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Madelena
I’m not sure why I said that, but the words were out before I could stop them. I’m not having a baby. Not now, not ever, not with anyone.
With a sigh, I turn to get dressed, the tick tock, Little Kitty playing in my mind. I hate that he calls me that.
Tucking the photograph into my pocket, I hurry to see Odin, grateful Santos doesn’t stick around. The guard is there though, hovering along the edges of the room. Ignoring him, I hug my brother. He hugs me back, then holds me at arm’s length and looks me over.
“How are you?” he asks, very aware of the soldier.
“I’m okay,” I answer. “We need to talk though.”
He glances at the soldier, casually signaling it’s probably not a good moment.
“How was the reception?” I ask, wanting to sound natural for the soldier’s sake.
“A wedding reception without the bride present? How do you think?”
“Well, I’m glad I was missed.” I smile, glance at the guard, then look at the buffet. “I’ll make you a plate.”
Odin never eats breakfast. Just coffee. He knows I know that, so he nods and accompanies me to the bar, where I take a plate. “I hope you’re hungry,” I say, sliding a hand into my pocket to slip the folded photo out then switching my grip so the plate hides the it.
I hand it to him, and he looks at me with a questioning expression but subtly slips it into his pocket. We fill our plates and sit down at the table.
“Someone dropped off a last-minute gift. With a surprise inside,” I say as quietly as I can.
His forehead is furrowed.
“Maybe you can look into it.” I’m confusing him even more because he has no idea what I’m talking about, but he will once he sees what it is he has in his pocket. “Anyway, it sounds like we’re going away for a few days, but maybe when I’m back we can discuss it further.”
“How long?” he asks, and we carry on with casual conversation until it’s time for Odin to go. It feels good to be near my brother again. He’s the one person I can trust. The one man I can count on not to hurt me and to have my back no matter what.
Santos and I fly to Miami, where I learn pretty quickly that it’s not a honeymoon at all—not that I expected it to be—but part of his agenda to insert himself into our business. Does his contract with my father go this far? Tonight is the first of three political fund-raisers that De Léon Enterprises has always attended.
More than attended, really. De Léon Enterprises is a generous donor to each of these politicians. Favors are always good things to have. I still remember when I overheard my father and uncle discussing it. My father had always attended these, even before my uncle’s death. His role has just grown since.
I’ve never been, and I wonder what Santos is planning. But if he sticks to the schedule, we’ll be at meetings in Miami, Philadelphia, then back home in Avarice.
Once we’re at the hotel, Santos promptly deposits me in our suite and leaves for some meeting or other. We hardly talked during the flight since he’s been busy on calls, and I’m glad for it.
I don’t want to discuss last night. I’m not ready for that, and my mind is on the birth control pills. I have three weeks’ worth in the current cycle. If he denies me birth control after that, I’m not sure what I’ll do apart from banning him from my bed… although I’m not sure that’s up to me.
I can’t have a baby with him, or with anyone. Because what if I’m capable of doing what my mother did but going a little further? I look exactly like her. Everyone says so. I’m sure I have inherited her traits—definitely more of hers than my father’s. I’m probably sick like her, and it’s just a matter of time before the illness manifests.
Shoving those thoughts aside, I spend the afternoon in the lavish presidential suite overlooking South Beach. It’s hard to believe the waters I see here are part of the same ocean I see in Avarice. Here, it’s turquoise, warmth, and happiness. At home, it’s wild, gray, and cold. Angry even.
I am drawn to the ocean, even though I’m terrified of it and the cliffs in Avarice with their constantly churning waves. I sometimes wonder if Mom intended to drown. She hit rock, though, not water. Maybe that was better. Faster.
Sadly, Santos had the telephone removed from the room upon our arrival, not even bothering to make up an excuse. It’s early evening by the time he’s back and in the meantime, I get dressed, hair and makeup done for the event.
As soon as I hear him, I walk out into the living room but stop when I see he’s not alone. Caius is beside him.
Their conversation pauses when I walk into the room and Santos’s gaze sweeps over me. I’m wearing a form-fitting, floor length deep crimson gown with a black lace overlay. It is a color I love. My hair is twisted elegantly, and I insisted on heavy eye makeup. The woman had accommodated me when I’d threatened to add my own if she wouldn’t. It’s still less liner than I’d do, but it looks good.
My stomach flutters stupidly when I watch Santos look me over. His eyes darken and in them, I see want. I hate that some part of me is satisfied to see it. Maybe I was even waiting for that look, because it’s his stamp of approval.
Caius, on the other hand, looks like he usually does. Sneaky, like a snake.
“Sis,” he says, walking toward me. I stiffen but hold my ground when he kisses my cheeks, the scruff of his jaw scratching my skin. “Don’t you look lovely.”
