Valencia had realized three unfortunate truths throughout the course of their conversation, each more harmful and enraging than the last.1. Don Juan knew this woman far more than he'd admitted to.
2. They had married at some point prior to November of last year, likely years ago based upon the shock on his face from seeing her. This meant the wedding that took place in November of last year was both illegal and a major sin.
3. Don Juan had never intended on marrying her last November. It was why he hadn't yet introduced her to his family and why he hadn't seemed prepared for the initial days afterwards.
The truths echoed within her head throughout the entirety of the conversation she'd ceased trying to follow like a death knell. He had lied, repeatedly. Endlessly. Every word out of his mouth, every intimate moment shared, all of it was one elaborate lie. To what? Bed her? Surely there had to be easier targets, a neglected wife or more rebellious debutante. A lonely widow even. Someone, anyone, besides a woman hopeful for a truthful marriage.
At some point, her hands had unfisted and came to rest upon her stomach, as if she could somehow protect the life she desperately hoped was growing within from the reality she was to face. They remained there even as he introduced them, even as the woman corrected him, even as the fury fanned into flames within her veins. Don Juan had lied, had ruined her.
"Get out." She spat at them both, her tone lethal and her words in the language they both understood. "Take your wife and go."
2. They had married at some point prior to November of last year, likely years ago based upon the shock on his face from seeing her. This meant the wedding that took place in November of last year was both illegal and a major sin.
3. Don Juan had never intended on marrying her last November. It was why he hadn't yet introduced her to his family and why he hadn't seemed prepared for the initial days afterwards.
The truths echoed within her head throughout the entirety of the conversation she'd ceased trying to follow like a death knell. He had lied, repeatedly. Endlessly. Every word out of his mouth, every intimate moment shared, all of it was one elaborate lie. To what? Bed her? Surely there had to be easier targets, a neglected wife or more rebellious debutante. A lonely widow even. Someone, anyone, besides a woman hopeful for a truthful marriage.
At some point, her hands had unfisted and came to rest upon her stomach, as if she could somehow protect the life she desperately hoped was growing within from the reality she was to face. They remained there even as he introduced them, even as the woman corrected him, even as the fury fanned into flames within her veins. Don Juan had lied, had ruined her.
"Get out." She spat at them both, her tone lethal and her words in the language they both understood. "Take your wife and go."