Yuñior glanced at her sideways before stopping in front of a door. “You have quite the vivid imagination.”
He opened the door to a room overloaded in rich blues and golds and gilded window frames. For Diadra, the room looked as if Baroque had thrown up on a Colonial furniture maker and gotten it all wrong. The sound of the click of the door made her jump. Her eyes were wide when she turned to look at him.
“This is your quarters,” he said, walking past her, “and through this door are my sleeping quarters. There is a separate bathroom there in that corner, but the closet space is shared in the middle. I think your things have been brought up and hung. Please change for dinner and I will come back for you in a half hour.”
“No kiss. No hey baby, how you doing?”
“Not now, Diadra,” he said, exhaling. “If I kiss you now, we will never make it down to dinner. You cannot even start to imagine what it would be like to displease my grandmother. I once saw the woman make a military general cry.”
“Jeeezzzeee,” she mumbled, looking for her clothing. “Thirty minutes, I shall be ready. Uhm which dress...never mind.”
He nodded and left her alone. The four-poster bed commanding the space in the room made her feel small and insignificant. Three days, Diadra. The stay is only four nights. Get through this, make him look good and focus.
You focus.
Did you see how sexy he looked in that tux with the long tails?
Sexy can get you dead.
He can kill me right now for just another hour in his arms.
You are so weak. Pathetic.
I’m in love.
You’re in lust.
Shut up and mind your business.
Nearly a month of self-talk and personal coaching had landed her no further in her mental battles within herself about how to handle the man called Ed. The argument wouldn’t be won today, and all she could do at this point would be to enjoy the ride. She changed quickly, after giving herself a refresher and exchanging the undergarments. He wore Argentine blue in the sash across his chest. The white waistcoat held shiny aquamarine buttons and the neck piece held a blue stone in the center of the star.
“Let’s see...Argentine blue dress, these uncomfortable underwear, and sexy shoes in case there is dancing,” she said changing. It took a few minutes to refresh the makeup, add a glosser, and change the earrings, but when he knocked on the door, she was ready.
Diadra opened the door to an awaiting Yuñior. The hairstyle which she had worn upon arrival had been pinned up. It was now straight and down on her shoulders, the glosser adding shine to her lips as she smiled at him. “I’m ready,” she told Yunior, but he stepped inside the door.
“This is the first time ever,” he said, lowering his hands to cover the front of his pants. “First time I’ve ever looked at a woman...damn. Damn. You look good enough to eat, lick, and drink whole. Woman, I would give up my stake in our emerald mines to see your belly swollen with my sons and daughters.”
“Whoa! Wow! I’m flattered, I think,” she said, reaching for him, but he took a step back.
“We can’t be late, but Diadra, not answering the phone or taking my calls...it hurt. I didn’t think you’d come. I thought you’d given up on us,” he said softly.
“Hold up, you have an emerald mine?”
“Out of everything I said, that’s all you heard?”
“No, I also heard we can’t be late,” she said, moving forward to the door. “And thank you for telling me I look good enough to impregnate. I feel pretty in this dress.”
“You look stunning in that dress, but wait, you’re missing one item,” he said, pulling a velvet box from his pocket. She stuck out her right hand, which he slapped away, to grab her left. On her finger he slid an emerald cut green emerald encrusted with small diamonds, which had to be at least four carats.
“Nice. I’ll make sure you get it back after dinner,” she said, slipping her arm into his.
Arm in arm, they walked to the staircase. She leaned over and whispered, “Just so you know, talking about impregnating me is not flattering. I take that as a threat considering the outcome if I’m not your wife.”
“I’m telling you that as a promise of what I see for us,” he said, taking his time to escort her down the stairs. “I’m also telling you as a promise the next time I phone and you refuse to take my call, I’m coming to New York, and I will handle you.”
She looked at him out of the side of her eye, “Like your father handled Tonda?’
