Page 8 of Convenient Vows

My stomach tightens with the awareness of him, and I realize that what I am feeling at the moment isn't boredom at all.

It's desire.

A reckless, intoxicating desire for the one man I have absolutely no business craving. Yet as I force my eyes away, straightening my shoulders and smoothing my hands across my lap, I know it's already too late.

3

Chapter 1

Xiomara

I’m finally in my private quarters after a day of sitting in on one meeting after another. Just as I kick off my shoes to relax, a knock on my door startles me. I invite the person in, and my nanny, Luise, steps inside. A soft smile spreads across her aging face as she takes in my tired frame.

“Mija, look at you all grown up.” She says, pride shining in her eyes.

She had taken care of me as a baby, and still fusses over me no matter how much I protest.

“Your baby is a woman now.” I smile, knowing how much it irritates her to hear me or anyone point it out.

“Say no more,” she gives an exasperated breath. “You are a woman, alright, a beautiful one at that, and men are beginning to notice.”

I give her a questioning look, and she informs me that Cristóbal was here to see me. He is the son of my father’s late friend and one of the few people who have direct access to me. Cristóbal is like an elder brother and has always looked out for me.

When I walk into the private lounge, I see him lolling on an armchair.

“Hey,” I greet, but his usual playful personality seems to be missing. “Is everything alright?

“No.”

“What is the matter?” I ask, feeling alarmed.

“Your father is about to shop for a husband for you.”

I stare blankly at Cristóbal, certain I must have misheard him. The afternoon sunlight filters lazily through the large windows, warming my skin but doing nothing to melt the ice suddenly gripping my heart.

“My father’s doing what?” I ask slowly, hoping he'll correct himself. My voice trembles slightly despite my best effort at control.

Cristóbal sighs, leaning back against my plush velvet armchair, his casual posture at odds with the gravity of his news. His dark eyes meet mine, softening with a sympathy I don’t want to acknowledge.

“He’s looking for a suitable husband for you, Mara,” he repeats carefully, gently even. “He thinks it’s time.”

“Time?” I echo, irritation edging out shock as I rise abruptly and pace the length of the room. My heels click sharply against the polished marble floor. “Time for what exactly? To auction me off to the highest bidder?”

Cristóbal watches me carefully, quietly absorbing my agitation. “You know that’s not how he sees it,” he murmurs.

I whirl around to face him, temper flaring. “Then how does he see it, Cris? Enlighten me.”

He rubs a hand over his face, clearly reluctant to say more. “Your father wants stability. Security. With his health being fragile lately, he feels he needs someone strong, someone dependable, to ensure your protection.”

My throat tightens at the mention of my father’s health, anger and fear mingling dangerously in my chest. "I don’t need protection, Cristóbal. I’ve never needed protection."

He gives a small, wry smile. "That's not how he sees it. To him, you'll always be the little girl who needs safeguarding."

Frustration bubbles beneath my skin. Four years of attending the university, studying international relations, earning my master's degree, proving my intelligence and capability—and still, all my father sees is a fragile doll in need of protection.

“Did he say who?” I ask bitterly, clenching my hands tightly at my sides.

Cristóbal hesitates, shaking his head slowly. “No, not yet. But I’m guessing he already has someone in mind. Someone loyal, powerful, and capable enough to carry your father’s mantle.”

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