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After another ten minutes or so of talking, I left the call and pushed out of the chair. It was time to go get ready for the gathering. Once I’d washed the dishes, I walked down the hallway into the bedroom. It had a real cozy feel with the plush bedding, comfy rug, hanging plants, layers of blankets, and pretty fairy lights.
My apartment didn’t have a particular style. I bought what I liked. So the place was a mix of old, new, chic, quirky, and anything else that caught my eye. There were also books in practically every room. I was a huge reader.
Once I’d taken a shower in the attached bathroom, I dried myself off, took care of my hair, and then pulled on my black, tailored blazer jumpsuit. I slipped on my favorite pair of high heels and headed out.
When I arrived at my parents’ home a short time later, it was my mother who answered the front door. As usual, she was all grace and elegance, her makeup perfectly applied, not a hair out of place. She flashed me a warm smile, a hint of fondness in her ever-sad eyes. “Catalina, it’s been a while. Come in.”
I entered the house, my stomach instantly hardening. I’d never felt safe here. Or happy. Or relaxed. Orhome.
The moment I’d turned eighteen and had received the first instalment of the hefty trust fund that my paternalgrandparents had left me, I’d packed up and moved out. They hadn’t been the most loving of people, but they’d given me a way to easily escape the man who would never have paid for me to go to college like I’d wanted and pursue a career in book editing. For that, I’d always be grateful to them.
“You’re early,” said Teresa, closing the door behind me. She then offered me her cheek, which I gave an obligatory kiss.
“I thought we could catch up while we wait for the guests to arrive,” I said.
“I’d like that. You can help me with the rest of the preparations while you’re here.”
I followed her through the house, not letting my pace falter when I caught sight of Jorge stepping out of a room up ahead, his stocky build suited-up as per usual.
“Look who’s here,” Teresa said to him, her mouth gently curved.
My father’s hard brown eyes slid to me. He looked as he always looked—staid, detached, and implacable. For as long as I’d known him, there’d never been any warmth in him. Only cold ambition and a greed for power.
“Catalina,” he greeted with all the enthusiasm of a stone. Well, I wasn’t exactly pleased to see him either.
I’d never cared that he had little interest in me—it had suited me fine, since I hadn’t wanted his attention. But his belief that he was somehow superior merely because he was born a man?Thatbothered me.
What bothered me more was that his attitude had eventually rubbed off on my brother. The same brother currently sidled up to him, his expression blank. Julian hadn’t always been so cold. In fact, we’d been close once. Now, he didn’t even tip his chin my way.
Living under our father’s roof, you learned it was better to sever attachments to people. But it wasn’t merely that withJulian. I’d lost him in his bid to bend over backwards to become and do whatever Jorge wanted.
“Dad, Julian.” It took a great deal of willpower to not let my neutral expression change when I noticed one of my father’s men, Marcos, coming up behind them. Ugh.
“Well hello, Cat.” Marcos smirked at me, the same indecent gleam in his eye he’d had when he first tried getting into my pants—I’d been seventeen at the time. He had a sickening penchant for unwilling women, but he hadn’t tried to force himself on me. I suspected it was only that I was his boss’s daughter that protected me.
“Meet me in my study in an hour,” Jorge told me. “There are a few things I need to go over with you before everyone else arrives.”
In other words, he wanted to tell me more about the guy he allegedly believed was a cop. I only nodded.
“Catalina and I will be in the kitchen, if you need us for anything,” said Teresa before flouncing off.
I trailed behind her, ignoring the sleazy once-over that Marcos gave me. I had the feeling that he knew people found him creepy and helikedit; liked that he made them uneasy, as if it gave him a little rush or made him feel powerful.
In the kitchen, Teresa immediately put me to work making sandwiches, grabbing foods out of the oven, inserting other foods intoit.
Catching sight of a hint of a bruise on her neck that she hadn’t quite managed to fully hide with concealer, I felt my mouth tighten. “How do you do it, Mom?” I asked her.
She blinked at me. “Do what?”
“Look so happy when really you’re so far from it that it isn’t even funny,” I replied, sorrow tightening my chest. “Why do you stay?”
Her eyes dulling, she turned back to the finger foods she was arranging on a pretty platter. “I’ve told you before—”
“You made vows before God, I know, but it’s not like Dadkeeps them. I’m not passing judgement here, I promise. I just don’t get it. You don’t love him. You’re not scared to leave—he’d never stop you or seek you out to punish you for it. You could have a life where you’re not beaten. A life where your husband doesn’t come to you smelling of other women. A life where—”
“Let it go, Catalina. There’s no point to this conversation. I won’t leave him.”
“Why not? Help me understand. Then I’ll drop it, and I’ll never raise the subject again.”