“No, like a man in love handles the woman who is torturing his soul for her own sadistic pleasure. If you wanted to hurt me, Diadra, you did. I felt all of it, and I’m letting you know I was harmed by your actions,” he said. “Love is not a weapon, and I’m not your enemy.”
“This is terrifying to and for me. Look at this place, it’s a palace,” she said, whispering as they walked past guests who nearly genuflected as Yuñior walked by. “In your father’s world, you’re a drug dealer, and in this world, you’re treated as the crown prince.”
“And in your world, how do you see me?’
“I see you as a man. As my man,” she replied.
“And that is the world where I find balance. I was born into this life and didn’t ask for any of it. I must toe the line for not one family but two,” he said, “and in less than five years, this will be my primary residence, and my children shall inherit this home. Andres’ children will inherit the cattle and lands.”
“Ed, I’m not sure what you’re expecting of me,” she said as the doors to the dining room opened.
A table which easily sat fifty people was lined with shining plates, crystal decanters, and silver services loaded with fruits and cheeses. A bell chimed as guests wandered in, looking for their placards and taking a seat. Yuñior pulled out a chair for her next to his grandfather Eleon. Another bell chimed as an army of servants entered with covered plates of food and placed them before each guest.
“Thank you all for being here,” Anya said, tapping the side of a crystal goblet with a small silver fork. “Welcome to the 35th Annual Fernandez Gala. Raise your glasses! Salud!”
“Salud!” the group replied before lifting forks to enjoy the meal.
THE CONVERSATIONS AT the table were lively and Eleon Fernandez made a point to include Diadra in the dialogue. She answered thoughtfully, trying her best to make a good impression during the meal. At times, Diadra could feel the eyes of Anya upon her, and twice she made eye contact with the woman, offering an appreciative smile, and even miming “yummy” over the dessert. After dinner, as people mingled, she noticed a Japanese man watching her carefully. Diadra made no effort to call him out for being rude. Finally, he mustered enough courage to walk over to her.
“Pardon me, but I can’t help staring at you. It’s not a pickup line, but you remind me of someone,” he said. “I can’t put my finger on it. You look so familiar in a distant fuzzy kind of way.”
“Aren’t you afraid, Toshiro, that coming over here wouldn’t result in me beating you up again like I did when we were kids,” she said, looking at him over the edge of her wine glass.
“Nooooo!” he said, loudly, lapsing into Japanese. The laughter shared between them was noticed by others in the room. The soft blue dress with a pleated bodice covered her assets and did not reveal any cleavage. The long sheer sleeves were cuffed at the wrist in the same fabric as the ankle length gown that flowed when she walked and drew the eye of many men in the room and appreciative glances from the women.
“Toshiro Yamaguchi,” she said, lapsing into a conversation with him and catching up since their childhood. It had been years since she’d spoken the language, but she was able to respond to his questions as all eyes were drawn to them, especially Anya, who watched the young woman closely as she pulled her grandson aside.
“Yuñior, is your friend speaking Japanese to the Prime Minister’s son?”
“It would appear so,” he said solemnly.
“How do
es she know him?” Anya found herself asking the questions several times, and the wife of the Italian Ambassador quickly recognized Diadra as her daughter’s closest friend when she lived in Italy.
A man, dressed in militia garb which belonged to no country, also recognized Diadra. She provided him the same hug that she had when she was a teenager, and the soldier came by the home for cookouts and dinners. Her father mentioned a year ago that Willie Johnson had started a paramilitary group somewhere in South America. She’d never expected in a million years to see him here.
“How is your dad, old Sergeant Major Parsons?” the militia man asked. “I tell you, I miss those homecooked meals your mother used to make on long weekends when us soldiers couldn’t get home to be with family. I was heartbroken to hear about her death.”
“Thank you for the kind words about my mother and Daddy is doing well, Mr. Johnson. He retired from West Point and remarried,” she told him.
“Does he know you’re here? And how and why are you here?” William Johnson asked, looking about the room at the heavy weight Eleon Fernandez gathered for the weekend.
