Turning off the faucet, I looked up at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner—which I always ensured looked perfect—was smeared. My red lipstick was smudged off my lips.
I stared at the woman before me. The woman who was two years without the one she loved. The woman who no longer looked like the innocent girl Tanner Ayers fell in love with. The woman who wasn’t that girl. Just the thought of Tanner made me feel sick. The thought of how his blue eyes would soften when they looked upon me. How he never smiled, but would, just a fraction, for me.
I washed my face until there wasn’t a scrap of makeup left on it. I blinked as I looked at my reflection in the mirror again . . . then I let the tears fall. My shoulders shook as the tears fell harder, the sobs racking my body and loosening my grip on the composure I held so tightly onto. I dropped my head away from my reflection. I wouldn’t see myself cry. I wouldn’t give in. I had made it this far. I could make it further . . . I could . . . I could . . . I must . . .
I stood, gripping the porcelain of the sink until all the tears within me had been shed. I heard the sound of footsteps too late to pull myself together. My papa suddenly appeared in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, I straightened and looked him in the eye. I waited for him to speak. His suit was perfect, as usual, not a wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. Not a hair out of place.
“Princesa,” he said, his voice low. His head tipped to the side in sympathy—well, as much sympathy as I knew he would have for me in this situation.
“I’m fine.” I wiped my tears and cleared my throat. My shoulders straightened and I took a deep breath.
Papa nodded, and gestured for me to follow him out into the sitting area of my suite. I sat on the chair opposite him, smoothed down the silk of my dress, then raised my head high. Papa sat back, relaxed, but watching me closely.
“You could do worse than Diego, princesa.” Papa folded his hands together and placed them on his lap.
“I don’t love him,” I said, trying my hardest not to lose my composure. My father didn’t like, in his words, hysterical women. Women who let emotions rule their actions. It was why he hadn’t a single woman working for him. Why—as much as he loved me—he never truly let me in.
Simply put, Papa believed women were to know their place—below men.
My papa threw up his hands. But it was there, the flash of pain that always burst in his dark eyes when I mentioned love. My mama had died in childbirth, and her death had ruined my papa. Carmen had told me that when my mama was alive, the men around him had said he was happy. Ruthless, but happy with my mama. When she died, they said that the kindness and the friendliness he possessed died too. Only I, his daughter, saw glimpses of the man he had once been. It was why I could never hate him for the way he sometimes treated me. I was the reason my mama was taken from him. I was the reason he suffered.
I was the only family he had.
I had never even seen a picture of my mama. My papa found it too hard to keep them around. I didn’t want to cause him pain, so I quickly learned as a child never to ask to see one. Though Carmen said she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Long dark hair, deep chocolate eyes, pretty and strong.
She told me I looked just like her.
“What does love have to do with anything?” Papa said, and the last flicker of hope that he would stop this engagement faded from my heart. Papa glanced out of the window. His mind drifted out of this room and to somewhere else. “It’s better not to love too hard, princesa.” I felt my bottom lip tremble for the pain he was in. His, and my own. Because there was some truth to his words. The love I felt for Tanner . . . Sometimes, in my darkest of moments, I wondered if this level of love, this soul-shattering kind of possession, was worth all the pain and the heartache.
It was like being tethered to the ground by an unyielding rope, when all you wanted to do was let go and float away.
Papa cleared his throat and faced me with a tight smile. He reached across the table for my hand. His thumb ran over the ring that Diego had placed on my finger only a few hours ago. “He is a good man. Strong. A leader. He will look after you when I am no longer here to do so.” I dropped my eyes, trying to rein in my anger. I did not need a man to look after me. “He has loved you since you were born, princesa.” Papa shook his head fondly. “I remember the day he first saw you. He was smitten. Came to see you every day. He followed you around, hanging off your every word.” Papa showed a hint of smile. It made me smile too.
Papa patted my hand. “You may not love him yet, Adelita. But you will.” Papa got up and kissed my head. “You’re a good daughter. Strong. Innocent, and you know your duty.” I understood the subtext. You will marry Diego regardless of your lack of feelings toward him. My word is law. “The wedding will be in three weeks.”
Shock rendered me speechless. I was paralyzed, unable to move as Papa walked out of my suite. Carmen was through in seconds. “Adelita,” she said quietly. I jumped to my feet before she reached me. I couldn’t let her touch me. I couldn’t let her comfort me. I would fall apart. I would crumble . . .
“I’m going to Father Reyes for confession.” I rushed to my closet and changed. I passed Carmen without speaking and went out to the front of the hacienda. A car was waiting for me; Carmen must have called ahead. “Templo de Santa Maria,” I instructed the driver. He pulled away, and I pulled my scarf over my face to stop him seeing the tears. We passed through the streets, and too many memories came at me at once. I could no longer see my home without seeing Tanner. I could no longer breathe without breathing in Tanner. I could no longer bleed without bleeding for Tanner.
Each heartbeat was his as well as my own.
When we pulled up to the small chapel, I let the driver open the door and escort me inside. Candles were still lit, illuminating the dark room. I reached out to the old stone walls and smiled. I always felt safer here. At peace.
Free.
I let the rows of candles lead me along the aisle and down the stairs until I reached the place I knew Luis would be. As always, he was hunched over his books. “Adelita?” I’d shocked him. He glanced at the clock on his wall. “You’re here late.”
I checked the driver had stayed by the main door. When I faced Luis, my only true friend left here in Mexico, from childhood, I let my eyes fill with water and held up my hand, showing the ring. Luis’s eyes fell in sympathy, and his face paled somewhat. “Adelita,” he whispered. I shook my head. Luis was the one person I could let my guard down with. The only one who truly knew the real me, and . . .
“Tanner,” I whispered, and my voice caught on a pained breath. “Luis . . . what about Tanner?”
Luis rushed over to me and took me in his arms. I cried into his shoulder, hearing him lock the door behind us. Luis let me cry until my legs felt weak and all the energy had drained from my body.
Luis and I sat on his small couch. He held my hand, just like he had done, years ago, when I’d fallen for the prince of the Ku Klux Klan . . . when Tanner had had to leave me . . . and in the months, then years, when I didn’t hear from him. When he didn’t return.
“Diego was always determined,” Luis eventually said. He sighed and faced me. I knew my face would look tired and worn. Luis squeezed my hand tighter. “When?”