Page 75 of His to Bedevil

And that’s why I can’t wear this pretty sundress I’m standing in the mirror wearing. I picked it out, and when I stood in front of the mirror, my first thought was “Will Alejo like it?” The answer was yes. So, it’s gotta go. I’m not going to dress up for him or with him in mind. My mind is already warped because of his amazing bedroom skills—I can’t completely lose it.

I settle on some gladiator sandals, forgoing the wedges I usually wear because we might be doing a lot of walking, some cutoff denim shorts, and a flowy T-shirt that has a picture of Elvis Presley on the front. The T-shirt is necessary because it protects my shoulders and it’s not sexy. After I’m dressed, I lather up with some lotion that has SPF in it, making sure I don’t get burnt today.

Just as my stomach begins growling, there’s a knock at the door. “Come in!” I shout from the closet as I’m trying to pick out accessories.

“Buenas días,Señora Martinez!” Juanita shouts to me in her chipper voice.

I’ll never get used to being called that. I went from Irma Ramirez to Fynn Ryan to Irma Martinez. And with each name, I’ve led a different life. “Morning, Juanita!” I shout back, and stuff some sunglasses into my small crossover purse and slide on some beaded bracelets. Alejo didn’t throw out the ones I came here wearing when he stripped me of them. I didn’t tell him, but the handmade ones given to me by the woman who recognized me that day do hold some sentimental value for me. That and my Yankees baseball cap. Something I wish I could retrieve from my old apartment. I was planning on grabbing it along with a few essentials right before going to the airport.

When Señora Garcia called meflaquita, my heart dropped. It’s what she and Mama always called me. Señora Garcia was like a sister to my mother and like an aunt to me. After my dad died and Mama began doing drugs, she would often come and check on us. She’d bring us food, and sometimes when she showed up and Mama was passed out, she would take me out. If she brought me to her house, I would watch her make her jewelry. She’d set me up with some string and beads of my own while I tried to make jewelry with her. I hadn’t seen her since I was taken away from Mama and placed in the system. Not until that day, and I feel guilty for the way I reacted. I just hadn’t been recognized by anyone from my past. Hadn’t been calledflaquitasince I was a child and hadn’t been called Irma since I was seventeen.

Gliding out of the massive closet, I find Juanita setting up breakfast for me. It seems that breakfast always comes at the perfect time every morning. Never before I wake up, and usually not till after I get out of the shower, if I take one. The thought makes me do a quick scan. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of this before. Alejo is watching me even when he’s not here.What the fuck! How creepy!

I have a nice little chat with Juanita before she politely excuses herself and leaves me. Another meal to eat alone. The life of a mob boss’s wife, I guess. We do eat together a lot of times, and I don’t exactly need to eat every meal with Alejo, but being in such a large house with no one to eat with feels so lonely. It’s too quiet.

I guess I’m not entirely alone, since Alejo is watching me through a fucking camera. The fresh mango freezes right in front of my lips, and I jump to my feet. Marching to the bathroom, I begin my search. Searching every nook and cranny of the bathroom for a camera. Does he watch me when I shower too? When I’m sitting on the toilet? I swear to God, if he does…

“What are you doing, my love?” His calm and deep voice makes me gasp and spin on my heels.

I grab my chest in surprise as he just casually stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded across his chest and one ankle crossed over the other. He’s wearing a smirk, but his eyebrows are knitted. “Do you watch me when I shower?” I blurt.

He arches one eyebrow, but nothing else changes. “Mande?”

“I know there’s a camera in our room somewhere, and you obviously watch me when you’re not here. Is there a camera in here as well?” I demand, horrified.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation or guilt.

My eyes widen. “Do you watch me in here?”

“No,” he answers just as easily.

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Is that how you found the knife?” We never talked about it. I hid a knife, he found it and got rid of it, and neither of us brought it up until now.

He straightens, and his smirk turns into a grin. “I didn’t need to look at the footage to find it.” He turns and walks away.

I follow him. “Oh, really?” I sass. “Tell me this, then. How long did it take you to find it?” I cross my own arms and wear my own smirk, feeling smug.

He turns back to face me, still grinning. “It was the first place I looked.”

My arms and my chin drops. “What! How’d you know where to look?”

“It was where I might have stashed it.” He winks and heads over to the table where my breakfast is still sitting. He gestures to the food. “Eat your breakfast, my love. Then we can go.”

Irma

Once I’m all done with breakfast, I grab my purse and we head for the door. He stops and turns to me before we exit the room. “Do you have something for your hair?” I give him a look, asking him to elaborate. “We’re taking the convertible,” he explains.

I run into the bathroom to grab a couple hair ties, and we head out to the “garage.” I use that word lightly because this so-called garage holds about a couple dozen vehicles. Mostly blacked out SUVs and then some other vehicles and ATVs. After he takes me by the hand as several men jump into some of the SUVs, we weave in and out of some of the vehicles. All the way on the other side are some classic cars. I know nothing about cars, but these are beautiful. Very Havana.

We stop at the blue convertible, and I gawk at it. “Wow,” I rasp.

“You like it?” I nod my head in astonishment. “It’s a 1953 Cadillac Eldorado.” I nod my head again as if I know what that means as he pulls me around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I slide into the red leather seat, and he closes the door.

I pull my hair back to tie it into a low and loose knot and then pull out my sunglasses. Alejo gets behind the wheel, and I realize this is the first time I’ll see him driving. He puts on some aviators—because those are the only kind of sunglasses he would ever wear—and starts the engine. The top is already down, and I focus forward to see the garage door opening and the sun shining in. My breath catches as Alejo leans across me, and even though I can’t see his eyes, I know they’re on mine. He leans in, and I can feel his breath on my ear, sending chills down the entire left side of my body. I clench my thighs together and squirm a little in my seat. “Your seat belt,mi amor,” he whispers as he pulls the seat belt across my body and clicks it into place.

He settles back into his seat as if he had no effect on me, and we’re off. We follow behind one SUV, and another follows us. As the wind rips through my tied-back hair and the sun caresses my face, I feel like I’m flying. I forgot how amazing it feels to ride in a convertible. In my opinion, it’s more freeing than riding a motorcycle or a bike. Maybe I like the safety a convertible holds over the others.

I gaze out the side of the car as we leave the estate and continue on some back roads before hitting the main ones. I crane my neck back and stare up at the clear sky. Soaking up the sun and wind. I miss this feeling of freedom. I’ve been cooped up for too long. Like a caged bird. I need to spread my wings before I forget how to fly.

---