Keep Me

“No!” Shaking, I hold Julian’s furious gaze, my hands pushing helplessly against his powerful chest. I can feel the weight of the ring on my finger, and it adds to my panic. I don’t know how to explain, how to make him understand something that I can barely comprehend myself. I want to be with Julian. I can’t live without him, but marriage is something else entirely, something that doesn’t belong in our twisted relationship. “I do love you! You know that—”

“So why would you refuse?” he demands, his eyes dark with fury. His grip on my jaw tightens, his fingers biting into my skin.

My eyes begin to burn. How can I explain my reluctance? How can I say that he’s not someone I can picture as my husband? That he’s part of a life I never imagined, never wanted, and that marrying him would mean giving up that vague, far-off dream of a normal future? “Why do you want to marry me?” I ask desperately. “Why do you want something so traditional? I’m already yours—”

“Yes, you are.” He leans down until his face is mere inches from mine. “And I want a legal document to that effect. You will be my wife, and no one will be able to take you from me.”

I stare at Julian, my chest tightening as I begin to understand. This is not a sweet, romantic gesture on his part. He’s not doing this because he loves me and wants to start a family. That’s not the way Julian operates. Marriage would legitimize his possession of me—it’s as simple as that. It would be a different form of ownership, a more permanent one . . . and something within me shudders at the very idea.

“I’m sorry,” I say evenly, gathering my courage. “I’m not ready for this. Can we discuss it again at some point later?”

His expression hardens, his eyes turning into chips of blue ice. Abruptly releasing me, he takes a step back. “All right.” His voice is as cold as his gaze. “If that’s how you want to play it, my pet, we’ll do it your way.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a smartphone and begins typing on it.

A sick sensation curls low in my stomach. “What are you doing?” When he doesn’t answer, I repeat my question, trying not to sound as panicked as I feel. “Julian, what are you doing?”

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” he finally replies, looking up at me as he pockets his phone. “You still dream of him, don’t you? Of that boy you once wanted?”

My heart stops beating for a second. “What? No, I don’t! Julian, I promise you, Jake has nothing to do with this—”

He interrupts with a curt, dismissive gesture. “I should’ve removed him from your life a long time ago. Now I will remedy that oversight. Maybe then you will accept that you are with me now, not him.”

“I am with you!” I don’t know what to say, how to convince Julian not to do it. Stepping toward him, I grip his hands, the heat of his skin burning my frozen fingers. “Listen to me, I love you, only you . . . He doesn’t mean anything to me—he hasn’t for a long time!”

“Good.” His expression doesn’t soften, though his fingers fold around mine, imprisoning them in his grasp. “Then you shouldn’t care what happens to him.”

“No, that’s not how it works! I care because he’s a human being, an innocent bystander in all of this, and for no other reason!” I’m shaking so hard now, my teeth are chattering. “He doesn’t deserve to be punished for my sins—”

“It doesn’t matter to me what he deserves.” Julian’s voice lashes at me like a whip as he uses his grip on my hands to pull me closer. Leaning down, he grits out, “I want him out of your mind and out of your life, do you understand me?”

The burning in my eyes intensifies, my vision blurring from unspilled tears. Through the haze of panic clouding my mind, I realize there’s only one thing I can do to stop this—only one way I can prevent Jake’s death.

“All right,” I whisper in defeat, staring at the monster I’d fallen in love with. “I will do it. I will marry you.”

* * *

The next hour feels surreal.

After calling off his henchmen, Julian introduces me to a wizened old man wearing a Catholic priest’s robes. The man doesn’t speak English, so I nod and pretend to follow along as he chatters at me in rapid-fire Spanish. It’s embarrassing to admit, but the only Spanish I know is from my classes in high school. When I was growing up, my parents spoke English in the house, and I didn’t spend enough time with my abuela to pick up anything more than a few basic phrases.

When my introduction to the priest is over, Julian leads me to another room—a small office that has a desk and two chairs. As soon as we get there, two young women enter the room. One of them brings in a long white dress, while the other one carries shoes and accessories. They’re friendly and excited, chatting with me in a mix of Spanish and English as they start doing my hair, and I try to respond in kind. However, my answers come out awkward and wooden, the growing knot of dread in my chest preventing me from acting like the eager young bride they expect to see. Noticing my lack of enthusiasm, Julian shoots me a dark glare, then disappears, leaving the women to fuss over me.

By the time they’re done prettifying me, I’m both mentally and physically exhausted. Even though Chicago and Bogotá are in the same time zone, I feel jet-lagged and utterly drained. A strange numbness steals over me, easing the churning tension in my stomach.