be married soon . . .” He sucked in a breath. “I’ll get to watch you bleed for me, cari?o.”
For once, I let a slither of fear strike me. Because he wouldn’t. I had already given myself to a man—only one. Diego could never find that out.
He suddenly stopped, moved his hand from between my legs, then smacked his hand off the wall above me. “But not yet,” he said tightly. “As much as it frustrates me not to be inside you, I’m going to wait until we are married. I want this to be right, with you.” His hand dropped to my cheek and stroked it gently. “I’ve wanted you for too long not to have you the way you’re meant to be taken.”
Diego crushed his mouth to mine so hard it was almost bruising. He quickly pulled away, then turned and moved for the door. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll fuck you, cari?o. I’ll take you to your bed and I’ll fuck you into the mattress.” His lip flicked up in amusement. “And as much as he loves me, I’m sure your father would have me killed for deflowering his little girl before she’s wed. He’s worked incredibly hard to keep you pure.”
He left, the door slamming behind him. I listened to twenty-six footsteps echoing on the marble floor of the hallway before I even dared breathe. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t erase the feel of him from my body, his scent from my nose, or the taste of him from my mouth. I ran to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth so hard that the water ran red with the blood from my gums.
Turning off the faucet, I looked up at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner—which I always ensured looked perfect—was smeared. My red lipstick was smudged off my lips.
I stared at the woman before me. The woman who was two years without the one she loved. The woman who no longer looked like the innocent girl Tanner Ayers fell in love with. The woman who wasn’t that girl. Just the thought of Tanner made me feel sick. The thought of how his blue eyes would soften when they looked upon me. How he never smiled, but would, just a fraction, for me.
I washed my face until there wasn’t a scrap of makeup left on it. I blinked as I looked at my reflection in the mirror again . . . then I let the tears fall. My shoulders shook as the tears fell harder, the sobs racking my body and loosening my grip on the composure I held so tightly onto. I dropped my head away from my reflection. I wouldn’t see myself cry. I wouldn’t give in. I had made it this far. I could make it further . . . I could . . . I could . . . I must . . .
I stood, gripping the porcelain of the sink until all the tears within me had been shed. I heard the sound of footsteps too late to pull myself together. My papa suddenly appeared in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, I straightened and looked him in the eye. I waited for him to speak. His suit was perfect, as usual, not a wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. Not a hair out of place.
“Princesa,” he said, his voice low. His head tipped to the side in sympathy—well, as much sympathy as I knew he would have for me in this situation.
“I’m fine.” I wiped my tears and cleared my throat. My shoulders straightened and I took a deep breath.
Papa nodded, and gestured for me to follow him out into the sitting area of my suite. I sat on the chair opposite him, smoothed down the silk of my dress, then raised my head high. Papa sat back, relaxed, but watching me closely.
“You could do worse than Diego, princesa.” Papa folded his hands together and placed them on his lap.
“I don’t love him,” I said, trying my hardest not to lose my composure. My father didn’t like, in his words, hysterical women. Women who let emotions rule their actions. It was why he hadn’t a single woman working for him. Why—as much as he loved me—he never truly let me in.
Simply put, Papa believed women were to know their place—below men.
My papa threw up his hands. But it was there, the flash of pain that always burst in his dark eyes when I mentioned love. My