“I’m friends with Anya Fernandez’s grandson,” she replied, “I’m here as his plus one.”
“Okay then, little Sis, I see you,” Mr. Johnson said, as Yuñior walked up. He nodded to William Johnson, who excused himself and walked away.
“Walk with me, Diadra,” Yuñior said, leading her away from the crowds and out a side door. “You are surprising me in more ways than one. Adaptability is a very good thing in my world.”
“Hmm,” she said, as he led her out to the gardens. The dark green grass was evenly cut as if a small man had gotten down on his hands and knees and trimmed each single blade with a pair of tiny scissors. Flowers scented the air and benches sat in a rotunda, encircling a single flame which she assumed burned eternal. “This is a lovely garden.”
“It is my mother’s garden,” he told her, offering her a seat on the bench, careful of the edges of her dress.
“Was this her favorite spot in the house to come and hide? I can imagine sitting here reading a book of poetry, pondering the foibles of love,” she told him, smiling a little. “Do you come out here and read, Ed?”
“I come out here twice a year, once on her birthday and again at Christmas,” he said, looking at the flame.
His quietness and the sadness in his eyes made Diadra reach for his hand. He pulled his hand away. She knew this moment, as he’d done so on his father’s front porch and as he’d done in the empty wing of his father’s home, was a significant share of information and very few people knew what he was about to tell her.
“She is buried here,” he said softly. “Two days after the guerillas left our home, they took my mother back into the jungle. My father was heartbroken and knew. He knew, but it was a choice he had to make between her and his sons. Eduardo Delgado would not give up my life or the Andres’ life to save a woman who was not willing to sacrifice herself for her children. She was a woman he didn’t want in his life or around his sons.”
Diadra pressed her lips tightly together and listened closely.
“The guerillas returned my mother to our home, Diadra. They drove up to the front steps and tossed my mother’s body at the base of the stairs as if she were trash and rode off laughing,” he spoke, staring at the flame. “I was 12 years old. I helped my father carry my mother’s body inside, and I shall never forget any of it, especially her skin which still held warmth. At the time, I thought I would never forgive Papa for not fighting harder, for not going after them, for not killing each man where they stood, but he didn’t at that time. His focus was in preparing a lost daughter’s return home to her parents.”
His eyes misted as he stared at the flame. The pure blue of the fire danced as he spoke the words which nearly brought Diadra to tears.
“My father washed my mother’s body. He laid my mother on his desk and washed her from head to toe. I brushed out the tangles in her hair and helped him clothe her in the nicest dress she had left in the house, and he brought her home. He brought her here,” he said, pointing to the flame. “Each of these bricks he laid by hand. The gas line which runs to the flame, he installed. The final seven bricks, which encapsulate her coffin, were laid by me, my brothers, my grandparents, and her brother Santino, who has never been the same since her death.”
“Oh Ed, I’m so sorry,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Don’t oh Ed me, Diadra. There are no foibles when it comes to love. Either you’re all in or you’re not. My lineage is everything and bearing my children is a duty that the woman in my life has to fulfill,” he explained. “The well-being and balance of the children depends on the mental well-being and balance of the mother.”
“Yes, but does the woman have to feel as if she’s livestock, picked out to breed with the strongest bull in the pasture? What about the woman in your life’s dreams? Does the life she wants end simply because she has to spit out half a dozen babies to carry on your name? What if the first one isn’t a son, but a daughter? Are you going to go in the other room to the dinner table and strike up an alliance to marry her off to a man who grows grains to feed the cattle roaming the fields of wherever this is?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Bearing my children is an honor!”
“I’m sure it will be for the bitch you’re going to breed,” she said, scowling at him. “What I’m trying to get you to understand and see outside of what you need or what has been drilled inside of your head to do Ed, is burning right before your eyes!”
“What is burning before my eyes because I’m not seeing it?” He snapped at her.
“Irena! Does Irena live in a house almost like this?” she asked, raising her voice a bit.
