Falling For The Forbidden

by Hawkins, Jessica

  “As?”

  “More than the others.” He kissed the back of my hand. “Someone worthy of being part of his family.”

  “You are worthy. I know that, and so does he.”

  “But I can’t blame him for doubting me after the way my parents conspired against him.”

  I refrained from pointing out what he already knew. Yes, Papá had agreed to take in both boys, but on one condition—that they wouldn’t follow in their father’s footsteps. In order to ensure the boys never made a move against Costa Cruz, my dad had made them watch as he’d put bullets in their parents—a warning.

  “My father knows you’d never go against him,” I said. “Their murder ended a decades-long feud between our families—”

  “Until Cristiano,” Diego said.

  I shivered, a natural response to hearing the devil called by his name.

  Mamá’s hospitality had come with a price—her life. But it had also brought Diego into mine.

  He’d understood that my father and abuelo had had no choice but to stop his parents.

  Cristiano, on the other hand, hadn’t.

  Eleven years later, he should’ve been a distant memory. I tried not to think of his tight grip on my arm, his gun tipping up my chin, or the shadowed, divine face of a godless man. But how could I not look over my shoulder? Cristiano de la Rosa still inspired dread, even from the grave. At least, I hoped that’s where he was. Despite rumors that he’d been running an underground drug empire in Russia, or that he owned a freighting company in Bolivia, or had become an arms trafficker between America and the Philippines—I’d convinced myself he was six feet under. I didn’t sleep well most nights, but assuming he was dead helped a little.

  “My father knows you aren’t your father, and he definitely doesn’t think you’re anything like your brother,” I said.

  Diego stuck his hands in the back pockets of my jeans and pulled me closer. We were tempting fate by being affectionate out in the open, but it excited me that Diego couldn’t resist touching me. “Your parents treated Cristiano like a son, and he still turned on them,” Diego said. “No matter how I prove myself, your father keeps me at arm’s length—even before the betrayal, I was just another worker to him. I sometimes question whether Costa would’ve taken me in without my brother.”

  Even though it hurt to hear that, I understood why Diego felt that way. Both boys had been tossed into the Cruz cartel army right away. Cristiano had taken to it like a child to sweets, while sensitive, creative Diego had struggled to adapt.

  “You’ve shown him almost twenty years of loyalty,” I said. “You’re now one of the cartel’s most trusted advisors. You’ve helped make this business what it is—one with an average success rate above eighty-seven percent.”

  Diego’s mouth fell open as he scoff-laughed. “How long were you listening at the door?” He narrowed his eyes, playfully scolding me. “You little snoop.”

  “I just didn’t want to interrupt,” I said. “But is eighty-seven percent good?”

  “The best. Our competitors don’t even touch us. Cartels come to us when they need the absolute best chance of getting their shipment over the border.” He winked. “That’s how we can charge so much.”

  “See?” I said. “You could never be just another worker. Papá knows that.”

  “Let’s get back to the topic of our future.” He squeezed my ass cheeks. “In the States, will we be royalty like we are now?”

  Not if I could help it. To be royalty was to put a target on our backs. We already had that here; I wanted to escape it. There was much more to life than wealth and status. “How does a bungalow near the Pacific Ocean sound?” I asked. “Fresh fish, fruits, and vegetables every day. No guns in sight. And California has great schools.”

  “Schools?”

  “For the children.”

  He chuckled. “We have children, do we? Do they have names?”

  “I’m serious,” I said. “Once I graduate and start my career, we’ll marry in a small, cozy ceremony. Although, the churches there are big and tacky, not like the ones here.” Regretfully. Our little Roman Catholic church in the town center was beautifully maintained thanks to my family. Father lavished millions every year on our small pueblo nestled between arid desert lowlands and lush mountainside on the west side of the country—a business investment more than charity, as it secured him the loyalty of the townspeople and local law enforcement.

  “But how will I show off such a beautiful princess if we have a cozy ceremony?” he teased.

