For now.
“It just isn’t,” she told her daughter.
Maria shrugged in her mother’s hold. “I like him.”
Valeria smiled. “Oh?”
“Yep.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he doesn’t hurt you,” Maria said, “and he likes you. That’s why I like him.”
“That’s all?”
Maria nodded. “That’s all, Mamá.”
Huh.
Children were still children. The only people on the earth who looked past the surface to see what was underneath. Children saw bad things, and yet, still found the good, too.
That was their innocence.
The beauty of kids.
They found hope.
Possibility.
Even when no one else did.
“I like him,” Valeria murmured into her daughter’s hair.
Although, if Maria heard it, she didn’t acknowledge it. Valeria was fine with that because she wasn’t sure how to deal with this herself. Away from this place, at a different time, had she met Chris ... it would have been amazing.
They could be wonderful.
And maybe—God, maybe—if she had the chance he promised her to get away from here, and live her life the way she wanted, then she might let herself feel all those things she kept holding at bay. For now, though, she didn’t dare.
Heartache was one thing.
Heartbreak was quite another.
Valeria was not ready for that. Giving her heart to a man she couldn’t be with would only bring her pain.
Someday, that might change.
Her thoughts were a whisper.
They reminded her hope wasn’t dead.
Not yet.
• • •
Valeria had closed the door to her daughter’s bedroom when Jorge came stumbling drunk down the hall. His drinking had become more regular, and that concerned her if only because he was a mean drunk, and she always seemed to be right in his fucking line of fire.
“Hermosa,” Jorge slurred, coming closer to her. “We need to celebrate, woman.”
Valeria took a careful step backward. “Why?”
She ignored the red lipstick stain on the collar of his shirt, and the undone buttons because she didn’t give a fuck who put it there as long as it wasn’t her. The strands of his hair stuck up everywhere. Sweat dotted his forehead and wrinkles covered his slacks.
It wasn’t like Jorge to be messy.
Except lately, he was more often than not.
He reached out for her when she was close enough and grabbed onto her. Valeria didn’t have the chance to react before his disgusting mouth came down on hers. The taste of the rum he had been drinking flooded her tongue, making her want to gag. Her hands hit his chest, ready to push him away even though that would cause her more trouble.
She didn’t get the chance.
In a flash, the two of them stumbled into their bedroom. Jorge stepped back from her, realizing where they were, and grinned. He pointed a finger at her while pulling his shirt down his arms, and nodding.
“Ah, now get undressed for me, sí?” He winked, as stupid as that looked. “Slowly, Val. I like that, don’t you?”
God.
“You’re too drunk,” she told him.
Jorge rolled his eyes and fell back to the foot of the bed to get his shoes off. “I am not. Get undressed, or I will cut the fucking clothes off you.”
She didn’t doubt it.
She also didn’t lie.
He struggled to pull the leather loafers from his feet, almost falling face first to the floor. Another night, and she might have laughed at him. Except, the time closed in on eleven-thirty, and in a half an hour, she needed to meet Chris in the stables. She hadn’t forgotten about that.
If she could help it, she would not let her husband touch her one more fucking time. She searched for a way out of this situation while Jorge continued to struggle with his shoes, and his socks, too, when he finally removed the loafers.
“What are you standing there for?” he snapped up at her.
Jesus Christ.
The last thing she wanted was this drunk pig hauling his body on top of hers to get himself off—whiskey dick was a real thing, and not specific to only whiskey, either. Sex with Jorge was bad enough when he stayed sober although she didn’t think of him raping her as sex. When he was drunk, though, it became a whole different horror.
“Did you remember to let the kitten in?” she asked, hoping for a distraction.
Jorge’s brow furrowed, and sleepy eyes stared up at her.
Hazy eyes, too, she noticed. Drunk as fuck. She might have asked him how much he drank downstairs before coming up to bed if she cared. Except she didn’t, and really, if he gave himself alcohol poisoning, she would not cry about it.
Damn.
Might he fall asleep if she gave him the chance?
Pass right out?
“What kitten?” he slurred again.
“Never mind,” she blurted, “I will use the bathroom—freshen up, okay? I’ll be right back out. Lay back and take a break. You deserve it.”
Right.
That’s what he deserved.
Jorge sighed, pleased with her submissiveness. That’s all this bastard ever wanted. To believe Valeria was willing and capable of going along with whatever he needed and demanded. He was easier to handle but shit ... it killed her to do it.
No point in lying.
“All right,” he mumbled, folding his arms behind his head, “but don’t be too long. I need a good sleep. Big things happening tomorrow.”
“Oh, like what?”
She asked the question over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom. Moving around inside the space, turning on the taps and lifting the toilet seat to make it seem like she was doing something, he wouldn’t know the difference if he stayed resting on the bed. Knowing Jorge like she did, when he was drunk, if he stayed on his back for long enough, he would fall asleep.
A win-win for her.
Stupid, yes.
Risky, absolutely.
Valeria didn’t care. Not right now. Not knowing soon, Chris would leave, and tonight was the last chance she would have to be with him. She would do what she needed to do.
“Business, Val,” he muttered, “with the Canadian.”
“Chris?”
“Mmm, I don’t like him.”
“Why?”
“He looks at you too much.”
Valeria stiffened near the sink.
How often did Jorge watch when she didn’t pay attention?
“Does he? I never noticed.”
“They all look at you, woman ... but they’re smart about it. He doesn’t care, and I don’t ... like that.”
His words came slower, now, so Valeria kept talking as she pretended to wash her hands.
“I don’t notice,” she admitted. “What are you celebrating?”
“The deal is ...”
“Hmm?”
“Completed,” Jorge mumbled. A beat of silence passed before he asked almost unintelligibly, “Are you finished?”
“Just about.”
She took a minute to dry her hands, and brushed her teeth, a familiar sound echoed into the bathroom.
Snoring.
Valeria smiled at her reflection.
It worked.
She came out of the bathroom, and sure enough, Jorge had passed out on the bed with his arms still acting as a pillow beneath his head. Using the blanket that acted as a decoration on the chair in the corner, she covered him. Not because she cared should he become cold, but because he slept better when he was warm, and she needed him to stay asleep for as long as possible.