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I back away from the door and turn on the tap to wash my face, seeing how my hands are trembling.
I knew I was hated. I never doubted that. At least when it came to Mercedes. With him, there were moments—
No. I can’t do that. I can’t ever think about those moments. He is a monster. He is the devil. They both are. And they have me in their sights, and I don’t even know why.
I’m not strong enough to fight them.
That’s the one thing I know without a doubt.
I splash water on my face, then dry it. I pick up the bottle of aspirin and open it. It’s almost full. I swallow two, then set the bottle back down and prepare myself to face the women gathered in the next room, ready to do as I’m told, trusting that Nathan will do exactly as Mercedes instructed, even if it means hurting me.
31
Santiago
"Here you are, brother." Mercedes appears behind me in the reflection of my mirror to assist in securing the strap of the mask around my head.
It’s a silver headpiece. Half skull, half minotaur, crowned with roses. Dark and sinister undertones with a hint of the De La Rosa legacy. Once it is in place, I can conclude she has chosen well for me.
"Perfect." She smiles wickedly over my shoulder. "You look positively devilish."
I cast my eyes away from my reflection and clear my throat. "Yes, well, I suppose it will do."
Mercedes follows me downstairs to the foyer, her red dress swishing as her heels tap against the old stone. She will be attending tonight's gala as well, and I suspect she hopes to capture the attention of Van der Smit and his new wife in a dress that looks as if she were sewn into it. If I wasn't so preoccupied, I would tell her to change, but the strange energy coursing through my veins won't allow my thoughts to settle on the propriety of my sister. Not when I have my wife to consider.
We wait for ten minutes in silence until finally, she appears at the top of the grand staircase, flanked by two guards. My breath catches in my throat as my eyes roam over her figure, wrapped in a sweeping black floor-length dress decorated in traditional gold filigree. Her mask consists of matching gold and black detailing, butterfly wings obscuring half of her face entirely. I cannot see her eyes in the dimly lit room, and I am glad for it. I don't doubt beneath that mask there is an expression of hatred. But for tonight, it will be as though those feelings don't exist.
Mercedes looks exceptionally pleased with herself as she crooks her finger, gesturing for my wife to come to us.
"Is it everything you wished for?" she whispers as Ivy moves forward stiffly.
"It is," I answer darkly.
Ivy takes the stairs slowly, clutching the railing as the guards follow her. When she reaches the bottom, she nearly stumbles, and I step forward to catch her in my arms, only for her to right herself and recoil from my touch.
"I'm fine," she says coolly. "There is no need for the pretense of concern."
Her biting words are a reminder that turmoil lingers in her thoughts, but by all rights, she should expect to be punished for speaking in such a tone, regardless of her feelings. However, I find that I am not in the mood to punish her right now, and I suspect that it will not improve her feelings of attending our first event together as a married couple. I need tonight to go well. The Society has expectations of their Sovereign Sons, and part of those expectations are a smooth integration of their chosen partner into the upper echelon. It is my duty to take Ivy to the masquerade gala tonight and show her off. Every man will be envious of me when they see her, and I take pleasure in knowing it. There can be no exceptions to her performance as a dutiful wife.
Mercedes glances at me questioningly, waiting for my reaction to Ivy's bitterness. I am aware it will only further her contention when I forcibly take my wife's arm and lead her to the door without another word. My sister follows behind, and we all converge at the car where Marco is waiting to drive us.
The journey to the compound is stilted with silence. Mercedes stews on one side of me, and Ivy on the other. None of us speak, but when we arrive, I tell Mercedes to go inside without us. We exit the car, and I hold back to study my wife. Her blood-red lips are tempting me beneath the streetlight. Veiled in mystery, draped in black and gold, she has never been so beautiful.
I drag her close to my body, even as she resists, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You know what is expected of you this evening."
