That is my cheap excuse for I want to kiss her.

And I do.

The moment I take her lips—they are soft as pillows. Her mouth tastes like the juice of the ripest berry, something I could ruin just by existing. My lips quiver at the first touch. I have to open my eyes at the taste of her—damn her—she makes my heart thud, race, stutter, ache, burn. One would think I had never kissed a woman before.

Before the feeling leaves me, I coax her small mouth again and her mouth parts—torn between resistance and surrender. I delve my tongue, deeper and she moans under me as our tongues meet, slide, tangle. Her hands, once so feisty, are frail now, lost somewhere on the collar of my chest. My nose brushes the smoothness of her skin. Unlike me, she has no callouses, no scars. She is angelic—too soft for the ruin I could bring.

I swallow her good, hot moan. It is the best moan I have ever heard in my entire life. It is so good…I bite her lower lip. When I do that, she opens her eyes.

 I rise from above her, still perched on the bed while she lies flat beneath me.

She blinks up at me, breathless and forever dazed. Then, in her timing of shock, she touches her lips with her thumb.

I scoff. “You moaned, yet you pretend to be surprised?”

I leave the bed.

“Henceforth, you are to stay in this room and behave.”

Once she hears that, she sits up abruptly and serves me the pitiful attempt she calls a slap. I catch her wrist before the little pat lands.

“If you continue to be disobedient. I’ll kiss something else next time.” I deliberately look at the swell on her chest and she lets go, very much quickly.

“Why are you punishing me?” she breathes.

“Because you don’t listen. You are not to speak to my dog, and you are not allowed to talk back to me. All I need from you is a nod and a yes.”

“And if I don’t?” she asks.

“Then I will make sure you stay my wife forever.” I say it, and after kissing her, that doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

I start walking out of the room when I add an important thing to note.  “The housekeepers will bring you a dress. You are to put it on while our guests are around and mention nothing about being forced to marry me.”