I sit up. “What do you want, Mercedes? I’m not in the mood to deal with you.”

Two women follow her in, one carrying a garment bag, the other rolling in a small suitcase.

The gala.

Shit.

“I’m not going,” I tell her before she can get a word in. I get out of the bed to go to the bathroom. Although my period’s lighter than it would usually be, the birth control shot has done nothing for my cramps.

“That’s not up to you,” she says, slipping the toe of her blood-red stilettos in the doorway so I can’t close it. “Or didn’t my brother mention that? You do as you’re told. Period.”

I stop pushing at the door, let it go and step into her face. She’s taller than me with those shoes while I’m barefoot, so I have to look up at her. “You and your brother can both go fuck yourselves. I have cramps. Get the hell out.”

“Cramps?”

“What? You don’t get the report about my cycles too?”

“What are you talking about?”

The fight goes out of me. I’m more depressed than angry, and it’s not her I’m angry with. “Nothing. Just go. You can torture me tomorrow.”

“I don’t think so. We only have an hour to get you ready, so do what you need to do in here,” she says, walking away to return a moment later with her purse and taking out a bottle of aspirin. She sets it on the counter. “Here. I’ll even give you aspirin. Not that you deserve pain relief.”

That anger is back, and now it’s directed precisely on her.

“What the fuck is wrong with the two of you? I barely even knew that you existed before I was forced to marry your brother. To live in this little corner of hell. What did I do to you that made you hate me so much?”

Her eyes grow darker, mouth tighter, and I see her hands fist at her sides. She’s gritting her teeth, and I know she wants to say something, but she’s holding back. “You’re lucky my brother stands between me and you, Ivy Moreno, because I wouldn’t be so gentle with you.”

“Gentle? You think he’s gentle?”

She snorts.

“Do you? Because you’re as deluded as he is if you do!”

“Don’t forget your place.”

“My place? Get out. Just get the fuck out of my room!”

“You’re in my house. Mine. You don’t tell me to get out.”

“It's Santiago's house. My husband’s house!” I don’t even know why I say it. Why I’m goading her.

“Oh! Your husband. That's right.” She tilts her head to the side and grins. “Do you have any idea why he made you his wife? Why a man like my brother would even look at you twice?”