Page 10 of When Sinners Hate

I lean in, making sure only she hears what’s coming for her if she doesn’t stop. “Be careful with your tone. This is my family. Respect it, and me.”

No response, but at least she’s shut her mouth rather than try pushing me some more.

“And what about dress code? I’ll need it for the invites,” Wren says. She looks at me rather than Alexia, having now worked out that this is happening the way I want it, not her. “And who do I get the guest list from?”

“I’ll do the guest list,” Mother says, rising from her seat. “And, if Abel agrees, the dress code. Perhaps you and I could meet next week to organise that, Wren.” She looks back at me, waiting for my confirmation. I nod.

“That’s fine.”

“Do I get any say in my own wedding?” Alexia questions.

My gaze comes back to her. “Other than the flowers, no.”

She stands and glares at me, still managing to keep herself pristine in appearance regardless of her fury. I chuckle at her and pick up my Champagne, amused with yet another tantrum about control.

“Shall we go back up to the house?” Mother says.

Mariana giggles in the background as Mother waves Wren up, and they all end up leaving us to it. I listen to the slow run of chatter as they make their way across the lawn, keeping my stare aimed at the woman who dared show a fucking opinion that wasn’t wanted.

“What is this?” she seethes. “Am I to be humiliated constantly?” I stay quiet and keep watching, perhaps waiting for her to take this too far so I can do something about it. “Why should your mother manage the guest list? Or deal with the dress code?” Presuming this is a chance for me to make a point felt, I let her continue. “This is becoming intolerable. I am Alexia Ortega, and I will not be sidelined and ignored.”

I stand and move closer, making sure she’s looking up at me rather than down. “What you don’t seem to understand is who you’re going to be. You will be Alexia Cortez in two months, and as far as I’m concerned, you already are.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Alexia

Ihold his stare – his threat.

Because there is no question as to what Abel just laid out for me.

Blood rushes through my veins, charging me with anger and frustration at the situation I’ve walked myself into. Manoeuvring with Abel Cortez is certainly proving more challenging than I thought, but if I’m to be married in a sham wedding, then what’s the problem if it’s in front of people I despise or don’t know? In a dress I haven’t chosen myself? This is for my family – not myself.

“I’m feeling a little tired. I think I’ll go back to the house.” My head is high, and my pace graceful and calm. Nothing like the storm that’s building inside of me. Part of me would relish Abel calling after me or following me, but he doesn’t.

There’s no sign of Wren or Mariana back in the house as I head straight up to my rooms. I close the doors behind me and look around the room. My eyes land on the stupid, decorative bowl. Its smooth surface is in my hands before I can stop myself, and I raise it over my head before throwing it tothe floor, watching it shatter into a thousand shards against the hardwood.

As the crash reverberates around the room, a fissure of tension is released from my chest, and I can breathe again. I wanted to do this when I first saw the thing, and now I’m smiling down at the mess I’ve created.

Taking a satisfying breath of air, I march to my wardrobe. My things have arrived, but I still have half the contents of my bags scattered over the dressing room, and it’s time to put that right. After all, how can I think clearly when my only belongings – my only real connection to me – in this house are in disarray?

After a few hours of organising, I feel a hundred times better than when I came here, like I’ve replenished my armour for battling with Abel. And there is a battle coming. He just might not know it yet because he’s not touched me or shown any interest in me since I walked in. That can’t last if this fake marriage is going to keep me entertained.

Sex has never been about love or emotion for me. It’s a way to keep control in a world where being a woman often puts you on the back foot. I’ve been second to my brother, been the quiet and obedient daughter and kept to the shadows, but that’s not who I am. And if Abel wants me to remember I’m going to be Alexia Cortez, then perhaps he needs to show me some motivation.

If nothing else, it will help with the frustration of being trapped here.

~

I stay in my ‘chambers’ for several hours. Small talk, or any kind of talk, with Melena isn’t high on my wish list. But it’s boring beyond contemplation.

Besides, I’ve licked the verbal wounds from this morning and now feel suitably calm.

With my house arrest, I’ll need to ensure someone can come to visit for manicures and such. They need redoing already, and my hair won’t last much longer without a stylist to colour and style it, especially in the heat. I consider the cost of flying Jamie out every four weeks. I send a quick message and wait for the reply, already knowing she’d love to do it and, actually, looking forward to some non-hostile company.

I go out and sit by the pool, knowing it’s the quietest part of the house, but I’m distracted by the site of Abel in the corridor on my way.

“Ah, husband. You came to check up on me?”