Rosa Sanchez. The first word that comes to mind is always 'power'. Known as Thorn by many, she seems to be the most dangerous woman in the world. But, she wasn't always like this. That leads many people to wonder how she came to be. What made an inn...
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Two weeks later.
I paced around the dining table. We had fully moved back into our house a couple of days ago.
Valentina walked in from the garden. She had taken care of it while we were gone.
"Why are you pacing dear?" She shut the glass door behind her.
"Rosa is meeting my brothers today."
She placed new flowers on the table. "She knows how to be polite if that's what you're worried about."
"Yes, but they don't." I twirled a strand of my hair nervously. "I mean, what if she doesn't like them. They're practically the only family I have."
She placed her hand on my shoulder. "Everything is going to be fine."
I sighed. She had become a mother to me recently.
"But-" I started.
"If you say 'what if it's not', I might hit you." She smiled.
Rosa walked to the front door.
Her hair was perfectly tied up as always. She smoothed out her pants as she glided through the doorway even though there wasn't a single wrinkle. Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked into the kitchen.
She looked as she always did. Absolute perfection.
Meanwhile, I was wearing sweatpants, an oversized T-shirt, mismatched socks, and my hair was a frizzy half-up mess.
She was talking to someone on the phone. Based on her tone of voice it was probably someone important.
She smiled at the new flowers in the vase as she walked by.
Well, it wasn't really a smile. The corners of her mouth slightly twitched upward for a millisecond.
Someone who didn't spend most of their time studying her face wouldn't have noticed it.
I doubt she would've noticed it herself.
She did smile at me though. It was a brighter smile than usual. She was probably trying to make up for the fact that she was on the phone.
I looked between the two of us. Nobody would've guessed I was the one regularly compared to a goddess.
Maybe it was how we were raised. Rosa was meant to be a decoration. Something for people to marvel at beside her father.
I was meant to be modest. If I was showing my knees I was asking for a man to catcall me or assault me.
It was my fault for making him think such heinous things.
I never believed any of that. I knew my worth didn't change based on how many people I'd been with.
But others did. That was partially why I didn't want to say anything to Rosa.
