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“How long am I allowed to visit for?” Catalina asks, standing by the back door of the black limousine that will whisk her out of my life.
I stop to consider her question.
“I’ll call for you,” I say, before turning my back to her. There’s a little flame inside of me that just wants to ignore everything and try to recapture the warmth of Catalina’s kitchen, but I extinguish it with a tightened fist.
She has to go, and I don’t know when she can come back.
At first, when I’d originally decided to give her this little slice of freedom, I’d figured she could be gone for a few days while I figured out the mystery of my missing men.
This wasn’t entirely for her enjoyment—clearly, the city was becoming dangerous for those who associate with me. Catalina has been photographed by my side and with my engagement ring on her finger; if someone’s coming after my people, then surely, they’d be interested in her.
But I wasn’t so worried. My closest companions were still relatively untouched. Juan had been talking to Dante, and he assured me that my brother was out of the country and safe...
But then Juan disappeared.
That’s when it became jarringly clear that I was dealing with something that might be even more personal than I had dared to imagine.
Whoever’s coming for my head seems intent on doing more than just disrupting my power structure, it appears that they might actually want to wipe me off the map.
So, what does that mean for Catalina?
Spouses are usually off limits in these types of power struggles. Families, too. But whoever’s orchestrating this coup—if it even is that—doesn’t seem to be playing by anyone’s rules. Everyone’s disappearing, and that includes wives and children.
Catalina won’t be able to come back to Cali until I’ve figured everything out.
It’s the only smart decision. Sure, she’d be safer by my side—I don’t trust anyone to protect my assets more than I trust myself—but I’m not going to have the time or the attention for my fake fiancée, and I definitely can’t risk getting distracted by the domestic warmth that billows off of her every time we get too close. It could mean the death of me—and her, too.
So, I’ll send her off to the backwater town she came from. I’ll make sure she’s watched by some trusty body guards, but I won’t tell anyone else where she is, and when I’ve finally figured out this cursed mystery, then I’ll call for her, and we’ll pick up right where we left off.
Our little sham of a relationship is already doing me wonders, and in more ways than one, so I’ll protect Catalina like I protect my own heart—and right now, the best thing for both is to get as far away from each other as possible.
18
Catalina
We seem to have our best interactions when we’re around food, whether or not we even eat.
I saw another side of Angel at breakfast this morning, but the second we left the restaurant, he sunk back down into that dark brooding pool of his.
It would piss me off, if I wasn’t so concerned—though, the fact that I’m even a little concerned about him pisses me off enough on its own.
&
nbsp; Remember, Catalina, he’s a monster. This isn’t some budding relationship between the two of you. This is a man who stole you, then bribed you into marrying him. If he wasn’t so handsome, he’d be the stuff of nightmares...
Instead, he’s the vision in my dirty dreams.
You haven’t gotten anything out of me yet.
... We’ll have the change that.
God, yes please. Then, maybe, I could finally get Angel out of my mind.
Instead, three-hours into my drive back home, Angel is the only thing on my mind. I keep trying to wrestle him out of the way, so that I can think of how I’m going to explain all of this to Marcela, but every time I mentally grapple with Angel’s muscular body, we end up back in bed, crawling over each other in a different kind of match.
I’d gotten so distracted with those naughty fantasies that I didn’t even think to ask for a cell phone to call Marcela with. It wasn’t until after a particularly heated daydream that I was hit with enough sense to think about how I should probably give my friend a heads up. What if she’s not home when I get there?
I sink down into the lush leather of the limo’s back seat and stare at my reflection in the dark partition in front of me. The only time I’ve tried to talk to the driver was when I knocked on the glass and asked if he had a cell phone I could use.
