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Relief makes her shoulders sag. "Yes, master."
I grimace at her and shake my head. "And from now on, call me Santiago, for God's sakes. You have known me since I was in diapers."
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "But, sir, what if the other staff hears me address you as such? It would not be proper."
"To hell with that custom." I wave my hand flippantly. "I am not my father, and you can inform them you have my permission if you must. I don't want to hear another word on the subject."
"Yes, sir." A small, kind smile crosses her lips. "If I may?"
I tilt my head to examine her. "Yes?"
"Mrs. De La Rosa is very beautiful. You have done well for yourself."
I feel my lips tilting at the corners before I dip my head curtly. "Thank you, Antonia. Now, please, attend to her."
* * *
Despite Mercedes’s assurance of finding useful employment for her mind this evening, I find her on the computer in the library, stretching the limits of her credit card with luxury clothing.
When she hears me approaching, she nearly knocks the chair back in her haste to get up and greet me. She can tell by the look in my eye that I am not pleased.
"Santiago." She pleads with me as I stalk toward her.
I wrap my fingers around her neck, applying enough pressure to make her sputter. "What the fuck do you think you’re doing?"
"I'm looking after our best interests," she chokes out. "You are letting her get to you already. Giving her that suite. The dress. The ring. This manor. She should be locked in a basement with nothing more than the shame of her family name to keep her warm."
I shove her away with a snarl. "How easily you forget your place."
"My place is beside you, as your equal." She rubs at her throat. "We are De La Rosas. Our blood is stronger than any other. That is why you survived, Santi. So you could lead. And I am here to help you."
"You are here to get in my way."
I pace the length of the floor, conflicted.
Perhaps Mercedes is right. I am letting Ivy get to me. I can see how she might draw such a conclusion, given the luxuries bestowed upon my wife already. But I have a plan, and I trust that will not alter. It is not for my sister to question me, and I must make that clear to her now.
"Betray me again, and you will not like the consequences," I say. "For now, you can accept your punishment graciously."
"Punishment?" She stares at me incredulously.
I seize her Gucci wallet and cell phone from the computer desk and pocket them.
She lunges for me, an expression of horror on her face. "No! You can't do this to me."
"You can have them back when you've shown some contrition for a change. Perhaps it will do you good."
Her jaw sets, and already I can see her plotting her revenge.
"Don't do anything stupid, Mercedes," I warn her menacingly. "You won't like the results if you test my patience further."
19
Santiago
Ivy is finishing up the light meal Antonia provided her when I return to her room. A fresh set of candles burns at her bedside, and it's brighter than the last time I saw her.
The gash on her head looks worse than before, and it bothers me more than I’d like.
"Tell me about the cut." I glance down at her. “How did it happen?”
She wipes her hands with a napkin and then folds it over the tray. Her eyes are cast down, and I can tell she's still trying to keep her secrets. But I will not allow it, and she should already be aware of this.
"Ivy." My voice is a warning, but my fingers are soft as they graze the back of her neck.
"I stumbled and fell."
Almost immediately, I contribute this to the faintness Antonia mentioned earlier. But then I remember the bruises on her body. And her reluctance to answer for them as well. She blamed them on the doctor, another matter I have yet to contend with. Though I suspect there is more to it than that.
"Why did you stumble and fall?"
She toys with the hem of the black silk nightgown I purchased for her. "Because I do that sometimes."
In the soft light, she looks more vulnerable than I've ever seen her. Perhaps this is the reason I find myself tilting her face up, so I can study that emotion and try to understand it.
"You can have no secrets from me." I pet her face beneath my palm, and she closes her eyes with a soft shudder. "We can do this the hard way or the easy way. The choice is yours."
"I have vestibular dysfunction," she admits reluctantly. "Sometimes, I get dizzy. Blurry vision. It can affect my balance. It’s a defect I can’t control."