“Yes, but smaller.”
“Your mother grew up here, with gilded museum quality paintings in gold encrusted frames, white wainscoting on the walls, and dignitaries at the dinner table. Eleon Fernandez made a deal with your Delgado grandfather to marry your mother to a drug czar who lives in the country on a farm that grows coca and coffee and milks poisonous snakes as his side hustle for butter and egg money,” she said. “How in the heck do you expect a woman to go from this to that and be okay mentally? Do you think the months that you spend at Las Tierras is going to be a joy for Irena? No, she is going to sit in a corner and sulk just like she did when she was there before waiting for you to entertain her or screw her to the point she no longer cares.”
Yuñior was frowning at her. Diadra got hit with a sudden rush of fear as his dark eyes bore into her, and for a second, she knew he was going to hit her across the mouth for raising her voice to him within the earshot of official house guests. Yuñior stepped forward, the golden star around his neck brushing against her bosom as he leaned down and spoke through clenched teeth.
“I want you so badly right now that if you touch me, here on top of my mother resting place, I will have you,” he said, gripping her arm.
“You know what, you are mental! And the sad part is that I’m so turned on right now that I wouldn’t care if this dress caught on fire while we went at it, because...damn you Ed. I should be angry but all I can think about is me and you, hot and heavy. I’m halfway there just looking at you in the sexy ass tuxedo, looking like Prince Akeem on your way to Zamunda! And yes, it would be an honor to give birth to your little psycho children, and I hate you for making me want that life and you,” she spat, balling up her fists.
“I’m not a psycho,” he said, moving closer to her. His breathing uneven.
“Sociopath!”
“That’s better,” he said, running his finger down her cheek. “Head to your quarters and secure the hall door. Leave the one between our rooms unlocked. I shall join you as soon as I bid goodnight to the guests.”
“And if I say no to your demands?” she asked, tentatively touching his hand. Her index finger stroked the inside of his palm. A movement so small, it wouldn’t be noticeable by the outsider staring in.
> “Will you say no, Diadra? Will you say no to me, knowing that it has been weeks since you gave me my last release? I’m starving for the feel of you in my arms. I crave the taste of you on my tongue. I yearn for the sounds of your passion as I bring you to ecstasy reverberating in my ear when I know I have hit that spot and you go all soft in my arms. Will you say no to me?”
Diadra poked him in the chest with her index finger. She lifted the ends of her dress and headed towards the door. “I’ll be in my quarters, Prince Akeem! How the hell do I get there from here? Up the grand staircase, take a left. Sixth door on the right. Got it. On my fricking way. On my darned way right now!”
Yuñior found himself laughing as he stood alone, preparing to wish his grandparents a goodnight. Anya waited in the shadows watching the interaction between her grandson and young man. The girl stood up to him and argued her point which was very valid. Diadra Parsons she respected. The same argument her daughter made with Eleon on the marriage to Eduardo Delgado was the same argument Diadra Parsons presented to her grandson.
Eleon joined his wife in the alcove. “My love, what do you think of the young woman?”
“I think she is perfect for him,” Anya replied.
“And for this family?”
“She worked the room better than I did tonight, and she speaks Italian and Japanese. Poorly. But passable,” Anya said. “If she is his choice, Diadra Parsons shall be welcomed in this home.”
“And what of her family?”
“Evidently her father is a well-respected former soldier,” Anya said. “I am content with his choice for a mate.”
THE GUESTS HAD QUESTIONS, but they would be at the estate all weekend, and he would have idle conversations with them on another day. Tonight, he wanted to be with Diadra. Tomorrow was a full day, and tonight, he needed this moment. He needed her.
He climbed the stairs as if he were in no rush. He’d been trained to understand his body and not give in to the basest of his urges, but with Diadra, each time he looked at her, his blood ran hot. Yuñior opened the door to his chambers, walking in and expecting to see Diadra in his bed, but she was not.
Becoming the Czar Page 17
