Vanessa
"Good evening, my wife. You look breathtaking, as always," he says, his captivating blue eyes holding mine with a blend of warmth and intensity.
A blush creeps up my cheeks as I let him guide me towards the blanket, and Danny silently retreats, likely waiting nearby until he is called upon.
The ocean's rhythmic waves provide a soothing backdrop as we settle onto the blanket. The gentle glow of the battery-operated candles flickers in the night, creating a romantic ambiance. For a moment, it feels like an ordinary dinner date.
"I hope you enjoy the meal. I haven't cooked in forever, I forgot the peace in it," he says, a genuine smile softening the intensity in his gaze.
As we start to eat, the tension that usually accompanies our interactions seems momentarily suspended. I take measured sips of wine to soothe my nerves, deliberately avoiding the risk of getting drunk again. He's offering me a glimpse of normalcy in his world, and I want to savor the opportunity.
"This is amazing," I moan, relishing another bite of the chicken taco in my hand.
A grin lights up his face as he chuckles. "It's a family recipe. My mama used to make it when Camila and I were children."
In that moment, a glimmer of vulnerability surfaces in his eyes, inviting me to seize the opportunity to delve into his past.
"C-Can I ask you something?" I stammer, unable to resist biting my lip.
His face, which had softened with the memory of his mother's cooking, now takes on a more guarded expression, but he nods. "Ask away, Mama. I'll try to answer whatever questions you may have."
I rack my brain for a question that won't be too intrusive, yet I can't shake the curiosity about what happened to his brother. He hasn't lied to me before, so maybe he might tell me outright if he were involved.
Sensing my contemplation, he reassures me, "I won't be angry with you for your questions."
Sure, he says that now.
"Has Celeste always been in your life?" I ask, opting for a question that, while delicate, might provide some insight. It's a safer approach than directly asking if he murdered his brother.
His jaw visibly tightens, and I can't help but notice his fists clenching beside him. However, he manages to maintain a facade of composure, taking a deliberate sip of his glass.
See, I told him so.
"Yes, but not as my stepmother. My mom passed away from a brief illness when I was just four. She was kind and beautiful, too pure to be the wife of a monster. But their marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement between their fathers. Celeste, my mom's best friend, stepped in after her passing. My Papa married her a few months later, and I suspect she was already pregnant with Nathan at the time it all went down," he shares, his voice carrying a mixture of emotions.
Pain. Anger. Betrayal.
My gaze remains fixed on his face, capturing the vulnerability etched across his features as he continues. The weight of his revelations hangs in the air, and I am hesitant even to breathe too loudly, fearing it might make him stop talking.
"Celeste believed that her son should run the empire, but I was in the way. Nathan and I were once close, but as he got older, she poisoned his mind and turned him against me. When I was around eight, my Papa started showing signs of dementia. So, he began grooming me to take over, but Celeste convinced him to also train Nathan in case I failed him or died before I had children to carry on the legacy."
Diego's choice to not be a monster was taken away before he was even born.
"At twenty-five, the man I knew was gone, and I assumed his role as the head of the family. Before his body even grew cold, Celeste ordered Nathan to kill me. He managed to get me alone, claiming to need my help. Then, he shot me right there." He opens his shirt a bit more to reveal the tattoo. "He had a shit aim," he chuckles, bitterness seeping into the laughter. "Completely missed my heart, but left scars that run deeper than any bullet could."
Anger and sadness surge through me. How could Celeste order the execution of a man she raised, even if he wasn't biologically hers? It's a sickening realization about the depth of her cruelty that she did so well to hide when we met at the wedding.
I also begin to wonder how many times he has been shot. I suddenly notice that beneath his intricate tattoos are scars from what I assume are gunshot and stab wounds.
"Why get his name tattooed on your body then?" I ask curiously, my fingers delicately tracing the inked letters on his skin. I swear, I can sense him shudder from my touch.
"I needed a reminder not to forgive him, that he's dead to me. I don't give a fuck how much Celeste brainwashed him. If I ever see his again, that motherfucker is dead." The sheer venom in his words sends a cold shiver through me.
So, he didn't kill his brother.
He just wants to kill him...most likely in the most gruesome way possible.
It feels good that he was honest about it, but the agony reflected in his eyes makes my heart ache. His past reveals shadows darker than I could have ever imagined. He is a product of a harsh environment, a creation shaped by a life scarred by trauma. I had suspected as much, but now I don't know exactly how to respond.
All I know is that I want to express my gratitude to him for sharing this with me. It's a glimpse into the intricate tapestry of his pain, helping me understand the origins of the man I'm not married to. Although I could sense his reluctance, he just tore down his walls. There's no doubt that he'd only do this for me. And that realization stirs something primal within me.
Heaviness lingers in the atmosphere, but now it's charged with something else. A silent battle rages within me as my mind wraps around Diego's past, but the need for connection outweighs everything. I want him to know that he's not alone, that I'm here for him. That he can trust me.
I crawl into his lap, cupping his face in my hand. Our lips meet with deliberate slowness and passion as my free hand traces a path down his abdomen, swiftly undoing the buttons of his shirt. He leans back slightly, his gaze probing mine. "What are you doing?" he rasps.
My breath catches as I confess in a whisper, "I want you."
It's not because I pity him or anything, there's just a fiery desire building up in the pit of my stomach that I can no longer ignore. And his confession tonight seems to have fueled it.
He lies back on the blanket, deepening the kiss, as I straddle him. Our bodies move in a rhythmic dance, grinding against each other with an intense need that electrifies the air around us. His hands journey from my hips to my ass, gripping both cheeks with a firmness that elicits a helpless moan.
Suddenly, his phone rings. "Fuck. I need to take this," he mutters, sitting up and rebuttoning his shirt. My eyes involuntarily drift to the impressive bulge in his pants, and I absentmindedly trace my thumb along my lips, still tingling from our desperate kisses. I can't believe we were just about to have sex. And that I actually wanted to. Well, still want to. Because the fire in my belly doesn't seem to be going away any time soon.
With his phone pressed to his ear, Diego converses fluently in Spanish. Yet, his gaze remains locked on me, those intense, blue orbs peering into my soul. As I kneel on the blanket, patiently awaiting his full attention, he strokes my hair tenderly.
I lean into his touch, savoring the sensation, wanting it. Needing it.
Staring back up at him, a torrent of emotions floods my heart-fear, desire, and a hint of something else.
Is this-
No. It can't be.
If it is, I'm utterly and hopelessly fucked.