Chapter 1

The honeymoon suite was decorated like flowers could fix everything.

Ivory sheets. White roses. Candles that smelled like expensive hotel. Untouched champagne flutes on a side table. And me, sitting in the middle of that enormous bed in pajamas so modest they could've been picked out by a church aunt.

The sound of the shower drifted from the bathroom.

My husband was in there.

Dante Montalvo.

Up until yesterday, that man had been my sister's fiance. The man I'd spent five years calling "brother-in-law" out of pure family habit.

And now he was my husband.

"God, this is embarrassing."

It all started the night before, when someone sent Dante a video of Lorena with her ex. Not an ambiguous video. Not a suspicious text conversation. One of those videos — the kind that doesn't leave much room for explanation.

Dante showed up at the Robles house with the phone in his hand. My dad tried to save the engagement. My mom cried. Lorena swore, screamed, pretended to faint, and clung to him like drama could erase what had happened.

None of it worked.

Dante wanted to cancel the wedding.

And seriously, who'd blame him? Nobody wants to walk down the aisle wearing fresh horns.

But the Montalvo family was the summit of the mountain my father had spent years trying to climb. Invitations sent, family agreements signed, venue paid for, guests confirmed. If the wedding fell through, the Robles family would've been the juiciest gossip in all of Polanco.

So they didn't cancel it.

They pushed me instead.

All I'd wanted was to watch the disaster from a corner, quiet, like someone binging a show that had nothing to do with her. But suddenly everyone turned to look at me.

"Ximena can marry him."

I thought Dante was going to laugh. Or stand up. Or say this wasn't some kind of joke.

Because I was Lorena's younger sister.

Because he was my brother-in-law.

Because no normal man would agree to marry his fiancee's sister the day after discovering an affair.

But Dante looked at me.

Just once.

And accepted.

He didn't do it like a confused man. He did it like someone who'd already decided for everyone in the room.

I sat there staring at his hand on the folder. Long fingers, clean nails, the black watch peeking from beneath his shirt cuff. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

That's how I ended up in white, walking toward a man who'd never looked at me for more than two seconds.

The shower stopped.

My palms were sweating.

What was supposed to happen on a wedding night when the bride and groom barely knew each other? Did he actually expect me to act like some dime-store romance wife?

The bathroom door opened.

I stopped breathing.

Dante stepped out wrapped in steam, wearing a gray robe open at the chest. I'd always seen him in suits — serious, perfect, cold. The kind of older man who looked like he signed contracts even when he breathed.

But like this, with damp hair, a defined collarbone, and a firm chest showing through the fabric, he didn't look like a contract.

He looked like a problem.

A problem that was thirty years old, had a deep voice, and disturbingly steady hands.

He smelled like clean soap and something woody, like cold pine.

I gripped the sheets.

He walked toward the bed.

Each step squeezed my chest tighter.

When he stood in front of me — that tall, that serious, that infuriatingly handsome — the worst possible thing came out of my mouth.

"Brother-in-law..."

Dante stopped.

His eyebrow barely moved, but I caught it.

"What did you just call me?"

I swallowed.

"Right. Wonderful. First night married and I'm calling him brother-in-law."

"Sorry. Force of habit."

"We're husband and wife now," he said, calm. "You're going to have to change that."

Change it.

To what?

"Husband? Sweetheart? Dante?"

Just thinking about calling him "sweetheart" made my face burn.

"Then... Mr. Montalvo?"

His gaze grew heavier.

"Do you know any wife who calls her husband 'mister'?"

"Don Dante?"

Silence.

Worse.

"That makes me sound fifty," he said.

I bit my lip.

"Dante?"

This time he nodded.

"That one."

His thumb brushed the edge of the towel in his hand. I dropped my eyes immediately.

I breathed, but the calm didn't last.

"Are you staying here?" I asked.

He looked at the bed.

"It's our suite."

"Yes. Obviously. What a brilliant question, Ximena."

He moved closer. I scooted backward on the bed, dragging the comforter with me.

"What are you going to do?"

"Sleep."

"How?"

I wanted to bite my tongue off.

Dante looked at me with that calm that only made things worse.

"How do you want to sleep?"

"I'll... take the left side. You take the right."

"Tonight's our wedding night."

My face caught fire.

He studied me for a moment.

"Have you been with a man?"

The air got stuck in my throat.

My face burned. I understood exactly what he meant.

I shook my head.

"No."

Something shifted in his eyes.

Dante leaned over me, bracing his hands on either side of my body. I was trapped between his arms and the mattress. His breath grazed mine.

We were so close I could count his eyelashes.

Then, in a voice far too calm for what he was saying, he asked:

"Do you want to?"

I couldn't answer.

He was too close and I could smell his shirt.

My eyes flew open like someone had thrown cold water on me.

Do it?

"Like this? This fast?"

"Now?" slipped out before I could stop it.

Dante didn't pull back.

"Tonight's our wedding night."

