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“Yes! Yes!” I yell, and then he covers my mouth, reminding me of my surroundings.
“You’re a screamer. I thought you would be.”
He gently put me down as I blink a couple of times and try to regain my senses. Then he puts his fingers in his mouth.
“You taste better than I expected, wifey.”
He slowly walks away, leaving me listening to the echo of his footsteps. I feel naughty, the same way I did when I skipped school one day. But this is different, he wanted a taste of me and I gave it to him. I smile at the idea of him liking it.
1 Cold woman.
2 You’re not the same, but that’s not a bad thing.
3 You have chocolate on your mouth and cheeks.
4 Do you speak English?
5 I don’t speak English.
6 Oh for God sake.
7 Leave me.
8 Thong.
9 ham
6
Diego
“The wedding of the year,” some call it as we move toward our limo to take us to Trump Tower. I’m a fucking billionaire, and my official fiancée hired the best wedding planner money can buy. It’s a shame she didn’t think the money was worth actually taking her place as my bride on the day.
We’ll stay here for one night before going to Tokyo.
We wave and put on false smiles before the driver opens the door and waits for Leticia to enter the limo.
“Be good, but not too good,” Abuela says as she kisses me.
I’m not going to be anything with Leticia and frown, knowing Abuela knows the person in the limo isn’t my real bride. She says I can divorce her in a month, but why wait that long?
She hugs mi abuela for the longest time. The two of them are close. They spend nearly every Sunday together because Abuela says Leticia doesn’t know anyone here and she promised that she would look out for her.
Our abuelas are best friends, and this is the main reason why we were supposed to get married, but then she treats Leticia like thenieta1 she never had, because I don’t remember her offeringto spend every weekend with Belén when she came here nearly four years ago to study in university. If memory serves me correctly, she said it was better for Belén to just hang out with people her own age.
Abuela smiles and giggles with Leticia whenever she’s nearby. I don’t get it. Leticia does the same with everyone else, apart from me. It’s as if I put fear in her. The smile and laughter disappear when she sees me approaching at work and certainly isn’t there when she comes into my office. If anything, she’s always running. I hate that. It’s as if she's late for something all the time, but she's clearly never run in her life, so it makes it even more awkward because she moves around so clumsily.
Once we’re both in the limo and the doors are shut, I think about Belén thinking it would be romantic to have a horse and carriage. It’s the only decision she made while planning the wedding. Everything else was her agreeing with the wedding planner’s suggestions.
I should have seen the signs then that she wasn’t interested, but how do you figure out what someone is thinking if they never tell you? Leticia doesn’t miss a time or spot to tell me how she’s feeling.
I didn’t wave as the driver drove away and no more were we at our reception. I just put my hand up to say bye and winked a few times at some of my cousins who were doing obscene things. If they ever fail in their careers, they should be sure not to join the porn industry. They would fail at that too. Who has sex just swinging their hips mindlessly from side to side? Clearly they do.
Once we’re out of my family’s sight, I let out a big sigh and so does Leticia.
“Thank goodness it’s over,” she whines. “Every time someone said Belén, I would look around and then rememberthey’re talking to me and not about me. Diego, I don’t know if we can keep going on like this.”
I don’t answer her. Instead, I do what I should have done at our wedding—get drunk as I shift to the other side of the limo and get a couple of small bottles of whiskey from the bar. I’m not a monster, so instead of drinking them neat, I grab a glass and put some ice in it.
