Page 54 of When Love Changes Everything

"So?" he teases, brushing a kiss against my cheek. "We’re married. Newlyweds. I’m sure he’s seen a lot more than a man kissing his wife on the cheek."

I chuckle—a sound that’s meant to feel natural, normal—but it comes out thin and hollow, fake even to my own ears.

"What's wrong?" Mateo asks, his gaze searching mine.

"Nothing," I say quickly, knowing that if I utter even one word about my conversation with Marian, I’ll break down completely.

He intertwines his fingers with mine, settling back in his seat, apparently satisfied with my answer. When I glance sideways at him, his face is calm, serene, the contentment clear in his expression.

"Your hands are cold,hermosa," he murmurs, lifting my hand to his lips, the warmth of his kiss sending a small shiver through me. I love him. This is supposed to be the beginning of our life together. Our first night as husband and wife. Marian's words planted the seed of doubt in my heart, and there's no way in hell I'm going to brush it aside and pretend everything's okay. There will be a talk tonight, and maybe nothing else.

Earlier, after the photographer had finished taking photos, I slipped out of the long skirt of my wedding dress, leaving behind a shorter, more manageable length that made it easier to move around. When Mateo climbs out of the limo, I briefly consider climbing out the other side and running away—the thought is absurd, but the fact that I even entertain it is enough to almost break the facade I’ve been wearing since Marian’s call.

Mateo helps me out of the limo before pausing to tip the driver. I don’t wait for him. My heels echo sharply against the pavement as I stride toward the house, each click as loud as the pounding of my heart.

"Wait!" Mateo calls, quickly closing the distance between us. When we reach the door, he pulls out his keys and unlocks it. Before I can protest, he lifts me off my feet. "I was so looking forward to this part," he says, his voice warm. "Crossing the threshold with you in my arms."

The sweet, romantic gesture nearly brings me to tears, but Marian's words crash back into my mind like a relentless tide. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rest my head on his shoulder, letting him carry me into the house. But as he turns toward the bedroom, a wave of unease ripples through me. I consider waiting until morning to face the inevitable, but the weight of it won’t let me.

"Put me down, Mateo," I say, my voice cool, before his closeness clouds my judgment.

He sets me down gently, concern flickering in his eyes. "Somethingiswrong," he says quietly.

"Mateo," I begin, choosing my words carefully. "Where were you last week?"

"What?" he asks, his surprise evident in his eyes.

"Our entire future," I say, urgency sharpening my tone, "our marriage, my trust in you—everything hinges on your answer. So please, think carefully and be honest with me."

"I told you,hermosa," he says with quiet confidence. "I was in Mérida."

My heart sinks. I nod slowly, weighing his words—and what they mean. "You know what Davey told me tonight? While we were waiting in the limo?"

He shakes his head, clearly confused. "I have no idea. What?"

"He told me that Marian is there."

"There? There where?" he asks, still shaking his head. His confusion seems genuine, and for a moment, I almost believe he has no idea what I’m talking about.

"Mérida," I murmur, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "Marian was—and still is—in Mérida."

“Hermosa, I never saw her,” he says, his voice sincere.

“I want to believe you,” I say, a wave of utter despair rising inside me.

“Then believe me,” he says. “Whatever you’re imagining, it never happened.”

"So you spent almost an entire week in Mérida, and Marian made no attempt to see you? That’s your story, and you expect me to believe it?"

"Yes," he replies. His eyes are so candid, I want nothing more than to believe him.

"It would’ve been better if you’d come home and said, 'Guess what,hermosa? That lunatic Marian traveled all the way to Mexico to stalk me. Can you believe that?' But you’re standinghere, telling me you were in the city where it all began—where you had an affair with her, not once, but twice—and she never tried to see you? That’s an insult to my intelligence."

The fury building inside me must be showing on my face, because he makes no attempt to convince me I'm wrong. He just stands there, staring at me. His expression is unreadable. Is he debating whether to come clean, or is he just deciding how to continue lying?

"Maybe Davey misunderstood," he says, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for a plausible explanation for what Davey told me.

"So your defense is to blame Davey?" I mutter. "Davey is little, but we both know how incredibly intelligent he is. He didn’t make a mistake."

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