Chapter 5

While Ximena and Dante were heading to the mall, the argument at the Robles house continued.

Octavio told Mrs. Robles she'd acted like the marriage was a game. That Dante would never accept a woman who'd cheated on him before the wedding. That if he agreed to marry Ximena, it was because there was nothing left with Lorena.

Mrs. Robles still believed it was all just anger.

Lorena smashed a cup.

"Nobody asked me!" she screamed. "Dante was mine!"

Octavio didn't budge.

"Then you shouldn't have betrayed him."

Lorena cried, repeating that she'd been forced.

No one managed to talk sense into her.

In the car, Dante was still serious.

"I'm not going back to Lorena," he repeated. "If your mom says something like that again, tell her I don't make a habit of picking up what other men threw away."

I winced.

"That sounds awful."

"So did what she did."

I couldn't argue.

"You really felt nothing for her?"

"No."

"I called you brother-in-law for five years."

"And I barely saw her. I work too much. The engagement was arranged by the families."

He said it without slowing the car. My stomach, on the other hand, tightened.

We arrived at a luxury jewelry store.

"Pick one," he said.

"Any of them is fine."

Dante pointed to a ring with an enormous pink diamond.

"Do you like that one?"

I lost my breath.

It was ridiculously beautiful.

The saleswoman practically ran over.

"Sir, excellent choice. It's a one-of-a-kind piece."

Translation: astronomically expensive.

"Maybe a different one," I said.

Dante looked at me.

"I asked if you like it."

"Yes, but—"

"Try it on my wife."

My wife.

The saleswoman handed it to me, but Dante took it first.

"Give me your hand."

He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly.

It wasn't a tender scene. It was possessive.

My finger, his ring, his money, his decision.

And me, sitting there, trying not to admit that his certainty was starting to feel good.

"We'll take it."

"That's fifty million pesos," the saleswoman said, with a nervous smile.

"Card."

Dante paid like he was buying coffee.

I kept staring at my hand.

"Did you really just buy me a fifty-million-peso ring?"

"You liked it."

"But I can't wear this every day. It's huge."

"You're right. Pick another one for everyday."

"Another one?"

The saleswoman was already pulling out more pieces.

I picked the most understated one I could.

Dante bought that one too.

Then he asked:

"Necklaces? Earrings? Bracelets?"

"Those too?"

"We're already here. Buy whatever you want."

He bought ruby necklaces, earrings, bracelets, a jade piece, and more things I barely dared to touch.

I walked out of the jewelry store carrying boxes like I'd robbed a museum.

Before getting in the car, Dante asked:

"Are you happy now?"

I looked at him.

"What?"

"You looked sad. I don't know how to say nice things. But I do know how to buy them."

My chest tightened.

I sat there staring at the boxes on my lap.

My throat closed up a little.

"Thank you," I said, and meant it. "I am happy."

"Good."

He didn't smile, but his gaze softened just barely.

I hid my hand between my fingers.

The ring felt different now.

Back at the house, Dante shut himself in his study and I spread all the jewelry across the bed.

I took photos.

A lot of them.

I sent them to Sofia.

She called instantly.

"No way! Is that a pink diamond? Does that cost more than my life?"

"Fifty million."

"Ximena!"

"And he bought another one for everyday. And necklaces. And bracelets."

"Girl, tell me where I can order a husband like that."

I laughed like an idiot.

I'd thought marrying Dante would be like marrying an elegant wall. Seven years older than me, serious, cold, obsessed with work.

But I'd been married three days and he'd already defended me, bought me jewelry, and handed me a card with an absurd amount on it.

"Do you think I got a good man?" I asked.

"You got an expensive man, which is almost the same thing."

"And with that serious-gentleman face that says 'come here' and you're already walking," she added. "Don't judge me, babe, but yeah, he's intimidating."

"Sofia."

"Okay, fine. If he's treating you well, enjoy it. But tell me the important part — have you consummated?"

I covered my face.

"No."

"Still? What's he doing with all that wife?"

"We just kissed."

"And? How was it?"

I remembered the kiss. My breath lost. His insistent mouth. My lips sore afterward.

"Good. I mean... weird. My teeth kind of hurt."

"Then he doesn't kiss that well. What if it was his first kiss?"

"I doubt it. He's thirty."

"If he's reached thirty without ever touching a woman, something's off."

"He's very serious. Maybe that's why."

"Or maybe he just can't kiss."

"Don't say that so loud."

"Why? Is he there?"

I was lying on my stomach, my back to the door.

A low cough sounded behind me.

"Ahem."

I froze.

I turned slowly.

Dante was in the bedroom.

Standing.

Looking at me.

With that judge face that didn't need to raise his voice.

"I'll call you back," I blurted, and hung up before Sofia could say another stupid thing.

I sat up like a scolded child.

"It was a joke."

Dante walked to the bed.

"My kissing technique is bad?"

I wanted to die.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what did you say?"

Nothing useful came out.

He looked at me. He didn't seem angry. Worse — he seemed interested.

"Come here."

"Why?"

"To kiss."

He said it like he was asking for a glass of water.

"Now?"

"Now."

I moved toward him, centimeter by centimeter. He was standing in front of the bed and I was sitting, forced to look up.

The height difference, the age, his calm of a man who'd lived more than I had — it all hit me at once.

It was an unfair view. His jaw, his nose, those dark eyes. Dante Montalvo had a face built to destroy anyone's peace of mind.

"Want me to bend down?" he asked.

I didn't get a chance to answer.

He took my chin and leaned in.

This time he didn't kiss me right away.

He stayed close.

Too close.

His breath warmed my mouth.

"Close your eyes," he ordered quietly.

I closed them.

I closed my eyes again.

How embarrassing that such a simple phrase could heat up my face and turn my legs to jelly.

His lips touched mine with a slowness that made me useless. This time there was no collision. It didn't hurt. He kissed me with patience, like he was correcting every mistake from the kiss before.

He caught my nape when I tried to pull away.

It wasn't rough. It was worse.

It was precise.

When he let go, I was breathing like I'd been running.

"And now?"

"Good," I murmured. "Really good."

"No discomfort?"

"No discomfort."

"Then we can do it again."

"No. Point made."

He looked at my mouth with a calm that was clearly fake.

"For now."