No. Definitely not.
Cheeks heating, I realize that beside them, I am severely under dressed. I’m wearing a pair of sweatpants rolled numerous times at the waist because they are two sizes too big and an oversized shirt that I’m all but swimming in. The sleeves reach my elbows and the hem brushes the tops of my thighs. I could have gotten away with wearing it like a dress if not for my underwear still being wet this morning when I went to put them on.
I don’t have an inch of makeup on my skin, and my hair is a mess of finger-combed waves around my face. Basically, everyone else looks amazing, and I look like one of Richland’s panhandlers on a street corner. All I’m missing is a cardboard sign.
“Are you—“
“We need to talk,” Andres interrupts.
Straightening my spine, I wipe all expression from my face and meet his gaze. Now isn’t the time to be distracted by good looks or wandering thoughts. “So you said, last night.” My casual tone clashes with the growing tension in the room. Can he spit it out already?
“Right, so—“ Ángel clears his throat, and I shift my attention to him. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about the contract regarding—“
“My engagement?” I ask. As far as my engagement to Maxim is concerned, there isn’t much to tell. I’m sure the DeAnde cartel has their own marriage contracts. They’re standard in our world, as are arranged marriages. There is a prenuptial agreement built in, of course. But the rest is basic. Our families agree to the union. I am required to produce an heir—bleh. Thankfully, I have no plans to see that part through. The only thing that’s all that different from what they might expect is that in my marriage contract, Maxim agrees to serve under my father, swearing his loyalty to the Castro Cartel in lieu of me pledging my loyalty to that of my future husband’s family.
Andres’s nostrils flare at the mention of my engagement. Still a sore subject, I see. A small thrill races through my veins. Why does that excite me?
“Actually, no.”
My brows pull together, and I turn my confused frown back to Ángel.
“What do you mean?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward in his seat and steeples his fingers. “The contract your mother had drawn up with your father. The one regarding the inheritance of his heirs, both male and—“ my breath seizes inside my chest, “female.”
I gape at him, eyes wide and mouth open. “I… what… um…” I clamp my mouth shut and will my racing heart to slow. Shaking my head, I cough to clear my throat. “I’m sorry.” I choke on my words. “You caught me by surprise there, but, uh, I don’t know what you mean by female heirs. Everyone knows only a man can inherit.” I shrug, doing my best to play it off and knowing that I’m failing. Shit. “I’m sure my father will remarry and try again for a son with a new wife, or choose a male relative as his successor when the time comes.”
Ángel grins, but there is something cold and predatory in the way he bares his teeth at me. “In that case, let me be the first to congratulate you.”
“On what?”
Andres moves to stand behind me. He rests his hands on my shoulders, and pinpricks of anxiety come to life beneath my skin. I’m not sure if the gesture is intended as one of comfort or if he’s caging me in. Either way, it’s all I can think about for several long seconds, so it takes me a moment to realize that instead of answering me, Ángel is bent over, reaching into a black briefcase at his side.
He withdraws a heavy stack of papers. My stomach plummets. It can’t be.
Reaching toward me, he holds the documents out, and it takes me close to a full minute before I accept them. With shaking fingers, I pull the papers into my lap, momentarily closing my eyes. Please don’t be what I think this is. Please.
Opening my eyes, I look down with resignation as I am greeted by an all too familiar contract.
“What is this?” I ask with forced casualness as I thumb through the pile as though I’ve never seen these pages before.
Andres’s grip on my shoulders tightens.
I grimace, barely retaining my carefree smile.
“No lies, princesa,” he grunts.
I look up, peering at him through a veil of lashes. “I don’t know what you’re—“
“Enough!”
Coming around to face me, Andres towers over me in my chair, his body vibrating with some unnamed emotion. “You know what’s inside those documents. Don’t even try to deny it.”
I open my mouth, but snap it closed when I see the warning in his gaze. Is this really why he came for me last night? Has he known all along?
“Why else would you say I’d ruin you if I claimed you, hmm? You have to stay intact—” I grimace. “—until you’re wed if you are to inherit.”
Pursing my lips, I look away. Bitterness coats my tongue. He knew. The whole fucking time. And last night, that wasn’t want or need or fucking passion. He played me.
