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I barked a hollow laugh and took a long gulp of Champagne. “I’m pretty sure Raúl hates me. I don’t think he’d care if Sebastián beat me.”
She gasped, her brows drawing together in outrage. “He beats you?” She turned from me, searching for her brute. “Raúl won’t let him. I’ll make sure of it.”
I grasped her arm before she could stalk off to tell the terrifying cartel enforcer that Sebastián was abusing me.
“No, wait. Sebastián doesn’t beat me.” I shoved aside the memory of the belting, the orgasm. “We barely even talk. I think I’ve seen him maybe ten times total since we were married, and we live in the same house. Mostly, he leaves me alone.”
Marisol studied my face for the truth, then nodded. “Good. I’m glad that he doesn’t bother you. I’m sorry that you were forced to marry him. He’s a lot older than you are. I know that can’t be what you wanted.”
I took another drink, and the bubbles fizzed through my head, granting me a merciful buzz that dulled my misery.
“It’s not what I wanted, but I never expected to marry for love,” I admitted. “I don’t want the marriage, but at least he doesn’t hurt me.”
You are my wife, Isabel. I’ll kill anyone who tries to lay a hand on you. Sebastián’s fierce promise played through my mind.
Marisol squeezed my hand, calling me back to the present. “You deserve more than that. You deserve to be happy. I’ll talk to Raúl, and maybe he’ll speak with Stefano. He might be able to convince him to allow you to get a divorce.”
My brows rose. Surely, Raúl wouldn’t question Stefano’s punishment just because Marisol asked him to. No, Marisol would probably just get herself into trouble if she advocated for me.
I shook my head. “Please don’t. I’ll be fine.”
Marisol opened her mouth to speak, and I lifted my glass to take another gulp of Champagne, desperate to numb my nerves with alcohol. Before I could so much as take a sip, thick fingers ensnared my wrist.
“That’s enough.” Sebastián’s low voice rumbled through my chest, making me shiver.
I turned to him as he plucked the glass from my fingers. “I was drinking that.”
“I know,” he said mildly. “I saw. You’ve been drinking too much.”
“This is my party too,” I snapped. “I planned it. I can drink Champagne if I want to.”
He gave my wrist a light squeeze, a warning pulse. “You’re already getting drunk, and we have a couple more hours to endure before we can end this charade.” He spoke in a low tone that was meant just for me, and Marisol politely melted into the crowd, apparently satisfied by my reassurances that my husband didn’t beat me. This was a private dispute, and I’d prefer if my only ally at this party didn’t witness it. I was grateful for her discretion.
“I’ve worked hard to put this event together,” I hissed, tugging my hand free from his grasp. He let me go, apparently not wanting to cause a scene. We were meant to be a happily married couple, after all. “I can have a glass of Champagne if I want.”
“You’ve had a lot more than one glass.” His brows drew together, and his chin dipped in disapproval. “Only cowards drink to hide from their emotions, Isabel.”
I gasped as though he’d struck me. A coward? How dare he call me a coward when I’d been struggling for hours to keep my head held high during this farce, when all my former friends made snide comments loud enough for me to overhear.
“Sebastián, Isabel. It’s good to see the two of you getting so close.” My stomach sank as I recognized the falsely jovial tone of Stefano’s voice. The sociopathic head of the cartel had come to personally check in on our relationship.
“Isabel, you’ve put together a beautiful party,” he continued, his shark’s eyes flashing as they met mine. His handsome features were arranged in a broad grin, as though he was having the time of his life. “We’re all thrilled to be in the Vera household again. Well, I suppose it’s the Castillo household now.”
I couldn’t suppress a wince at the reminder that nothing I owned actually belonged to me anymore. This event was yet another humiliation, and I’d been forced to plan it. Hadn’t the wedding itself been punishment enough? How many times would I have to endure this particularly cruel form of public humbling?
Another server passed by, holding a glittering silver tray. I grabbed a glass of Champagne before Sebastián could stop me and took a sip. Just a sip. A small act of defiance to take back a shred of control, to reclaim a tiny piece of my pride. Surely, Sebastián wouldn’t rebuke me in front of Stefano. He would appear weak if his boss was alerted to the fact that I was a defiant wife. The entire point of this awful party was to demonstrate my obedience to my husband and my loyalty to the cartel.
