by Tia Louise
She gestures with her mask in the direction of the French doors spaced along the outer walls. They lead to a large patio area overlooking a man-made lake.
“Of course. Angel and I would love to speak to you outside.”
“No…” She shakes her head. “I meant alone.”
“You can say whatever you need to say to the both of us.” My tone is final.
“Yes, Winnie.” Cecilia is enjoying this in a way that’s pissing me off. “What do you need to say?”
“If you don’t mind, this is a family matter.” My aunt clutches my arm, attempting to pull me away from the group.
My grip tightens on Angel’s hand. “Angel will be family soon. I asked her to marry me.”
Winnie’s face pales, and she blinks from Angel to me. “She’s a Treviño.”
It’s not what I expected her to say. I thought she recognized Angel from painting her portrait day after day, but clearly spending two weeks with her didn’t warrant a memory.
Angel hasn’t spoken since this entire confrontation began, and I check her expression. It’s hard to read behind the mask.
“Yes. Angelica Treviño. You know her as Angela Carmen.” Angel’s hand tightens in mine, but I know she finished the portrait today. I know my aunt paid her, and if she hadn’t, I was fully prepared to ensure she honored her commitment.
I’m so proud of my girl.
Winnie drops her mask altogether. I make a move to catch it, but I see it’s attached to her wrist by a loop. “You’re Angela…” She points at Angel before turning fiery eyes on me. “You knew this whole time?”
I catch her pointed finger in my fist. “Whatever you’re about to say, I’d advise you to stop right now and rethink it.”
Her chest rises and falls fast, but she presses her lips together in a tight line.
Angel’s cheeks flush, and she leans into my shoulder. “Would you get me a drink, please?”
I hesitate, looking from her to my aunt. “Of course. White wine?”
She shakes her head. “Ginger ale would be fine.”
I’m puzzled by her choice, but I’m sure it has more to do with my prejudiced aunt’s stereotypes than anything. “Winnie, would you like a drink?”
My aunt is not smiling. “Vodka rocks.”
“You got it.” Lifting her hand, I kiss Angel’s knuckles. It feels like she’s trying to get rid of me, but before I head for the nearest drink station, I look at my aunt. “Don’t ruin this.”
“I can’t even begin to guess what you mean.”
“You know what I mean.” I lower my brow. “Angel is important to me.”
“Deacon, I have no intention of ruining anything.”
“Good.” I linger with my hand on Angel’s back, but her eyes are downcast. Exhaling a breath, I give her a little pat. “I’ll be right back.”
I want to trust Angel knows what she’s doing, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned. Avoiding any familiar faces, I make my way quickly to the beverage station, keeping my eyes on the women.
28
Angel
Deacon moves swiftly through the crowd, glancing back every few moments. He’s stunning in a tuxedo with his dark hair swept back, his blue eyes glowing with love, lined with concern.
Rather than dancing around the elephant in the room, I decide to get this over with fast. Rip off the band-aid.
“I know you’re angry.” I remove the mask from my face, meeting Winnie’s narrowed gaze.
“You lied to me.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You were at my house, day after day, and you never said a word.” Her voice is cold, and I can’t tell if she’s angry or hurt.
“You never asked.” I’m doing my best to be non-confrontational.
I want her to say whatever she has to say, and I want Deacon to be right—I want us to be friends. We’re going to be family.
“That’s so like your kind. So smug.” Her arms cross. “You took my money today and never said a word about seeing my nephew or me tonight.”
“My kind…” I exhale shaking my head. “I accepted payment for my artistic service. My personal life is not your business.”
She sniffs, lifting her chin. “And is that his?”
Her eyes drop to my waist, and my chest tightens. “Yes.”
“Now it makes sense. Deacon is the most eligible bachelor in the city. He could be with any woman here tonight. Of course, he’s doing the right thing.”
“He doesn’t know about it yet.” I resent the implication I’m using my pregnancy to trap him.
“Why not?”
I glance to where he’s standing at the bar waiting, tall and slim in his tuxedo. He rises above the other men standing around, handsome as a model, glancing in our direction every so often. So protective. Our eyes catch, and he smiles, warming my stomach. I love him so much.
“It’s really early… I wanted to wait for a special moment.” Returning to her, I do a little shrug. “I thought tonight might be a good time. After the ball.”
“You’ve been living with him?”
“I’ve spent a few nights at his apartment.”
Her hands go up, and she does a little wave. “I’ve had enough of this. Tell Deacon we’ll talk about this later. I’m going home.”
With that she turns and walks away, leaving me standing in front of the cluster of tables all alone. Deacon is settling up with the bartender, and I recognize a familiar voice.
“Carmen?” Looking around, I see a guy I recognize from Valeria’s old neighborhood.
“Chris?”
He’s wearing a white coat, and I realize he’s one of the waiters. “What are you doing here?”
“I—”
“Hey, sorry that took so long.” Deacon appears at my side.
I smile up at him, taking my soft drink out of his full hands. “Your aunt had to go.”
“She did?” He looks at the vodka he’s holding and then towards the door. “You want this?”
