“We're coming back here though,” she says. “One way or another, I'm throwing you a goddamn bachelorette party.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Deal,” I say. “I love you, you know that?”
“Love you more.”
ooo000ooo
We fly into Denver, and later that evening, I'm knocking on my dad's door. As promised. I'm exhausted, stressed, and hungover, so I pray that whatever he has in store for me will be quick and not overly mentally or emotionally taxing. I can't deal with that right now.
Instead of Gloria answering the door, I'm surprised when it opens and he's standing there, a broad smile on his face. His smile seems…odd. Almost creepy. In a way the way that he is standing there, grinning at me, reminds of the Joker about to throw a bomb at Batman.
“Holly, my dear daughter,” he says. “So happy you could finally make it.”
“Umm, okay,” I say.
He ushers me inside and guides me through the house with his hand on the small of my back.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask.
Before I even finish getting the words out, we turn the corner and a man that I’ve never seen before is sitting in our living room. The immediate apprehension I feel when I first lay eyes on the guy only gets stronger as he stands up and walks over to me, a wide, clown-like smile plastered on his face.
With both my father and the tall, dark-skinned stranger standing there staring and smiling at me in the creepiest way, I’m suddenly unsure if I'm walking into an intervention or an exorcism. Either way, it feels like I’ve walked into something sinister. Something bad.
The man is tall, sturdily built, and not entirely unattractive. He's Hispanic with black hair and dark brown eyes. He has dark hair, trimmed short, a stylish goatee, and eyes blacker than the night. I'm sure many women would be attracted to him, and at any other time, I probably would have given him a second glance. He's very well dressed, but has tattoos on his arms that, I imagine, turn into full sleeves. I can’t tell because he's got a long-sleeved button-down shirt on with the sleeves rolled-up halfway. But the artwork doesn't stop there. It goes all the way up his neck and into his shirt – and those are only the ones I can see.
“Holly, this is Armando,” my dad says.
I freeze in place right where I'm standing as my blood runs cold. I glance back towards the door, but my brother, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, is standing in the way with a smarmy, arrogant smile on his face. I'm trapped.
Son of a bitch. My father has ambushed me. I should have expected it, but I'm so hungover and exhausted, I wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Uh, it's nice to meet you, I guess?” I say.
Armando takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He gives me a small smile as he gently presses the back of my hand as he kisses it. And in that moment, I'm so grateful that I'd had the foresight to remove the wedding ring before coming over. At least I did one smart thing and had one clear, coherent thought today.
“The feeling is very mutual,” he says, a soft accent coloring his words. “You're even more beautiful than my father said.”
I look over at my dad and cock an eyebrow. He gives me a smile and a nod, and then chimes in at last.
“Armando wanted to take you to dinner,” he says as if it's perfectly normal to send your daughter off on a date with the guy you’re trying to sell her to. “I agreed to it since I thought it would be good for the two of you to get to know one another.”
“Uh huh.” Maybe you should have asked me first, I think to myself. “I'm sorry, I'm absolutely exhausted and not feeling very well. I really don't feel like going out for dinner tonight –”
My dad steps in and squeezes my shoulder, a little too hard for my liking. I look over at him, my narrowed eyes burning with anger, tilting my chin up defiantly.
“I insist,” Armando says. “It will be good for us to spend some time together.”
He takes my hand and holds it tightly, leading me toward the door. I didn't dress for a date. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and I'm wearing an oversized sweater with leggings, because all I planned to do after this was go home, drink some water, take a few aspirin, and fall into bed.
I feel like if I sit still long enough, I'm going to fall asleep. I try to pull my hand away, but Armando doesn't let me go. He grips my arm with his other hand, tightening his hold on me.
“You're hurting me,” I say, struggling to break free. “Let go.”
“Stop squirming,” he says. “It's not going to fucking kill you to have a goddamn meal with me. We are, after all, going to be married soon.”
My brother and father say and do nothing, as he drags me out to a car waiting in the driveway. A black BMW. A driver opens the door for us, and as I try to resist, I feel Armando's hand on the small of my back. He shoves me into the backseat. When the door shuts behind me, I spin around and try to open it, but quickly realize it's locked from the inside. Damn it.
Armando comes around to the other side and I hear the click of the locks as his door opens. He slides in, joining me in the backseat.
Take a deep breath, I tell myself. Stay calm. It's just dinner. At least I hope this is only dinner.
The man in the front seat, a large burly Mexican man with no hair and a large tattoo on his cheek doesn't say a word as he drives away. I see another tattoo on the back of his neck but can't make out exactly what it is. It kind of looks like a skull with swords of some sort. Classy. Classy as hell.
“You're a very attractive woman, Holly,” Armando says. “But I expect my women to dress better than this. From now on, you are not permitted to wear this type of clothes. Do you understand me?”
“I wasn't exactly expecting a date. I'm sorry,” I reply, the sarcasm dripping off my tongue.
“You're forgiven, this time,” Armando says. “But, I mean it. You may as well throw away any clothes you have like this. I expect you to always be in a dress. You will look classy and dignified at all times.”
He looks out the window and we sit in silence for a long time. I pay attention to the street signs and notice that we're heading downtown.
“Where are we going?” I ask. “For dinner, I mean?”
“Do you like seafood, Holly?” is his response.
“Uh yeah, I do.”
“Good. We're going to a fine seafood restaurant in downtown,” he says.
I notice he doesn't give me the name, and I'm not sure why that bothers me. But, it does. I don't like this situation in the least and it's getting creepier and more frightening by the minute.
“What's it called?” I ask. “Maybe I've been there before?”
Armando scowls at me. “You ask too many questions,” he says. “The next thing that you need to learn is that you do not question me. As your husband, my word is law. What I say, you do. And you never question me about anything.”
My blood is starting to boil, and I have to really fight the urge to start slapping him and clawing his eyes out. No one talks to me this way. I'm not some piece of meat that can be ordered around. I'm not simply going to do his bidding just because he tells me to.
I stare at him with hatred already burning in my eyes. And in my heart, I feel a deeper hatred for my father spring into being. I can't believe that he wants me to marry this – monster. That he would sell me into a marriage with the type of man who, quite obviously, thinks women are property.
“Well, shouldn't we get to know each other?” I ask. “How can we get to know each other without asking questions?”
I smirk to myself, realizing that I'm asking yet another question, and I find that I really don't care if it bothers him. In fact, I'm hoping to annoy him. Maybe if he thinks I'm more trouble than I'm worth, he'll change his mind about me.
Armando shrugs. “I know all I need to know about you.”