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When I reached the front of the chapel, Adrián suddenly shifted to the side, edging his body to an angle that intercepted my view of Mateo.
The groom’s pale green eyes glinted in warning, his small frown belying the joyous occasion. He didn’t need to utter a word to make his message crystal clear: Don’t fuck up Valentina’s perfect day.
I swallowed hard and summoned up my smile, gliding into place beside Samantha. My new vantage point provided me with a view of the seated guests, and my stomach dropped. I kept my smile in place through sheer force of will, but it felt fragile enough to shatter at the slightest additional pressure.
Daddy was sitting three pews back, his emerald eyes shining with unshed tears. Mom was artfully arranged at his side, her body language the perfect posture of an adoring, supportive wife. They both appeared grief-stricken to see me, as though my absence from their lives caused them great anguish. I suspected that Daddy’s feelings were genuine, whereas Mom’s expression was a carefully constructed mask designed to win the sympathy of everyone around her.
I’d been so focused on preparing myself to face Mateo that I hadn’t stopped to consider my parents’ presence at this event. Things were beyond tense between Adrián and Daddy, but they were close business associates. I supposed it would have been perceived as a grave insult if Adrián hadn’t invited my father to his wedding.
Even though the men hated each other, the delicately balanced power dynamics within their organization dictated this façade of respect, if not friendship.
I was certain Daddy wouldn’t tolerate this false cordiality if he knew that Mateo and Adrián were plotting to have Ronaldo killed in order to free me from the marriage he’d arranged without my consent.
My emotions were on overload, and it took every ounce of strength and practice to maintain my outwardly happy demeanor. For the rest of the ceremony, I remained resolutely focused on Valentina, studying every breathtaking detail of her couture gown. By the time she kissed Adrián, sealing their union, I’d become desperate enough for the distraction that I’d started counting the thousands of seed pearls sewn into the ivory lace.
The organ music swelled again, and Valentina and Adrián started to make their way out of the chapel. That meant it was time for me to take Mateo’s arm and follow them to the limos that would carry everyone in the wedding party to the reception venue.
He paused in the aisle, waiting for me to come to him. His black eyes were tight with uncertainty, and I found myself immediately taking his arm to soothe him.
As soon as I wrapped my hand around his massive forearm, the tension that had stretched me to my breaking point melted away. Mateo was warm and solid and stronger than I could fathom. The comfort I found in his presence provided such relief that tears sprang to my eyes.
I could feel my lower lip quivering, and I blinked hard to stop myself from weeping.
Just get through the reception, I commanded myself. I could break down with Mateo in private, once the wedding was over and we could talk everything out back home.
“Please don’t cry, dulzura,” he rasped.
I choked on a sob, his concern shattering my resolution to remain poised.
We reached the vestibule, and I hastily stepped away from him. “I need to go to the ladies’ room,” I murmured, my vision wavering with the torrent of tears I was struggling to hold back. “I’ll meet you at the limo in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” His agreement was strained, but I couldn’t waste time puzzling through his mood. I had to duck away from the cameras and compose myself.
I rushed down the steps that led to the basement level beneath the chapel, where the restrooms were located. Luckily, no one was around to witness my distress as I stumbled into the ladies’ room; all the other guests would be making their way out of the chapel and over to the reception venue. I should have a few minutes of solitude to pull myself together.
I grabbed several tissues from a box on the sink counter, blotting at the wetness on my face and praying that my professionally-applied makeup would survive this meltdown.
“Sofia, you’re going to ruin your mascara.” My mother’s judgmental voice echoed the tone of my own thoughts.
Dread pooled in my stomach. I didn’t want to talk to Mom right now.
“It’ll be fine,” I said thickly, patting my cheeks dry with the tissue. “It’s waterproof.”
“That just means it’ll be harder to touch up if you smear it under your eyes,” she criticized.
“I’m not smearing it!” I snapped, suddenly feeling like I was thirteen again.
I took a breath and reminded myself that I was an adult, and I didn’t have to let her pointed critiques get to me.
