IT TAKES A few days for the shipment of clothing to arrive at the compound. Several of the housekeepers take my clothes to the walk-in closet, moving Mateo’s suits and ties to one side as they fill most of the space with my things.
After they leave the room, I stare in awe at my new wardrobe. The clothes are even better than I imagined. Fine silks and designer brands. I have several new pairs of heels, but I end up cradling the beaten up Louboutins that my mom gave to me against my chest. These damn heels went through hell and back, and they remind me of her and her strength. They remind me of home.
“What’s wrong?” Mateo asks, startling me.
I turn to look at him, and he has a stern look on his face when he notices the unshed tears in my eyes. “Nothing is wrong. I just…”
“You just what?” he prompts, his frustration seeping into his tone.
“I just miss home,” I say in a whisper.
He’s quiet for a beat. “Are you going to throw those out?” he asks, eyeing the heels in my hands.
“No,” I say vehemently. “I’ll keep them. I just won’t wear them,” I explain before tucking them carefully in the back of the closet.
Mateo nods in understanding but doesn’t broach the subject. “The new clothes are what you wanted?” he asks instead.
“Oh, yes. Everything is so beautiful.” I know he must have spent a fortune on everything. “Thank you,” I tell him sincerely.
He watches me carefully when he says, “Pick out something nice to wear. We’re going to a dinner party this evening.” And then he adds, “It’s for charity,” throwing me for a loop.
Charity? God, I didn’t think Mateo had a charitable bone in his body. Considering what he does for a living, I wouldn’t imagine humanitarian endeavors being on the top of his list. I want to ask him a million questions, but I already know he won’t answer them. So, I tell him, “Okay. I’ll wear something nice.”
An appreciative sound slips from his lips before he turns and leaves.
Turning back to the dresses, I pick out one that I’ve been dying to wear ever since one of the seamstresses showed me a picture of it several days ago. It’s an Oscar de la Renta crystal floral-embellished halter mini dress. The beige lining of the dress gives the illusion that the person wearing it is naked underneath all the flowers, and the thought of Mateo seeing me in it and his reaction makes me grin from ear to ear.
I have something similar at home, but it was a full-length gown that turned many heads at the Met Gala a few years ago. This dress is a little more risqué. Before I can question my decision to wear it, I grab the hanger and take the dress into the bathroom with me. I need to get ready. Not only am I excited for the party, but I’m also eager to see this new, unfamiliar side of Mateo I haven’t seen before.
As I’m showering, realization dawns on me. I’m going to be outside of Mateo’s compound. If it’s a dinner party, I’m assuming we’ll be at someone’s house. And all houses have phones.
I swallow hard as I shampoo my hair. This could be my chance. My chance to call home. Maybe even my chance to escape.
I could leave Mexico, go back to my family…and never see Mateo ever again.
Closing my eyes, I sigh before slipping my head into the spray, allowing the water to cascade over me in an attempt to drown my worries. I’ve wanted nothing more than to escape this entire time. So, why does the thought of leaving Mateo behind scare the hell out of me?