“No thanks. This is an old friend Chris…” Turning back to the guy, I’m confused when I see he’s scowling. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re here with him?” Chris nods, motioning with his tray at Deacon.
My mouth drops, and I’m about to answer when Deacon steps forward to shake his hand.
“Hey, how’s it going? Chris you said?” He’s friendly, open. “I’m Deacon.”
“I know who you are.” Chris’s black eyes flash at mine. “He shot your brother.”
“No, that’s not what happened—” I step forward to stop him, but he backs away, moving farther into the crowd.
Deacon watches him go before turning to me. “Not sure what to do with that.”
Anger tightens my throat. If my brother is spreading lies, putting Deacon in jeopardy… “I know what to do about it,” I say under my breath. I’m going to visit him tomorrow.
“Where did my aunt go?” Deacon’s scanning the crowded room.
“She left. Said she’d talk to you later.”
Our eyes meet, and we both seem a bit deflated.
“Hey.” He puts his drink on the high table and his hands on my waist, pulling me closer. “We’re supposed to be having fun tonight. Let’s dance.”
Nodding, I follow him back to the floor, where we get cozy and sway to the instrumental version of “Beyond the Sea,” and my mind drifts to Sofia. It feels like a year has passed since Beto destroyed everything, and Lourdes called Deacon my prince. He is my prince, but unlike that fictional princess, I’m not giving up anything to be with him. My brother is not a king, he’s not my father, and he’s not going to threaten our love.
We dance. We sample the barbecue skewers on platters. I sip ginger ale, while Deacon sticks to scotch. The only members of the old guard who approach us are the men. They shake Deacon’s hand, ask how his business is going, welcome him back to town.
I feel the eyes of all the old women in the room on us the entire night, and I’m su
re we’re the subject of much gossip, the same gossip that sent Winnie running for the hills. I can’t decide if I think she’s a coward or if she did it to avoid engaging.
Haven Wells is the one older woman who asks to meet me. “I adore your dress.”
“Thank you.” I do a brief nod. “Deacon bought it for me.”
Her white-blonde hair is styled in a chin-length bob, and I know immediately she’s the mother of Deacon’s friend Rich, who has yet to make an appearance.
“I heard you two are engaged?” She smiles, looking up at my date. “Is this true?”
“It is.” Deacon catches my hand, threading our fingers and showing her my ring.
“It’s gorgeous. Did you pick it out together?”
“No—he completely surprised me with it.” The diamond flashes in the light, and I imagine him picking it out, keeping it a secret…
“Brave boy.” Haven nudges him in the side, and he shrugs.
“I figured if she didn’t like it, I’d get her another one.”
“Another one!” I cry, and he laughs.
Haven leans into me, clinking her champagne glass against my tumbler. “Mental note.” She does a little wave, circling into the crowd. “Have a fun night, kids.”
“I like her.”
“She’s one of the better ones.” He puts the glass down and catches my arms. “How are you feeling?”
Tilting my head to the side, I look up at him, a smile curling my lips. “I’m ready to go if you are. I have something special in mind.”
“Is that so?’ His eyes light, and he steps closer, cupping my cheeks and lifting my chin as he leans down, speaking at my ear. “We’re not too far from our tower if you’d like to make a little detour.”
My eyes flutter shut as his warm breath skates over my neck, making me shiver. His thumb touches my chin, and my body heats. “I could be persuaded to take a little detour.”
It’s not like the baby’s going anywhere.
Without another word, he clasps my hand, leading me to the large, glass foyer where we entered.
He’s walking fast, and I catch the side of my dress, laughing as I do my best to keep up. “You’re going to make me trip.”
My heels click on the marble floors, and as soon as we’re outside, he turns my back to the wall, covering my mouth with his. Our lips seal, and I’m flooded with heat as our tongues curl and the scent of citrus and soap flood my senses.
Hands slide up my sides, cupping my breasts over my gown. I moan, tasting him, smelling him… His hands slide down my back to cup my ass, and I’m on fire.
“As gorgeous as this dress is, I’ve wanted to put my hands all over your naked body all night.”
“I want your hands all over my naked body.” It’s an urgent request.
“Wait here while I get the car.”
He leaves me hot and bothered as I watch him jog to the VIP lot. On wobbly legs, I stroll to the end of the walkway to wait for him. It doesn’t take long for him to pull up in his sleek black Audi two-seater.
I’m about to open the door when he’s out in a flash, circling the front and holding it for me. “I got this.”
We’re inside and speeding down the highway in no time. His large hand rests on my thigh, rising higher, following the high slit of my dress. Shifting in the buttery leather seat, I uncross my legs, loving the heat rising with his touch. His lips curl as his eyes watch the road, and I sigh at the first slide of his finger against my crotch, sheathed in silk.
“Why don’t you slip those off?” Heat is in his voice, and I’m so wet.
“I’m not sure if I can in this skirt.” Wiggling side to side, I reach under, trying to maneuver my hands beneath the floor-length gown. “I don’t want to rip it.”
“I’ll rip it.” He’s hungry, aggressive, and I’m vibrating with need.
“I need to stand. How much farther?” My voice is breathless.
