Page 1 of The Love Language of the Cartel

Demi Malone

My arms were laced with designer shopping bags as my friend Samara and I shopped in the Oak Street District. We hit up every high-end boutique and storefront on the hunt for the perfect engagement party dress. The spring air was crisp and aromatic with the scent of blooming flowers as we passed from one store to the next, running up a check.

Inside one of the many boutiques we visited, Samara and I sifted through racks of expensive, glittery cocktail dresses and gowns, yet my thoughts were far from all the glitz and glam surrounding me.

“What about this one?” Samara asked, pulling a mermaid-style gown off the rack and holding it up for me to examine. “You think you want to try it on?”

I pushed out a hard, audible sigh. “Mara, I’m not sure about going through with this marriage. Everyone says he’s a monster. I mean, they do call him ‘El Diablo.’ What if all the rumors are true? What if I’m literally walking into a waking nightmare when I marry him in two weeks?”

Samara pushed her long dark curls with blonde highlights behind her ear before shooting me an empathetic look. “Listen, I know arranged marriages are tough, but things could be worse.At least he’s handsome from the picture you showed me, right? Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up pleasantly surprised in the end,” she said optimistically.

I frowned. “Handsome or not, I’m only twenty-four! He’s eleven years older than me. That’s a huge gap, which means I was in diapers when he was probably already whacking his wiener.” I cringed.

Samara belted out a chuckle. “Again, it could be worse. He could be twenty years your senior and old enough to be your daddy.”

Her words sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re right about that.Gross.But still, Mara! He lives in an entirely different country! I don’t know if I’m ready to be someone’s wife, especially not under these circumstances,” I confessed under duress instead of my typical calm, confident demeanor. “I’ve never met this man a day in my life, and suddenly, I’m supposed to be tethered to a stranger forever just so our families don’t kill each other. I’ve only had one real relationship before now, and you know how that ended! I can’t imagine marrying a man named ‘El Diablo’ will be any better.”

Samara put the dress back on the rack before reaching out to give my arm a comforting squeeze. I felt the tension in my shoulders slightly relax, but my restlessness remained.I looked into her almond-shaped eyes. They were warm and familiar. I could always count on her to tell me the truth or be the strong shoulder for me to lean on.

My eyes quickly scanned her familiar features. She stood at five-foot-two, and had a head full of thick, dark curls with blonde highlights spilling down her back and over her shoulders. From her high cheekbones and full lips to her button nose and a perfectly sculpted jawline, her face card that never declined. My girl had no problem turning heads anywhere she went.

“Look, I get it. It’s a fucking shitty thing your father is making you do. But as the sole heir to your family’s business, it’s your obligation. And who knows? Maybe he’ll show you a side of him that dispels all the rumors. Right now, let’s focus on thinking positive thoughts and finding you the perfect dress, because my best friend deserves to feel like the beautiful badass she is, no matter who is standing at the end of that altar in a few weeks.”

I took a deep breath, trying to silence my loud, racing thoughts. I scanned all the lavish dresses and allowed myself to be momentarily wowed by the beauty surrounding me.

“You’re right, Samara. I should at least look the part, even if I don’t feel it.”

She cocked her head to the side and gave me a hard glare. “Um, excuse me? The Demi Malone I know always feels the part because she is the part. I don’t know who this wannabe is standing here in front of me.”

I scoffed. “Shut up. A bitch is stressed, okay?”

“Let’s go. We’re finding a mirror.”

My forehead crinkled. “What? Why?” I whined.

“It’s affirmation time, bitch. Hop to it.” Samara grabbed my wrist and marched us over to the full-length mirror. She took her place behind me and stared at our reflections. “Say the words, Demi,” she hollered.

I quickly darted my eyes to the ground. “Oh my God, you’re embarrassing the shit out of me right now!” I hissed. “Lower your voice before they kick us out.”

“Not until you say it.”

My chest deflated with a hard sigh as my nostrils flared. I knew I was fighting a losing battle and didn’t bother putting in the effort. “Fine. If it’ll get you to shut up.”

“I just want my friend back so I can finish finding her a dress.”

I rolled my eyes skyward and huffed, visibly annoyed. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

“Who are you?” she asked, eyes piercing into my reflection.

“I’m Demi fucking Malone.”

Her voice rose. “I said, who are you?”

“I’m Demi fucking Malone.” I repeated with a little more grit, voice matching hers.

“One more time for the people in the back!” she yelled.

“I’m Demi fucking Malone!” I chanted back, feeling my adrenaline pumping through my veins.

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