Bound To You

Chapter 1

Valeria

I lay sunken in the mass of white sheets, the dark four posters rising up above me, joined by wooden beams. The sunlight was streaming in through the huge glass doors that led onto the semi-circular balcony, the swirling black railing bordering it. I stared at the rosegold table and white-cushioned chairs, unwilling to move from my sprawl.

Today was my wedding.

The house was already bustling with activity, shouts, and calls ringing through the air. Preparing for the big celebrations.

From today, I would no longer be known as Miss Valeria Hernandez. From today, I would be known as Missus Valeria Lopez.

The knowledge brought on a wave of extremely mixed emotions.

On the one hand, I was slightly apprehensive. I would be leaving everything I had ever known, leaving behind my name, my identity, my home. I would be moving into something foreign. Unknown. The thought alone scared me enough that I did not wish to leave my bed.

But on the other hand, I saw my wedding as an opportunity. An opportunity for discovery. Yes, it would be foreign and unknown. But it would also be new. Different. An opportunity for exposure. I would finally be able to move onto something new, diverge into a new identity. An identity that had not been formed yet. An identity with which I may do whatever I wished. As Valeria Hernandez, I had a pre-assigned personality, mainly thanks to my mother, Gloria.

Missus Valeria Lopez, however? As her, I could be anything I wished. I did not need to be what I was now. 

The prospect of my marriage was unknown, but it was also an unleashing.

I slid off my bed, breathing in my room for the last time. Beige brick walls rose up to tower over me, a black lantern-like chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The dormant fireplace in the right corner in front of my bed housed ashes, the mantle piece atop it bare. The slanting mirror showed me my own bare feet on the thick white rug, my white nightgown falling till mid-calf. The pointedly small study table against the left wall beside the door was strewn with loose papers and stationery, a black-screened laptop left open upon it.

I got dressed slowly, savouring every little thing. The way I opened my cupboard with such surety, the feel of the worn rug underneath my feet, the way I didn't have to recall where something was kept. I savoured the way I was on autopilot, for today I would be moving into an absolutely new place. I was nervous, yet excited. Fearful, yet eager.

"Valeria," said an absolutely cold voice from the doorway. I twisted to behold my mother standing in the doorway, dressed in a metallic grey gown, her hair done up in an elegant bun. She wore a sapphire set of jewels, one that matched her eyes, her lips painted red. Her expression was utterly cold as she scanned me from head to toe.

If there was one thing in this house that I wouldn't miss, it would be her.

She was the reason I had so readily agreed to this marriage. This cold, cruel, horrible vulture has been obsessed with my life from day one. Literally. The first words she ever said to me were, "You're going to make a lovely bride." I only know because this is the line she used every time I tried to rebel.

Her only agenda was to get me married. Well, her wish had been granted. And I was all too ready to leave.

"You're packed?" she asked severely. I nodded and gestured to the suitcase that was right under her nose. She didn't spare it a single glance as she nodded.

"You remember what I taught you?"

"Yes."

"Every last thing?"

"Yes, mother."

"Good. Then you'll make a lovely bride, a good wife, and an excellent mother. That will be your house from now on. Look after it well."

I nodded. Without another word, she turned and swept off.

I loosed a breath I hadn't realised I had been holding. And looked forward to leaving more than ever.

* * *

Juan

It was outrageous. Absolutely outrageous.

I yanked on my tie furiously, glaring at my attire in the mirror. Who did Papa think he was to decide when I should get married? Wasn't it supposed to be my decision?

And I already knew what I would decide if it were up to me. I would never get married.

I loved my life as a bachelor too much to even consider wanting to get married. The very idea was ridiculous. Partying late into the night, bringing a new woman home every other night, going out for drinks with my friends whenever I wanted. Why on earth would I wish to part with such freedom?

And yet, here I was. Dressed in a grey tux, two hours away from my wedding. I might as well be heading for the gallows.

I hadn't even had time to come up with an escape plan, something to either stop it or delay it. It had been only a week since I had been informed that I was to be married. I had told my father there was no way he would be able to do that. I would find a way to put a stop to it.

Taking my declaration as seriously as I had meant it, the bastard had acted quickly. Had personally phoned all the people he wished to invite, flown all of them in, arranged for them to live at our mansion, and managed to pull together a wedding. The ceremony was to take place on our front lawn.

And I had to admit, for a ceremony that had been thrown together in a week's time, it was quite a decent affair. White ribbons, lawn chairs draped in white cloth, a sprawling banquet, and a lovely altar bedecked with flowers. They'd hired a professional photographer for the wedding photos at the bride's mother's insistence.

What was the bride's name? Oh yeah. Valeria.

Honestly, I quite like the name. I'd seen a couple of photos of her, and I couldn't deny the fact that she was beautiful. It was glaringly obvious. A small consolation in the face of this massive shit-show.

Finally accepting that I was ready, I turned and made my way out of my suite and down the sweeping staircase, past the spacious living room, and into the front lawn.

My mother was directing the staff as they bustled about, getting this right, changing that, lifting that there and taking this down. My father stood at the edge of the chaos and watched his wife with an amused smile. There was true affection shining in his face, a certain brand of affection that had been reserved just for her, the brand that every husband reserved for his wife.

I walked towards him. He turned when I was four steps away, his smile fading a bit as his eyes swept over me. He turned back to the chaos without a word, which meant he had no objections to how I looked.

"Father," I said tightly, coming to stand beside him.

"Son," he said, equally tightly. "Everything's ready. What about you?"

"I'm ready. I don't have any other choice but to be ready, do I?"

He stiffened at the jab and cleared his throat. "It is a necessary thing that must be done for reasons I have explained to you time and again. You have a duty towards this family, and you will fulfill it," he said in a voice of steel.

I clenched my jaw against the injustice of it. But the fact remained that I really did not have any other choice but to be ready. So all I said was, "Yes, father."