to see the people our businesses help, Tanner. It will show you why we do what we do.”
The sound of a car horn broke me from the memory of last night. My hand was gripping my thigh so hard that I knew there would be a bruise underneath my purple dress.
Marco, my driver, took us through the country roads to the village. Vincente was in the passenger seat. Music played quietly from the radio, but the tension in the car was as thick as fog. Privacy glass separated me and Tanner from Vincente and Marco. They wouldn’t hear a thing unless I pressed the button and allowed them to. But I had nothing to say to Tanner that needed to be kept out of earshot of my guards, and by the way he sat far away, looking out of the window with a sour expression on his face, I could tell he had nothing to say either. If he wanted to act like what I’d seen last night hadn’t happened, I could play his game. What did it matter anyhow?
All I could think of was of the way I’d slapped his cheek by the pool. Pressed my lips to his to make him stop. To shut up the White Prince and his annoying superior attitude. I hadn’t expected him to kiss me back. It was only for a few seconds, but his mouth had taken control of mine.
I didn’t like it . . . I didn’t. I didn’t like the way he held me down. I was angered by him as much as he was by me.
The movement of his hand on his knee caught my attention. His hand was fisted, as was mine. I risked another quick glance at his face and found him watching me. I didn’t look away. I refused. I wouldn’t let him see that he had been on my mind. That this Nazi prince had in any way affected me. That last night, in the hallway, and at dinner, I had felt some kind of kinship with him as his father beat him, as he pushed him out of the business he was brought here to conduct. That I had seen that, like me, he was under the iron fist of his father—we the puppets dancing on paternal strings.
My heart beat faster and faster the longer he looked at me. Needing to say something, to break the stifling silence that had befallen the back of the stretch town car, I said, “You will not be offensive to these people.” Tanner’s eyes narrowed, the only tell that my order had pissed him off. Good. His very presence pissed me off on a daily basis. The fact that he was in my country reluctantly—the country that I loved—pissed me off. He felt we were below him. But he, with his superior attitude and narrow-mindedness, was what didn’t belong.
I shifted to face him, relaxing my hand, masking the fact my pulse was racing. “These people have it hard. You will not walk amongst them and shame them. Shame them for being proudly Mexican and devoted to my family. They are not from our world. They walk in the light, not in the dark. They do not know of the Ku Klux Klan, know people who will hate them before knowing them simply for being darker in skin.”
“I couldn’t give a fuck about them,” Tanner said, his voice unable to hide the tightness that was clearly blocking his throat.
“Get through this, Tanner Ayers, then you will soon leave this country you detest.”
Tanner looked forward, away from me, but his eyes locked straight ahead on something. Vincente. Vincente was watching us with suspicious eyes. Tanner glared at him. Vincente’s gaze moved to me. I smiled, trying my best to convince him that all was okay. When he put his attention back to the tree-lined roads, I relaxed.
“I have never disliked anyone in my life the way I dislike you,” I whispered so as not to draw attention. I looked out at the fields that had begun to peek though the thinning trees, just to avoid having to look at Tanner’s miserable face.
“The feeling’s mutual, princess,” Tanner spat. I gritted my teeth, practically vibrating with animosity. With frustration. At how a man so good looking could make himself so repulsive by the hate that poured from his blue eyes. I was brought up by the most ruthless cartel boss that had ever graced Mexican soil. I was fully aware that the