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The things she would confess to me are fresh in my mind—whenever she made mistakes on the farm, such as forgetting to close the chicken coop. At times, I smile about our dates. It was as if she would go out of her way to humiliate me but then humiliate herself in the process.
Why is Leticia on my mind? Her smile lights up the room, her fragrance, which smells as if she’s been rolling around in the fields. Everything about Leticia is exactly how you see her. Even with her five-foot-four-inch frame, she always manages to turn heads. Including mine.
“Bro, it’s happening!” Lucas smiles as he runs up to us. Abuela scolds him for running in the library, and Tía Inma smiles and comes over to me to hold my face in her hands as she once did when I was a boy. Then, she rushes over to take her place. I’m tempted to march to the front of the library and tell Belén the wedding is off.
Six years of preparing for this day, and the one day Belén should be on time or at most five minutes late, she manages to be a whole hour and a half late. My stomach grumbles, annoying me even more.
The priest waves at the harpist to start playing, and I want to call the whole thing off. She’s late. The only explanation for her tardiness is her having a big car crash on the way here.
But the harpist starts to play, and the groomsmen walk with the bridesmaids in a dance that they’ve rehearsed so many times before. My eyes are not on them, but on Leticia, who is in front of my bride.
She stares at me coldly, making me shiver. I’ve never seen Leticia serious. I used to ask her ma if she was born with a smile on her face.
Apparently, she was.
I reach to take Belén’s hand as she stands next to me after kissing her father. I don’t smile at her, because I can’t see her face. She’s wearing the veil. I’m sure she wasn’t when she was on the other end of the aisle.
She’s refusing to hold my hand, and the priest looks lost, as if he doesn’t know whether to start or not.
Why did she put the veil on as she got here? Also, why is she keeping her distance.
I don’t give a fuck and snatch her hand and pull her close to me.
She will not humiliate me twice in one day.
I’m breathing in her scent, and my cock thickens as it does every day in the office. I know that scent like the back of my hand.
“Start!” I bark at the priest, then I run my free hand through my hair, and he smiles. A fake smile. One that says that if he doesn’t go ahead with this service, then he’s not going to get the nice big fat donation I promised him.
He’s right about that.
His words are like a mosquito buzzing in my ear as I realize two things. Leticia is staring at me as cold as ice, and my bride, the ice princess, as they call her back in her village in Spain, is sweating like crazy. I’m holding her sweaty palm, and there’s only one thing I’m certain of. The woman saying “I do” isn’t my bride, and the one who can’t take her eyes off me is.
Why did they switch?
To humiliate me even more.
I shake my head. They wouldn’t do that to me.
They wouldn’t fucking dare.
1 Fuck!
2 Calm down!
3 Grandmother the Great!
4 Calm down!
5 Uncle Juan.
6 Have a heartattck.
7 What?
3
Leticia