  “Oh, my whole family will be there. Show off what you like, but I don’t care about being fancy—I just want you and the people I love around.” Diego made good money here, and had been saving instead of blowing it like a lot of his friends, but it wouldn’t last forever where we were going. California was expensive, and Diego would struggle to find work without experience. I wanted to make sure he knew I didn’t need money to be happy. I cupped his cheek, impatient to feel his lips on mine again. “We can throw a party that would blow all other weddings away if that’s what you want, but all I need is you.”

  He leaned into my palm. “If I could, I’d make you mine tomorrow.”

  Excitement fluttered in my tummy. I’d pictured our nuptials many times. Whether the affair was big or small, blessed by my father or forbidden, the core of it remained the same. Diego was my soul mate. He’d seen me through the dark months after my mother’s death, checking on me whenever he could get away from the ranch, making sure I’d slept and eaten and gotten fresh air when I’d only wanted to give up. It wasn’t hard to conjure the image of promising to care for him too in sickness and in health.

  But would my father be there to walk me down the aisle?

  Papá was a fair and decent man, but he’d been ruthless once. He didn’t value anyone’s innocence but mine. He’d tried to awaken more in Diego, to turn him into the killer his brother was, but Diego remained pure. A peaceful soul trapped in a fight for survival. He wasn’t made for this world, but there was no way out—except, maybe, through me.

  Diego frowned. “I should go check on things at home before anyone notices my absence.”

  I sighed, but sulking wouldn’t change anything. “When will I see you next?”

  “I wish I knew. I have to show my face at the costume party and do some networking. Then this weekend, I’m trapped at the house to oversee some things.”

  “I’ve still never seen your place,” I hinted. Diego had told me enough about it over the phone that I could picture it clearly. “What if I come over?”

  Diego rose from the windowsill and lifted my chin with his knuckle. “You know I’d love that if it wasn’t too dangerous. It’s a hub. Men come and go from my house all day. And if I know your dad, he’ll have security detail on you the next two weeks. They’d never let you come over, and you can’t be there without them.”

  “But you’ll be there.” Everyone loved to remind me how dangerous this life was as if I didn’t know. And though staying in the dark felt safer, I also knew ignorance could expose me to danger.

  “I’ll be preoccupied, though,” he said.

  “Then what about the party?” I asked. “I promised my dad I wouldn’t show up, but if you think about it, isn’t it really the safest place to be? With all the important people in attendance, there’ll be a guard every meter.”

  “He’s not keeping you from the ballroom for safety reasons, Natalia Lourdes.” Diego only used my full name when he was serious. “His parties are a cesspool.”

  “They’re attended by the highest government officials in the country.”

  “My point exactly. Those people are deadlier, greedier, and more corrupt than anyone. They’ve ruined countless lives and families without ever dirtying their hands.” He thumbed my bottom lip. “Promise me you’ll stay home. I have no doubt you’ve already mapped a route inside.”

  “I don’t care about the party. I have no interest in what goes on there.” That wasn’t e
ntirely true, but the only thing stronger than my curiosity was my desire to disassociate myself from this life. Then again, what trumped all of that—was Diego. “I don’t have much time here,” I said. “I only want to spend it with you.”

  “I want that too, princesa, but not if it puts you at risk.” He glanced over my head, then pecked the bridge of my nose. “I’ll see if I can steal away for a kiss after the party, all right?”

  “You expect me to sit home and wait on the small chance you’ll be able to meet me?”

  “No, my angel straight from heaven. My Aphrodite incarnate. I don’t expect it, but I hope for it.” He took me in his arms and brushed his lips over my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. “Promise me you’ll stay home,” he said in my ear, “and in exchange, I’ll tell you a secret.”

  I was getting exactly what I wanted—a clear divide between myself and this life. But I wasn’t getting what I needed—Diego. Maybe the party was wild, but it would also be safe. Security would be tight. If I found the right costume, nobody would even recognize me. “I’ll stay home,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie—the ballroom was on our property. “What’s the secret?”

  “I wrote you something.”

