now. But a part of me isn’t ready to accept such an unchangeable twist of fate. Even if I run and find a safe haven, I will always be tied to him. Also, I know I could never run for long before he finds me.
The entire household is in an uproar over the plans for an upcoming engagement party, and the wedding reception. Mariana arrives in my room on the second day with a wedding planner who will be responsible for the logistics. Diego requires the ceremony to take place at Gesu Church in Miami, but leaves all the other decisions up to me. It’s all I can do not to hurl the dishes off my breakfast tray and scream for them to get the hell out of my sight. Instead, I fake a headache and ask the planner to come back another day.
I retreat into a state I’ve tried to avoid since I was brought here—one of passive denial and depression. My days are spent in bed, hiding from Diego and everyone else who lives in this house, from the truth of what my future will be. When the planner returns a few days later, I numbly look over swatches of colors and fabrics, photos of cake designs and floral arrangements, and seating charts for the reception. The names on the list I’m given are unfamiliar aside from Jovan, Marcella, a few of Diego’s men I’ve encountered, and Oleg and his family. It’s just another reminder that none of this is what I want.
Dress fittings start on the fourth day, when Diego takes me to one of the sitting rooms to look over a rack of obscenely expensive designer gowns. Even the fashionista in me can’t get excited over the white silk, satin, and tulle. Each gown might as well be a different style of prison jumpsuit as far as I’m concerned. Still, I choose something elegant and beautiful and stand still for the alterations while staring unseeingly across the room.
Diego is treating me like I’m a porcelain trinket—or more like a bomb he expects to go off at any moment. He’s polite and mostly silent. He keeps his hands to himself, even though I notice him watching me with the fire in his eyes that hints at how badly he wants me.
I want to keep you, he said the night of our so-called engagement. Keep me, like I’m a piece of property instead of a person with wants and needs of her own.
Isn’t that what I already am to him? Not just a prisoner, but a toy to be used how he sees fit. Apparently being under his thumb isn’t enough anymore. I need the title of ‘wife’ to cement my place as his permanent plaything.
The more those thoughts swirl around in my head, the more I return to my old self. The indignation I pushed aside to keep from losing my shit starts to resurface, and my determination returns. Diego dealt a painful blow, but I realize it isn’t something I can’t overcome. Nothing is final yet, and this isn’t over until I’ve done everything I can to escape. My days of laying low and trying to seduce Diego into lowering his guard are over. It might have been effective with more time, but he’s made it clear that there is no more time.
I go through the motions to avoid suspicion, and even emerge from my room for meals and to swim in the pool. Diego seems pleased with the change, so I even stop giving him the silent treatment. Our conversations aren’t meaningful or anything, but it’s just enough to keep him from watching me like I’m a dynamite stick with a short fuse.
On the night of our engagement party, I wear a dress of my own design—an evening gown in shimmery silver, with thin straps and a plunging back. The hired beauty team returns to doll me up, pinning my hair into a soft up-do and performing another spectacular makeup job.
Diego is waiting for me in the hallway when I emerge, and his gaze turns positively molten when he catches sight of me.
Taking one of my hands, he spins me in a slow circle to take it all in. “You look exquisite, gatita.”
“Thank you,” I reply, keeping my head high in the face of his perusal. I can’t show fear or uncertainty. I will get through this party tonight, but by morning I’ll be gone.
“The guests are just arriving,” he informs me. “Before we go