"I... I don't know. I haven't even been to that house since Hazel..." Panic washes over his features when he realizes what he's just admitted to. He helped her escape.
"So, you are telling me that was Abel's doing then?"
"No." He clenches his hands on the bed railings, trying to drag his slumping body farther upright. "You are twisting reality to suit your own paranoia."
"Am I?" I laugh caustically. "And would I be twisting reality to remind you that you were the one who called me the night of the explosion? Too sick to go in, you said. That's how Leandro and I ended up there with our father. That's how I lost both of them. Because you set that chain of events into motion with one phone call, banking on the fact that I would help you."
My voice continues to rise as I do, looming over him as I clutch his hospital gown, lowering my face to his as I snarl the truth.
"You made me believe that you were a trusted friend and advisor. And you were the one who betrayed me."
Realization dawns on his face, and he shakes his head in denial. "No, Santiago. You have it all wrong. I was sick that night. I was vomiting uncontrollably. Believe me, if you think I haven't considered that very fact… that I sent you there, and what happened... it could have been myself and my own son. I have thought of it every day since it happened. I never stop thinking of it."
My hands fall away from his shirt, and I stumble back, angry with myself for giving him the opportunity to defend himself when he doesn't deserve it. I thought of him as a father once. Someone to look up to. Someone I admired. And now, he is a shriveled husk of a man who still has not one ounce of honor to his name.
"Your days are numbered, Eli," I inform him as I move toward the door. "And as for your son? You can consider him dead. When I find him, there won't be a soul on this earth who can save him."
14 Ivy
I can’t get Mercedes’s words out of my head. Can’t stop seeing her face, the hate in it. What she said, what she suggested, it’s what I’ve been thinking. It’s the thought that’s been in the back of my mind since Santiago rescued me from the doctor who would abort our baby and brought me home. But it’s not that alone that’s bothering me. Before coming into this house, before having the De La Rosa siblings in my life, I never felt hated. And being hated is different than being ignored or even disliked. It’s almost a palpable thing, a weighted thing.
And the fact that Mercedes hates me shouldn’t bother me. I know that. And I can live with it, but it’s what she said and how it just confirms what I’ve been worrying about. That this new Santiago, this kinder, better man, the doting husband, it’s a ruse. Not real.
And she saw right through me.
I am in love with Santiago De La Rosa. I am in love with my husband which in a normal world would be a wonderful thing. But in our world, it’s dangerous. It’s a weakness. Does he see it too? Does he see it and is using it to manipulate me? To have an obedient wife who will accept his wishes, submit to them without an opinion of her own? A wife who carries and births his heir?
His.
“Ivy?” I blink, look up at Antonia who asks me again if I want something else to eat.
I glance down at my plate, see the eggs are still there. Cold now. My toast is untouched. I don’t remember buttering it but I haven’t eaten a single bite.
And Santiago is sitting at the head of the table, tired eyes locked on me.
“No, thanks. I’m just a little nauseous this morning,” I lie. Although I’m sure if I keep going down this road it will be the truth. “I’ll just have some tea.” I pick up my now tepid tea and realize I haven’t sipped that either.
“Let me get you a fresh cup,” Antonia starts but Santiago puts a hand on her arm.
“No.”
“It’s cold—”
“Leave us.”
“It’ll just take a minute, sir.”
But he shifts his gaze up to hers and what she must see in his eyes sends her hurrying away.
“You should be nicer to her. To all your staff. Master,” I say.
The line of his jaw hardens.
“You don’t deserve her as it—”
His fist comes down on the table so hard it rattles the silverware and dishes, making me jump. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
I put my tea cup down and set my hands on my lap. I don’t want him to see they’re trembling.
“You’re still wearing the clothes from last night,” I say.
“And?”
“You didn’t come to bed at all. At least not our bed.”
His eyebrows rise. “Whose bed do you think I’d have gone to if not my own?”
“I don’t know, Santiago. Ever since you moved me into your room it’s not like you’ve ever actually slept beside me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you just do it to shut me up? Stop my whining, I think you’d said before.”
“Of course not. What is going on with you?”
He looks taken aback. I pick up my toast and pile scrambled eggs on top but when I take a bite, the now hard toast breaks apart and the eggs slip off onto the table, my lap and floor. “Shit.” I drop what’s left of the toast onto my plate and begin to scoop up the mess on the table but Santiago’s hand closes over mine.
“Stop.”
I try to shove it away. “Let go. I don’t want Antonia to have to clean it up.”
“She has staff for that.”
“No.” I push my chair back, sliding my hand out from under his to gather the mess on the floor.
“Ivy, stop.”
Mercedes’s
