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“Are you hiding from me, Sirenita?” Ivan says from behind me fifteen minutes before the ceremony starts. I’ve been avoiding him, keeping myself upstairs while everyone else mingled or had a pre-wedding drink. I know he’s been looking. The constant text updates from Natasha saying he’d grown irritated the longer I took.
And not just from her. His own mother told me as much.
He’s going to crack, mi niña. The De Leon men are all hard-headed, but they have one weakness. You’re his. Trust. ~Momma Leon
That came in forty minutes ago, and it still eats at me. Because one thing is speculation, while another is having the proof that they all know.
My shame threatens to consume me once again, but I exhale slowly. Just a few hours. Luna only needs me for a few hours. “Not at all, Ivan.” Not papi. No sentiment. The words spill from my mouth and they’re dry—empty while I continue to stare straight ahead. “Just been busy.”
“Hmmm.” His deep hum dances across my skin, and it takes everything in me not to shiver. “Is that so? Are we lying to each other now?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve always done?” I couldn’t swallow back my bitter response, no matter how much I should’ve. The shrug that follows is meant to look unbothered, but I think I failed that too. “But that’s not important. I’ve learned my place.”
“Turn around.” Tone heated. A hint of anger.
“I’m heading toward—”
“Turn around, Amberlyn. I need to see your face, beautiful.” And, I do. My feet—body—move without my permission and on my next blink, it’s his hazel eyes I meet. “Much better.”
“I’m busy, Ivan.” Slipping a hand into my dress pocket, I dig my nails into my palm. Get a grip. I don’t want to be swayed by his good looks and height; at over six feet, Ivan makes me feel petite—like his doll. But then there’s the tan skin, low fade, and hazel eyes while the tattoos marking his flesh tell a story I’m all too familiar with. “Can I go?”
“No.” Expression calm, he stares at me with a heated intensity that makes my thighs clench. Can’t help it. Can’t stop it. Not when his masculine scent, this whiskey and woodsy panty-destroying weakness, surrounds me. Not when his eyes darken while roaming over me from head to toe and his tongue slides across his bottom lip. “You look delicious, bebe.”
“Now isn’t the time.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that. We’re here for your brother’s wedding, not to mess around.” Ivan swallows hard while his chest expands on a deep breath, but before he can give me some line meant to seduce—because I’m weak and want nothing more than to get closer—I turn to leave.
One step. That’s all he allows.
Warm fingers curl around my elbow, grip tight, but before Ivan can turn me around again, two people arrive. And because I’m an obligation and nothing more, he steps back like I knew he would.
This time, I swallow hard. The act stings. “Exactly.”
“We’ll talk about this tonight, Amberlyn.”
“No. We won’t.” Looking at him from over my shoulder, I give the man I love a rueful grin. “Now, go find your partner. She’s up first.”
“You’re walking with me.” His brows furrow and lips thin. Also don’t miss the way his hands clench at his sides. “That’s not up for discussion.”
“Incorrect.” That’s when the man I danced with last night approaches. Nat is beside him, and they share the same sly look. So he’s Alvin. Turning to face them, I widen my smile. “My new partner just arrived.”
“Hello again, Miss Ibarra.” Alvin’s tone is deep and smooth and immediately puts me at ease. He’s not interested in me romantically. If anything, he’d be checking out the mother of the groom. The man likes them older, told me as much last night after I caught him checking out Maritza, Ivan’s mom.
I also warned him to never do that again. The De Leon men are protective of their women.
He’ll never be like that with me. Not like Thiago is with Luna. Like Orlando is with Maritza.
“Hola, Alvin. Natasha.” Immediately I lean forward and kiss Natasha’s cheek, and when I pull back, she’s biting her lips to keep from laughing. You are so bad, she mouths while I give a subtle shrug. I’m not doing anything. I’m clear on where I stand for once.
He’s not mine.
I am not his.
“So, you ready to strut it down the aisle?” Alvin moves to greet me as I did Natasha, something common for any Latino, when I’m pulled back and into a warm chest.
“She walks with me.”