“Not much.” His hand returns to the smooth skin of my thigh when his phone buzzes on the console. “Probably Rich making excuses for why he never showed.”
I’m ready to say it doesn’t matter, when I see it’s Winnie. “It’s your aunt.”
“I don’t care.” His hand slides higher up my thigh, and as much as I want him to touch me, I can’t help wondering what she’ll say to him.
Will she tell him about the baby?
Will she say I’m trying to trap him?
It’s like cold water on my heated body. “Should I see what she wrote?”
His hand leaves me, and he makes an annoyed sound as he picks up the black phone and swipes his finger across the face before handing it to me. “Old cock blocker. We might as well read it together.”
“Are you sure?” I feel bad for breaking the mood.
“Positive.”
My tongue wets my bottom lip, and I lift the phone to read the words aloud. “Come to the house after you’ve taken her home. I have the diary you asked for. You need to see it.”
“Mother fucker.” Deacon’s voice is a hiss. “I knew she had it.”
Cold fear trickles through my chest as I watch the muscle move in his jaw. “What does that mean?”
The mood in the car completely shifts. “It’s about our grandparents.”
“We have to go.”
29
Deacon
“You were going to let me search the whole attic?” I’m so fucking angry, I’m doing a good job keeping my tone civil. “When you had it the whole time?”
Winnie’s dressed in her floor-length navy velvet robe, and her hair is wrapped in that white turban. “The things in my mother’s personal diary are private. I didn’t know your reason for wanting to see it. I was protecting her memory.”
I’m breathing fast, and while I understand this, I’m still pissed. “You could have told me that. We could’ve talked it out.”
“Does she have to be here.” Winnie eyes Angel.
Angel stands at once, starting for the door, but I catch her hand.
“Yes.” My voice is firm. “This involves all of us.”
Winnie looks directly at Angel. “Did you come here straight from the masque?”
Angel nods.
“So you didn’t—”
“We were on the way home when you texted.” Angel’s voice is quiet.
I hold out my hand. “May I see the diary, please? This is pretty important to us.”
Winnie’s lips tighten, and she slips her hand in the folds of her robe, taking out a brown-leather clad book. It’s slimmer than I expected, but clearly old.
“I guessed the part you wanted to see. The bookmark is there.”
For a moment, I hold the small book, allowing the significance of it to seep through my fingers. This book could be the key to everything. If only it could fix things…
Carefully, I open the cover. The room is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. I’m pretty sure I hear everyone’s breath swirling in and out. I’m at the section Winnie marked. My fingers turn the pages carefully, delicately, like it’s as important as the constitution. Hell, it could be.
I’ve just found the place when a loud banging on the stained-glass front door snaps us all to attention.
“Open the door!” A male voice roars. “Deacon Dring? I know you’re in there. I know you have my sister.”
I know who it is, but Angel says the word. “Beto…”
Winnie leaves the room, catching the side of her robe and dashing down the hall. At first I think she’s going to answer him, but she strides with purpose in the opposite direction. I don’t have time to wonder. Beto is beating on the door like he’s a fucking storm trooper.
Angel catches my arm, speaking softly. “Let me talk to him.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.” Protective anger is hot in my chest.
“I can handle my brother. Give me a second to talk to him.”
“You’re not going out there alone.”
“Deacon.” Her slim hand touches my stomach. “H
e’s my brother.”
Reaching out, she turns the brass deadbolt, walking out onto the front steps. “Beto?” Her voice is strong, firm. “Why are you here?”
“The question is why are you here?” He’s dressed in only dark jeans and a white tank, but he’s wearing a belt, which I’m pretty sure has a holster on it. “Chris said he saw you at that big party tonight.”
“I went to the Cattleman’s Masque with Deacon.”
“So you think you belong in this world? You think they won’t chew you up and spit you out like they do with all our kind?”
“I think you need to go home. You have no business being here.”
“I’m not leaving without my sister.” His voice is a quiet roll of thunder, approaching danger. “Papá would expect me to protect you from these people.”
“These people.” Angel exhales a laugh. “You sound just like them. You all use the same words. You all share the same hate. It’s senseless, and it’s not Deacon and me.”
“Let’s go.” He steps forward and catches her arm, and I’m out the door.
“Let her go.” I remove his hand and stand beside her. “Angel is my fiancée. If you have something to say, say it to me.”
Beto’s dark eyes gleam. “Are we doing this again?”
“I’m not doing anything. You’re going home.”
The loud click-click of a gun echoes at my shoulder, and I step aside to see my aunt holding a massive, double-barrel shotgun at her shoulder.
“Oh, shit.” I pull Angel behind me.
Winnie’s cheek is lowered as she looks through the sites, which are leveled point blank at Angel’s brother. “Get off my place.”
Beto’s hands go up, but his smile holds steady. “What is this? Hiding behind some old lady now?”
“This old lady is going to put a hole in your head the size of Texas if you don’t get off my land.” Winnie’s voice is fierce, and her blue eyes flash cold fire.
“Your land.” Fury kindles Beto’s eyes. “Give me my family, and I’ll get off your land.”
“Looks like you have a problem with English. Habla Inglés?” Winnie still hasn’t lowered the gun.
