Chapter 23

Mia

Jorge went straight to his wife, giving her a kiss. They lingered longer than I expected.

I stared in awe, wondering if I’d ever in my entire life seen that kind of affection between my parents. When he turned in my direction, he smiled. “Mia, I’m glad you’re comfortable. Unlike your father, I don’t see the need for you to cover yourself. Unless it makes you more comfortable, then by all means, do it.”

“Gracias,” I said, deciding my Spanish was improving by one word a day. At that rate, I’d be fluent by the time Aléjandro and I had grandchildren. “Have you heard from Aléjandro or Rei?”

He nodded. “They have been busy, and” —he gestured— “they will be back before dark.”

I let out a breath. “Thank you. Are…? Will…?” I shook my head. “Do you know when it will be safe for us to return to our home?”

“Silas and Viviana arrived today. Jano is working to make it safe for his novia.”

“Bride,” Josefina whispered.

I nodded, content that Aléjandro was coming back to me and that he and this Silas would make sure our home was safe.

After Jorge walked away, Josefina began gathering her things. “I love the sun, but it makes me sleepy. You’re welcome to stay here or roam wherever you’d like on Bella. I’m going to rest and then get ready for dinner. I’d say eight thirty, based on Jorge’s timetable.”

“Thank you again for making me feel welcome.”

“I’ve never had a daughter. If I become overbearing, please let me know.”

“Not overbearing.”

My concentration unsuccessfully went back to the book in my hands. It was difficult to think about the story when my own life was more twisted than the characters’. As I read a kissing scene, I found myself thinking about Aléjandro. The unexpected fluttering of butterflies flittering within my stomach caught me off guard. Closing my eyes, I rested my head as I recalled last night before I ruined everything.

It wasn’t wrong that I found my husband attractive. Then why did it make me feel guilty? My mind slipped back to the day at my mother’s pool, the first time we met. I recalled the heat of his eyes on me. Maybe Aléjandro made me uncomfortable because I’d never seen that degree of hunger laser focused on me. It was the same way he looked at me after our ceremony. For a moment, I believed he wanted to sneak away and consummate our marriage.

As I lay under the sun and felt the dampness between my legs, I remembered the ferocity of his kisses, the way the muscles in his shoulders flexed as he lay over me, and even the weight of his body. No one was more surprised than I was that the mere thought of him caused my nipples to bead.

If I gave it more thought, I might come to the realization that what frightened me last night wasn’t what Aléjandro was doing or could do, but instead, it was my reaction to our intimacy. I liked it. More than that, I wanted more of it. There was no denying that after he brought me to orgasm twice, I was a hot tangle of satiated goo. My mind was too overwhelmed to compute that I wanted what I’d grown to hate.

I still marveled at his reaction.

No anger.

No yelling.

No forcing himself or bruising my skin.

After our first few encounters, the last word I would have used to describe Aléjandro Roríguez was gentleman. However, after seventy-two hours of marriage, it was the perfect description.

Whenever Rocco would try to weasel his way into my thoughts of Aléjandro, I made a point to ignore him. Josefina was right. If in ten years of marriage, Rocco hadn’t earned a place in my heart, then he didn’t deserve a place in my head.

Aléjandro wasn’t him.

I’d made the decision. I was Aléjandro’s wife, and I was ready to move forward with our union. He deserved a reward for his patience. And I deserved to have pleasurable, consensual sex.

It was a liberating decision, making me happier than I could recall being—especially since Dario gave me the news of my nuptials. If I had a phone, I would give Giorgia a call to share my surprise.

Had she tried to reach me?

Had anyone from my family tried to reach me?

Did they know I was in international waters floating on an opulent Mexican island?

 Gathering my things, I headed back to our suite. I stood staring at the bed with the knowledge that tonight would be different. In the bathroom, I stripped out of the bathing suit. My pinkened reflection made me glad I’d listened to Josefina about sunscreen. In the mirror I saw the paleness where the suit had been. Maybe I could sunbathe naked on our balcony to avoid tan lines.

As I turned on the shower, I half laughed. I’d gone from fearing a sexual encounter to wanting one and also considering exhibitionism.

Who am I?

My reflection also showed the sun’s effects on my hair, light caramel highlights streaked the brown. Stepping under the shower’s spray, I lifted my face to the warm water, feeling the prickle on my sunned flesh.

I took more care with my appearance than I did on our wedding day. Of course, I didn’t have the stylists on Bella that I had on my wedding day. By the time I was satisfied, I was cleaned, shaved, and waxed. My long hair was styled with the sides pulled up and the length curled. Tonight’s dress was the color of sage, making the hazel of my eyes greener and contrasting nicely with my new tan. With the cut of the bodice, wearing a bra wasn’t an option.

Nervously, I paced the length of the suite, afraid I would talk myself out of tonight’s plans. There was always the pros-and-cons approach. As I compiled the pros, the only con I could think of was my own fear.

“Don’t overthink it,” I said audibly.

Great, now I am a sex-craving exhibitionist who talks to herself.

I spun toward the sound of the opening door.

Blood.

I gasped at the sight and aroma of my husband. Crimson speckled his face, streaked across his light gray t-shirt and over his dark jeans. Before I could ask if Aléjandro was hurt, his expression stopped me in my tracks. It was as if he were made of stone, completely devoid of emotion. His penetrating stare skirted over me as he stalked to the decanter and poured himself a hearty drink.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice sounding weaker than I intended.

Closing his eyes, Aléjandro’s nostrils flared. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he emptied the tumbler and slammed it down on the table. His biceps bulged and the muscles in the side of his face pulled tight.

Bravely, I took a step toward him. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head once before pouring more tequila. Taking the glass with him, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed with a loud thud.

Emotion clogged my throat as I turned away, shaken by his cold response. Out on the balcony, the sun was nearing the horizon, casting orange and red hues over the glistening water. The clock on the bookcase told me it was only a little after seven. We had an hour and a half until dinner. The sound of a shower came from behind the closed door.

Looking down at my dress, I lamented the time I’d spent preparing for his arrival. He’d barely noticed my presence. While I considered imbibing on the tequila, I had another idea.

He isn’t him.

My husband needed a wife, a wife who understood the dangers and pressures of his livelihood, and one who offered support rather than wallowing in self-pity.