Page 34 of Convenient Vows

I force a small, polite smile, folding my hands calmly in front of me.

“Cristóbal,” I say softly, “this isn’t the time—”

But he cuts me off, moving closer, his voice sharpening.

“I tried to stop this,” he presses. “I could’ve talked to the older members, could’ve pushed them to reject this alliance. You didn’t have to agree to this — you could’ve fought back.”

My jaw tightens. The familiar burn of anger — slow, controlled, and simmering just beneath the surface — begins to rise.

“I’m not helpless, Cristóbal,” I say coolly. “I know what I’m doing.”

But he keeps going, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You should’ve married someone from our world,” he says fiercely. “Someone from our cartel, someone who knows your family, someone who—”

I snap.

“You don’t get to question my choices,” I say sharply, my voice cutting clean through his next words. “I have never liked your girlfriend, but have I ever questioned your choice to be with her?”

Cristóbal freezes, eyes widening slightly.

I take a slow step forward, forcing my shoulders to stay square, my voice to stay level.

“I don’t want to fight. Not today. Not on the most important day of my life.”

Inside, my heart is hammering so loud I can barely hear myself think.

Because the truth is —

Yes, I’m scared. Yes, I’m stepping into something wild and unpredictable and maybe even dangerous. But I made this choice.

Not my father. Not the cartel elders.

Me.

And no one — not even an old friend — gets to make me question it.

I lift my chin slightly, holding his gaze.

“Don’t add stress to an already stressful day.”

For a beat, the room falls into sharp, tense silence.

His mouth opens slightly, as if he’s about to say something more — but I don’t give him the chance. I turn, gathering the folds of my dress carefully, and walk out of the bridal suite without looking back. Each step away feels heavy, my pulse still thrumming at the base of my throat, but I don’t stop.

I can’t.

Because today, I am not the frightened little girl everyone once tried to control. Today, I walk into the storm I have created on my own terms. I intend to emerge stronger on the other side.

I stand alone in the hallway, my back pressed lightly against the cool wall, fingers twisting nervously in the folds of my dress. My chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow.

Breathe, Mara.

I close my eyes for a second, forcing myself to slow everything down.

The anger with Cristóbal, the nerves coiled tight in my stomach, the voices echoing in my head — all of it needs to go quiet.

Because this moment—this walk—is mine.

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