"Ella no aguanta la verdad…no lo soportaria," Frankie growls.
Something about me not being able to handle it? What are they talking about? The older man laughs, but he doesn’t look like he’s having a light-hearted conversation. He looks annoyed.
"No es ella la que no aguanta," the older man replies.
It’s not her who can’t handle it.
I’m pretty sure I heard that message loud and clear. The argument intensifies as the older man steps closer toFrankie but he doesn't flinch. If anything he seems to be trying to pacify the situation as he places his hand on the older man’s shoulder and speaks lower. I lean forward just slightly, trying to hear better, and my foot nudges a small decorative table. It doesn't move much, but it's enough to make a small sound. The scrape against marble cuts through their argument like a gunshot.
Every head snaps my direction and Frankie’s eyes find mine across the room. For a split second, something like panic flashes across his face, but then it's gone. Without missing a beat, he nudges the older man's arm and steers him toward the forbidden wing.
"Porfavor…en la oficina," Frankie mutters under his breath to the man.
The older man looks back at me, his green eyes piercing mine, like he doesn’t want to walk away. To my shock, he allows himself to be led away anyway. A door slams shut somewhere down the hall of the forbidden wing, making me flinch. I exhale shakily, not realizing I'd been holding my breath. That was intense.
"Mija, what are you doing?" Pita's voice makes me jump clear out of my skin as I turn away from the room full of the remaining men.
She stands beside me, her usually warm face pinched with worry. Her hands twist in her apron, a nervous habit I’m beginning to recognize. She usually does it when I’m questioning something and she doesn’t want to answer me.
"Who is that man?" I ask, ignoring her question. "The one that was arguing with Frankie?"
Pita's eyes dart to the closed door, then back to me. Is she afraid? She takes my arm, her grip firmer than usual and leads me away.
"Come, we need to get you upstairs," she says, alreadypulling me toward the staircase. "You probably shouldn't be down here right now."
"Pita," I say as I dig in my heels, forcing her to stop. "Tell me what's going on…please."
She sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly and gestures for me to follow. I have no choice if I want an explanation so I follow her upstairs.
"That is Santiago Sanchez," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Rio's father. Head of the family. I think he must be here to finalize the wedding arrangements but I’m not sure. He doesn’t come here often so this is a surprise."
The wedding. Of course that’s why he’s here. A breath of relief escapes me when I realize that man is not my future husband, followed by the hope that his son might not be quite as ugly as I imagine. My mouth turns down immediately after that thought when I remember my brief escape with Frankie and our stolen night in Prescott. It was amazing and unforgettable but none of it changed the fact that in less than a week, I'll be married to a man I've never met.
"Why was Frankie arguing with him?" I press.
"Porfa, mija," Pita pleads, her eyes darting nervously to the hallway. "Stop asking me so many questions you know I cannot answer."
I notice then how her hands tremble slightly as she tugs me toward the stairs. Pita, who is always calm, seems nervous. The realization sends ice through my veins. Fear. She’s afraid of this man and I think I should be too. Upstairs, she ushers me into my room quickly and closes the door behind us. She moves to the windows, drawing the curtains closed quickly. Her nervous energy is giving me anxiety.
"Santiago Sanchez is not a man to be crossed," she says finally, her voice low. "Maybe he expects to meet you today? To…inspect you? I’m not sure."
"Inspect me?" The word makes my skin crawl. "Like I'm cattle at an auction?"
Pita's lips press into a thin line.
"It's how things are done in families like this. You should know, shouldn’t you?"
I grimace but nod my head yes.
“In Italy it is the same, except we are normally warned ahead of time so we can be ready…for inspection. We also don’t wait until the wedding day to meet our future husband. There is a process.”
Pita laughs at my comment, making me smile back. At least we can make light of this awkward situation.
“Santiago waits for no one. If he wants something, he takes it. All the Sanchez men are like that. You will understand soon enough.”
A weird look crosses over Pita’s features like she’s remembering something before she quickly schools them and her face is neutral again.
"So why isn't he meeting me then? Why did Frankie take him away?"
