Her body crashed to the floor from the blow. Pain blossomed in her cheek, her hand flying to touch the surface of the skin.
Tiá Bianca gasped quietly behind her, but she remained where she stood, wringing her hands. She didn’t dare help Daleyza while Rodrigo was watching. She probably wouldn’t dare to help her even when he was out of sight.
“Get up,” he ordered, even though it was his backhanded slap that had put her down to start with.
Warily, she stood from the floor. She refused to let him intimidate her. Her posture was ramrod straight, her fiery gaze boring into Rodrigo’s. Her fists clenched at her sides so she didn’t claw his heart out. Yes, she was angry at him, but she was more pissed at herself for reacting before thinking. It was a fault she knew she possessed, and she was getting better at controlling herself, but high emotions caused her to forget self-preservation.
Rodrigo turned on his heels and walked down the hallway to the foyer of the church, where he waited for her.
Oh, how she wanted to run down the hallway toward him, a blade in her hand to stab into his back, like some female barbarian fighting for her life.
But she didn’t.
Tiá Bianca came to her side and tried to spread out the dress. When she pulled the fine lace netting of the veil over her face and began fussing with it, Daleyza slapped her hands away. “Basta!”
Her aunt drew away, muttering in Spanish about ungrateful girls who just couldn’t see reason. Daleyza also noticed, however, that her aunt made the sign of the cross and began muttering a prayer.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked calmly down the hallway and stood next to Rodrigo. When the music began, he didn’t even look at her as he offered her his arm. Sliding her fingertips around his forearm, she barely allowed her skin to touch his suit coat.
She registered nothing as she walked down the aisle, her mind awhirl with thoughts of escape. She’d have to get through today, see how things were laid out in her new home, and survive whatever came her way until she could find a way to flee.
They had reached the end of the aisle and were stopped before her husband-to-be. Rodrigo was standing partially in her way. He had a short exchange and shook hands with Hector Colonel, then the groom. Then he walked away to sit in the pew.
Her hands were shaking as someone raised her veil, carefully laying it over the top of her head and smoothing out the sides. Sheheard a soft invective pass the man’s lips, and then a warm hand tilted her chin so he could get a better view.
She had expected someone like Rodrigo. Someone older. A man who was vicious and harmful.
He was not at all what she had envisioned.
The man in front of her was her height. She wore slightly heeled shoes, so he must have been around five-eight. Most men would consider that unmanly, but this man? He was anything but. His suit was bespoke and clung in all the right places, advertising a muscled physique. Midnight-black hair, long on top and brushed back, but shaved close from the tops of his ears down. A closely trimmed beard, just past scruff, framing full, pink, shiny lips that looked like he’d just licked them.
But it was his eyes that caused her to gasp. Molten silver framed the pupils, creating a cobra effect with his tan skin. They were cruel eyes. No laughter in them or admiration. Simply cold. And angry.
“Who struck you, belleza?”
She froze. What?
Her mouth opened, but she stopped herself just in time to keep her brother’s name from falling from her lips. She couldn’t tell him the truth. If she did, he would know she’d been willful. It would be a sign that she was trouble. If she was going to escape whatever hell she was about to walk into, she needed to appear biddable. Submissive.
“No one?—”
He interrupted her. “This marriage may be arranged, but do not start it with a lie between us.”
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was a desert, and it physically hurt to try.
“No one should ever strike a woman.”
He was angry at who hit her? It didn’t make sense. All the men she’d known in her life were abusers. Her brothers had tormented her when she was young, which is why she learned it was best to be invisible. Her father’s threats, slaps, and pinches also helped drive the lessonhome. This man, though, was angry over a slap that he had no idea what it had even been for.
“This happened recently,” he observed. “Moments ago.” He turned to Rodrigo. “You do not touch what is mine.”
Rodrigo stood tall, his expression insulted. “She has been allowed to run wild and unchecked. She dared to question the marriage. As her eldest male relative, I disciplined her, as is my right.”
Her groom took two steps in his direction, and by the tension in his body, she knew that while he might be the bastard son of Hector Colonel, he was not a man to cross.
“The moment you signed the marriage contract, she became my responsibility to discipline, not yours. Do not ever touch what is mine again, or you will lose the hand you touched her with. Apologize to her.”
“I will not?—”
