Page 7 of When Sinners Hate
I pause and snatch up my shoes, and he walks me back through the house via a different direction. He might insinuate I’ll be keeping to my area of the house, but I’m not going to be caged like a toy – only to come out when he wants to play.
No. My agreement to marry is based on strengthening our side of operations, and I intend to ensure that happens.
We pull up to a rather swish-looking venue, and I wait for Abel to open my door, which he does. Again, he offers me his arm, and I take it as he leads us inside.
“I like this. Very smart, Abel. Much more in keeping with my expectations of everything I’ve heard about the Cortez family.”
He scoffs a little as we wait at the maître d’ stand.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“If you think this,” he looks around at the entrance and all of the polish and finery on display, “is what the Cortez family is about, you might not have the full picture.”
The maître d’ chooses this time to glide to his station and cock his head a fraction to the side before smiling and beckoning us into the restaurant with a sweep of his hand. I follow, still holding onto Abel’s arm until we arrive at a small table for two in a secluded section of the restaurant.
The pale neutrals and glassware on the table all work in harmony to give an exclusive and expensive vibe that I honestly appreciate, and despite my earlier comment, I know that the belly of Cortez lies in much more sinister endeavours just as ours does. It doesn’t hurt to play pretend every now and then, though. After all, isn’t that what we’re doing now – playing pretend?
“We’ll have a bottle of my Teso La Monja,” Abel orders.
“What, no Champagne?” My pout is forced but effective, at least to the waiter who seems to have halted his retreat.
“Champagne for what? Are we celebrating?”
“We are.” I look up at the waiter and put on my best innocent-looking face. “We’ve just gotten engaged, so in my book,” I place my hands against my heart, “that deserves bubbles.” I smile.
“Congratulations, sir. Ma’am. I’ll bring a bottle with the wine.” He tilts forward towards Abel and then glides away.
“Oh, that was fun.”
“I can see.”
“Well, Abel, a girl's got to try and get her kicks somewhere.” I turn to him and wait for how the rest of the evening will go. So far, he seems only too happy to call the shots – dictating the living arrangements, where I can go, what time we eat, what wine we’ll drink.
He doesn’t bite and just sits back in his chair as if waiting for me.
I steeple my fingers and lean forward, waiting.
The minutes tick on with neither of us saying a word, both of us staring at the other. There’s a friction between us – more than just the obvious – and it’s building, like electricity charging in the clouds before the lightning strikes. But, we’ll have to settle for the buzz of the charge because a new waiter scurries over to us with wine and my Champagne.
He makes a big show of popping the cork, and I play along, happy to clap and cheer as he tops off my glass. Abel just sits, watching. He even shakes his head when the waiter offers to fill his glass.
“Oh, come on, I’d like to toast with my future husband.” The sweetness of my tone should make my teeth hurt.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks.
“Yes."
“No.” We both speak at the same time. “I’ve not seen the menu yet, darlin’.” I continue.
“We’ll have the scallops to start, followed by the beef tenderloin with braised greens,” Abel orders for me, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks.
“No. I’d like to see the menu.”
“Believe me, this is the best thing on the menu, darlin’,” he mimics my words from a moment ago. All it makes me want to do is crack his seemingly composed exterior all the more.
“If you wanted an obedient little wife, you should have considered the match a little more carefully,” I seethe.
“From here, there’s nothing wrong with the match, and the quicker you learn that you have no say in any of this, the better.”