"Yes, thank you. That much was perfectly clear. The enormous bed, the white flowers, and my heart slamming against my ribs repeated it every three seconds."

But knowing it was one thing. Accepting that this man — who two days ago had been my sister's fiance — wanted to consummate the marriage with me was something else entirely.

I wasn't ready.

Not even a little.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

I saw it.

And my body reacted before my brain could. When he leaned in, I turned my face away.

His lips never touched me.

Dante went still. Then he took my chin between two fingers and slowly turned my face back. I squeezed my eyes shut from pure nerves, pressing my lips together like that could save me.

Nothing happened.

When I cracked one eye open, he was still watching me.

"Sorry," I murmured. "I'm still not used to... this. Being your wife."

The word wife tasted bizarre.

"Give me a little time, okay?"

"How much is a little?"

"I don't know."

His silence made me feel small.

Not from fear. It was his closeness. The clean smell of his shirt, his arm resting beside my waist, his quiet gaze on my mouth. I swallowed and hated that my fingers were trembling.

"But not too long," I added quickly. "I think."

Dante watched me for several seconds. I was already imagining the worst-case scenario, but he straightened up, walked around the bed, and lay down on the other side.

"Sleep."

Just one word.

I slid under the comforter before I could think about whether I wanted to.

I let out my breath.

He didn't force me.

That, even though I didn't want to admit it, loosened something inside me.

I lay down too, leaving a massive gap between us. Two more people could've fit in there. Three, if they squeezed.

"Good night," I said, stiff.

"Good night."

We turned off the light.

I thought I wouldn't sleep a wink. But my body decided to betray me and I was out almost instantly.

At dawn, a hand touched my shoulder.

"No..." I groaned, half asleep, swatting it away.

A second later my eyes snapped open.

Dante was sitting beside the bed, already dressed in a black suit and gray shirt. No tie. Two buttons open at the collar. Cold, impeccable, and far too attractive for that hour.

I sat up clutching the comforter.

"Good morning."

"Get up. My family wants to see you before breakfast. My grandparents usually give their blessing and gifts after the wedding."

I nodded like I was at a job interview.

"After that we'll have breakfast with them, and then we'll head to the house I bought before the wedding. We'll live there."

"Okay."

I ducked into the bathroom to wash my face. The cold water woke me up completely.

It wasn't a dream.

I'd gotten married.

To Dante Montalvo.

I came out still wearing the white pajamas I'd borrowed from one of his cousins. I couldn't go downstairs like this.

Dante was still in the bedroom.

"I don't have any clothes."

He looked at me, pulled out his phone, and made a call. Minutes later, someone knocked on the door. He took a bag and handed it to me.

"Get changed."

Inside was a brand-new pink dress. Also underwear. In my exact size.

I stared at the tags.

"How did he know my size?"

I didn't ask.

The dress had thin straps and a small rose on one shoulder. When I came out, Dante looked up.

His gaze lingered on me.

"Does it look okay?" I asked, nervous.

"It's fine."

"It's fine? Was that good or bad?"

He stood and held out his hand.

"Let's go."

I looked at his hand. It was large, with long fingers and a strange elegance. I placed mine on top.

His palm was warm. Mine was freezing.

"Your hands are sweating," he said.

I turned red.

"I'm... nervous."

He didn't make fun of me. He just squeezed my hand a little tighter.

I felt the warmth of his palm travel up my wrist. I looked down so I wouldn't stare at his fingers wrapped around mine.

The mansion's main hall was packed. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins. The Montalvo family seemed to never end.

Dante introduced me one by one.

I greeted his grandparents, received measured hugs, blessings, elegant envelopes, and gifts. His mother took my hand with a calm smile.

"May you build a good life together."

She clasped an emerald bracelet around my wrist. It was heavy. Very heavy.

I looked at Dante, not sure if I should accept.

He nodded.

So I accepted.

During breakfast I sat beside him, rigid. I didn't dare serve myself from the platters in the center.

Then Dante put meat on my plate.

I looked at him.

He kept eating like nothing had happened.

Then he added vegetables. Then something else. And something else.

He didn't ask permission. He simply decided I was going to eat well.

And for some ridiculous reason, that embarrassed me more than the dress.

"Thanks," I whispered. "You can stop serving me now."

Maybe he didn't hear me. Or pretended not to.

I ate everything.

When we left, his grandparents and parents asked him to take care of me. He just said yes.

In the car, while I studied the bracelet, I asked him:

"Do I need to give this back to you?"

"My mom gave it to you."

"It's really expensive. What if I lose it?"

"Then it's lost."

I looked at him, confused.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"It's not mine. It's yours."

I also asked about the gift envelopes.

"Should I handle them?"

"Or did you want to give them to me?"

I shook my head immediately.

Dante barely glanced at me.

"Then keep them."

I couldn't help smiling.

I was dying to open every single one and count.

"Put your seatbelt on," he said. "We're leaving."

I obeyed.

He looked at me again.

He didn't say anything, but I felt that gaze on my skin.

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