  “A poem?” I melted against his hard chest. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Not so much a poem as a love letter. A tribute to my princess.” He half-smiled. “It’s in my pocket, but it’s not ready.”

  I reached for it. “Give it to me.”

  He laughed, catching my wrists and pulling me close. “If you put your hands in there, I can’t promise I’ll let them out.”

  I blushed, at a loss for a response. We’d been best friends a long time, and we were still a little new at the intimate parts. I laced our hands together, admiring his long fingers and the tattoo on the inside of one—a sketch of roses he’d done with his family name and the date of his parents’ death.

  And inked on his inner ring finger, small enough so nobody like my father would notice, were our initials in black ink. I brushed my lips over his knuckles.

  “God, I’ve dreamed of your mouth on me since your last visit.” His voice dropped. “Tell me you’re still my girl, Talia.”

  I knew what he was asking, and although I’d assured him many times that I’d kept my virginity intact at school, there was always an edge to his voice when he asked. I put my cheek to his. It was easier to talk about sex without looking at him. “I’m still your girl.”

  “Good.” The word came out on a growl. “I worry about those fraternity sharks circling someone as sweet as you.”

  “Sharks don’t eat sweets,” I said with a smile. “The sharks are here—out for blood. Americans are boys compared to you. I’ve no interest in them.” I put my arms around him and nuzzled his neck. “I only think of you.”

  He sighed. “How have we lasted this long?”

  Even though most of my friends, both here and in the States, had lost their virginity, it was easy to save myself knowing I’d only ever give myself to one man—my best friend. As scary as my father’s grief had been after Mamá’s death, I still wanted what they’d had—an all-consuming devotion to each other, even now. As far as I knew, Papá had never so much as been on a date with another woman in the last decade. “Because it’s important to me,” I said. “I want to commit myself to you in every way once it’s time.”

  He kissed my forehead. “It’s important to me too.”

  I arched a brow at him. “Only because you’re afraid my father will find out we didn’t wait.”

  He laughed lightly. “It’s true—I value my life. Luckily, even if we were tempted, the guards keep you in and me out.” He ran his fingers through the ends of my hair. “Our first time will be special, mi sol.”

  I smiled quizzically. He hadn’t called me that before. “Your sun?”

  “You’re always alight. That, and you hate the night.”

  “Mmm. It rhymes. You are a poet.”

  Diego knew me well, but then, he’d heard firsthand accounts of my night terrors until I’d left for boarding school. The shadows that tried to catch me, the lingering memories of a nine-year-old watching her mother take her last breath . . . and then there was his brother.

  “Promise you’ll never come back here,” I said.

  “I can’t.”

  It was hard to believe Cristiano had once been the hero of my nightmares. Like the time, as a girl, I’d woken up screaming, and my mother had come running. She’d smoothed sweat-sticky hair off my face and asked me what I’d dreamed about.

  “Monsters,” I’d told her.

  I hadn’t noticed Cristiano, who’d been patrolling the property, standing in the dark doorway, until my mother had turned to him. “Are there monsters here, Cristiano?” she’d asked.

  “Yes,” he’d said gravely. “But they’ll never hurt Natalia.”

  My little heart had raced as fresh tears had filled my eyes. “How do you know?” I’d asked him.

  “Because I’m here to protect you,” he’d answered. “And I’m scarier than any monster.”

  Cristiano had chased away the monsters under the bed until he’d become one.

  And Diego was the light.

  “Will your nightmares return?” Diego asked.

  Not wanting to worry him, I’d told him I didn’t have them while at school since they were less frequent and less frightening. Now that I was home, I expected they’d return, but there was nothing he could do about that, so I shook my head.

  If I had my way, I’d be on a plane back to California before my nightmares could even catch up with me.

  But I knew from experience—I could never completely outrun them.

  Natalia

  Under a starry sky, I walked away from the house, crossing our damp back lawn in heels. Lit from within, my father’s ballroom shimmered like a golden paradise to welcome the state’s elite. Town cars and limos lined the curved driveway, inching forward to meet the valet. Fountains out front glowed sky-blue, the water shimmering as it reflected hundreds of strung lights. It was how I imagined the gates of heaven—down to the large men in suits and earpieces guarding the entrance and scrutinizing invitations.

