“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
When my brother finally lets her go, I don’t miss how she hurriedly walks away, rubbing at her now bruised wrist.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I reprimand Alejandro, low enough that no one else in our private jet can hear.
“You’re right. I didn’t. You should have been the one to put her in her place. Not me,” Alejandro scolds, never once lifting his gaze from his computer.
I bite the inside of my cheek and turn to face the window.
“Don’t scowl. It’s unbecoming for a woman of your stature.”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at him. Not that I would dare either way. Even though my face is turned away from his, my brother would sense my insubordination.
“Don’t pout either.”
“I wasn’t. And if you could stop treating me like an insolent child, that would be greatly appreciated,” I rebuke evenly, without so much as an ounce of emotion he can chastise.
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“Then what was?” I turn to him, my manicured brow raised high on my forehead.
He lets out an exhale and closes his laptop. That action alone should cause me to be wary, but I keep my spine straight and my regal air about me intact like I know he expects.
“I thought my intention was quite clear. You are never to let anyone disrespect you, even if unintentionally. Much less the fucking help. And you should never, ever give them just cause for it either. Está claro?”
“Sí.”
“Good. I’m not about to hand you over to the Irish just so they can make a fool out of you. Remember, you are still part of this family. Everything you do is a reflection of us.”
“You sound like our father.”
The words have barely left my lips and already I regret them.
Alejandro is nothing like our dictator of a father.
Nothing.
You’d have to be born without a heart for that to be possible. And for all my eldest brother’s faults, I know a heart beats inside his chest. I know my brother’s allegiance will always be with our father, but even he can’t deny how cold-hearted the man is.
“Perdóname, hermano. That was uncalled for,” I apologize, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it tightly.
Alejandro is not one to show affection or even let anyone else give it to him, but he doesn’t pull away from the endearment, and for that, I am grateful.
“Do you think me cruel, Rosa?” he asks pensively.
I shake my head, hating I’m the one who planted such an idea in his mind.
“You’re as cruel as you need to be, considering all that you have been through and what is expected of you. I don’t hold it against you, dear brother. In fact, I have nothing but love and pride in being your sister.”
His brown eyes turn a molten hue, a tinge of a sad smile on his lips.
“I haven’t been there for you these past few years, and I fear that I’ve hindered you with my absence. Maybe I could have done more to prepare you for what’s to come.”
My heart swells at his words.
My brother isn’t a caring man. Far from it. So, to hear such tender worry for me in his voice soothes my aching heart.
“You did your best, Alejandro. I’m ready to face my fate.”
He leans in closer to me and caresses my cheek in such a way I almost find myself flinching at his touch. Not that I find it repulsive… just unexpected.
“Ah, my sweet, Rosa. Such a beautiful flower to be given to uncouth animals who won’t know how to make her bloom. I hope they never wilt your flawless petals with their crass and brutish ways, dear sister. Such a waste of a rose like yourself to be given to such an unworthy family.”
My forehead creases at his remark.
I know very little of the family I’m about to marry into. But through the years, anytime the name Kelly was uttered, I made it my mission to pay attention. Thankfully, I also had an accomplice in gathering intel. Anytime my sweet younger brother Francesco heard a new piece of gossip or news about the Kellys, he made sure to fill me in.
One of the first things he told me is that they have no sense of decorum. That they are loud, obnoxious brutes who are only happy when they are drinking and fighting. Well, that’s not the exact sentence Francesco said.
“All those Boston pricks do is drink, fight, and fuck. No brains whatsoever, so don’t go thinking you can have meaningful conversations with those assholes about Gauguin and Van Gogh. They are today’s version of cavemen. I bet they don’t even know how to use a fucking fork.”
Of course, I took his opinion with a grain of salt since Francesco isn’t one to talk. He, too, has an insatiable lust for life that makes him dabble in the unsavory. Not only does he enjoy his alcohol a little too much for my liking, but I have run in on him—too many times to count, unfortunately—enjoying the prettiest servants in our home, in the most embarrassing and salacious of positions. Having the image of my kid brother’s head stuck in between a woman’s thighs is something that I wish I could bleach out of my memory.
But then again, I guess it takes an animal to know one.
If I really want to know what I’m about to face, my best chance is to get it from the one brother who knows them best.
“Alejandro, can I ask you for a favor?”
“You may.”
“Tell me about them. The Kellys, I mean. What are they really like?”
He stares at me for a spell, and after letting out a long exhale, he gives me a clipped nod.
“Very well. Who do you want to learn about first? Your betrothed, I presume?”