Page 39 of Until Retribution Burns (Beauty in Lies 3)

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Isa

Rafael helped me smooth out my hair and get it to lay flat to cover the scar at the back of my head. With a maxi dress and light sweater to cover up what remained of the other scrapes and Rafe’s name on my body, we’d chosen to conceal my injuries rather than admit the truth to my family.

Somehow, I didn’t think they’d be too receptive to my marriage if they discovered I’d been in a shoot-out and nearly blown up by Rafael’s enemies.

They were funny like that.

“They’re going to freak out,” I mumbled, watching him pour scotch into a tumbler. He surprised me when he closed the distance between us, lifting it to my lips. The cool glass brushed against my mouth, making me part for him on an exhale. He guided me back carefully with his hand cradling the back of my head, pouring a sip into my mouth.

It burned a path down my throat, and he paused to give me time to swallow before he gave me another sip. “You’re running on fumes. The best thing you can do now is let them see how we are together,” he said, taking the tumbler away from my mouth. He pivoted his hand, covering the stain my lip stick had left on the glass with his plush lips and drawing back a seductive swallow of scotch.

“So you’re saying I should stab you?” I asked, quirking a brow at him.

He smirked, shaking his head lightly. “I have no doubt they would approve of that,” he said, setting the glass on the end table beside the couch. “But if you want them to believe you choose to be with me, then you should probably refrain from trying to murder me for the evening.”

“Shame,” I muttered, picking up the glass where he’d set it. I tossed back the rest of the fiery liquid, letting it warm my belly against the dread that built there with every second that ticked by on the clock on the wall. “Does it make me a bad person if I hope she doesn’t come?”

He didn’t miss a beat, knowing exactly who I meant without question. “If it does, I’m probably worse since I would prefer she dropped dead,” he said, a sardonic grin on his face. I couldn’t quite tell if he meant it as a joke, or simply tried to play it off as one to ease the sting of wishing death on my sister.

“Rafe,” I scolded, chuckling as I swatted at his arm. “You can’t say things like that. Bad juju.”

“Mi reina, if bad juju truly exists, don’t you think I have bigger things to worry about?” he laughed, guiding me to the dining room where the table was already set up for dinner. I didn’t dare to think of what my family would think when they drove up to the gate out front or got a good look at the house.

Or the armed guards patrolling outside. That would be interesting to explain.

Shit.

“This was a terrible idea,” I said, glancing down at the immaculate place settings that the caretaker of the house, a kind and gentle woman named Marisole, had set up for us before leaving for the evening. I’d been offended at the time, thinking Rafael thought I couldn’t manage to set a table for myself.

But when I saw what she’d done, I had to agree with him.

The simple lines of the rustic setting she’d arranged were breathtaking against the wide planks of the table. She’d placed greenery artfully in a way I would have never been able to do. Most nights at home growing up, we’d been lucky if we were all home to eat together, let alone with a fully dressed table.

“They have to come face to face with your wealth at some point,” Rafe laughed, nudging a fork to the side when he looked down and saw it was slightly crooked. “Now is as good a time as any.”

“There is wealth and then there’s the kind of wealth you have—”

“We,” he said, not bothering to look at me as he made his way to the window.

“What?”

“You said the kind of wealth I have, but you should have saidwe have. You’re my wife.”

“And you’re ridiculous. There is no chance of them ever looking at this kind of in-your-face money and thinking it’s anything but yours,” I argued, shaking my head as I looked out the window. I watched for a few moments in relative silence, twirling my wedding rings around my finger as Rafe stepped up behind me.

“How’s your head?” he asked, pressing his lips to the back of it.

“Fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore,” I said, leaning into his touch. The doctor had come to remove my stitches earlier in the day, my week of rest finally over. I would have been lying if I’d said I wasn’t disappointed that we’d chosen that night of all nights to have my family over.

The heat that flared in Rafael’s eyes promised he wondered why we’d done that too. “It’s not too late to cancel,” he said, grinning down at me.

I chuckled, leaning up to invite him to kiss me. He gave me what I wanted, bending forward until his mouth touched mine and he coaxed me open for him. With nothing but his tongue on mine, he made me feel like I was desperate to go upstairs and remind myself that bed had far more fun uses than the ones where I laid in it alone and bored out of my mind.

I pulled back as movement appeared at the gate, the sight of my mother’s old Ford rounding the corner. They paused, speaking to the guard in the exterior booth as I was sure my father asked for directions to find the address I’d given him. “I think it’s safe to say it’s too late,” I said, leaning up to kiss him one last time.

He groaned into my mouth, driving me mad with the need that would keep me anxious through our dinner. It was only the sight of them pulling through the gate and making their way up the driveway that drew me away finally, knowing they’d be able to see us through the window.

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