  Unfortunately, I had to use heaven’s back door. Security was heaviest at events like these. Armed men patrolled the perimeter of the property, keeping certain criminals out and others in. The main house was off-limits.

  I took cover in the garden between the house and ballroom, crouching behind a fountain with a statue of Poseidon.

  Your curiosity is an affliction, my father had often said to me. And there’s no cure, I’d teased him. Being forbidden from the party was like being sent from the dinner table as a girl when conversations had turned to business. Or like when my father had put up a fence in our backyard to keep me from exploring the grounds beyond the trees. Most of the time, finding ways around the blockades was more fun than whatever lay on the other side.

  Once one of the guards had turned back the way he’d come, I hurried through the courtyard. Intricate, lifelike butterfly wings, strapped over a black bodysuit, flapped at my back. My best friend, Pilar, had been too skittish to sneak in with me, but I’d convinced her to help me make an elaborate black-and-orange eye mask with feathers and glitter before streaking blonde extensions through my hair. She’d then clipped handmade, delicate monarch butterflies throughout my curls.

  Full costume required. It’d been printed there on the invitation, and from what I’d heard and glimpsed of these parties, anything less than an extravagant, costly costume, and I’d stick out.

  “Alto,” I heard behind me. I stopped and turned as a guard approached. “¿Qué hace?”

  I swallowed and disguised my voice with my best North American accent. “¿Hablas inglés?”

  “You are not permitted here,” he said in broken English. “¿Invitación?”

  I pulled a sharp-cornered card from my pocket and handed it over. I’d looked at the guest list earlier to forge an invite with the names of one of the
few attending couples from the States.

  “Señor Matthewson?” the guard asked.

  “Husband.” I flashed a small diamond ring one of my uncles had gifted me at my quinceañera. “Inside. Waiting.”

  He picked up his two-way radio, but as he was about to speak, a voice came through asking for security at the front. He handed me back the invitation. “Adelante. Quédate en la fiesta.”

  Stay in the party. I continued around the side of the house. A Playboy bunny with red lipstick and a cigarette held open the door for me on her way out, and I entered the hall to “Walk Like an Egyptian.” As my eyes adjusted to the glittering affair, waiters circled with trays, passing between rooms. To my right, disco music vibrated the chandeliers that looked as if they’d been dipped in gold and crystals and hung to dry.

  Belly dancers rippled through the crowd. Walking toward the main hall, I crossed the imported Moroccan tile Mamá had bought on a trip to Africa, hypnotized as a heavyset man took the stage for an emotional aria.

  Partygoers showed off their costumes—a black vinyl catsuit that hugged every curve. Cleopatra in a metallic leotard with layers upon layers of necklaces over her breasts, her nipples poking through. A bare-chested Tarzan with nothing but a cloth covering his genitals. Marie Antoinette walked in on the arm of Two-Face. Even some of the security guards wore painted masks or had gold-plated machine guns.

  A waiter stopped and lowered his tray for me. It wasn’t canapes or mini quiche as I would’ve thought but an assortment of pills and powder. Growing up in the world of drugs, I had little interest in them, so I opted for a fizzing drink instead. With a sip, bubbles tickled my mouth and made me smile.

  This wasn’t the ballroom in which I’d grown up playing hide-and-seek or had taken piano lessons, but an opulent show come to life. I walked into the next room, my heels solid on the floor even as music muted them. On a balconette overlooking a dancefloor, a row of women in lace corsets, bejeweled thigh-high stockings, and vibrant feather boas kicked slender legs for the can-can. A man in an open-collared suit and gold chains stood beneath them, likely hoping for a glimpse of heaven. I turned in a circle, taking in the spinning dancers. Men wore women’s clothing, ladies dressed as animals, and caged birds sang. In one corner, a tiger paced its gilded pen for partygoers’ amusement. Nearby, a woman in black leather also wore a leash.