“It’s not fair,” I whined, wincing at how childish I sounded. Father only raised his dark eyebrows and continued to grind the crisp leaves he pulled from the solar drier.
“Let’s not ruin this last session together. You harvest the leaves from theraettleplant.”
I ground my teeth together, fighting the burn of indignant tears. Mom had put her foot down. After years of mounting disapproval, she insisted I stop visiting the greenhouse. My place should be by her side, pouring tea as the flocks of wives visited and chittered like birds on branches. My father was letting her take the only thing that gave me joy. Or what I assumed was joy. A honeyed warmth spread in my chest. The only time the itching under my skin halted.
“Can’t you say something to her? Tell her how much I want to be here?” I tried again. My throat thick as I breathed deeply. The scent of earth and greenery was a balm I needed. Shecouldn’t take this from me. Father’s powerful arms bulged as he pressed the pestle into the mortar.
“One day, you’ll marry and realize everything is a compromise. Some battles are easy to win, and others you must concede before you lose everything.”
Futility sparked into rage, and my hand tightened around the stem of the plant. It snapped under my hard hold, sap spreading over my fingers. My eyes flew to father, who hadn’t missed the irreparable damage I’d caused.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, trying in vain to right the wilting stem.
“What is rule two, Anita?” father asked softly with gentle reproach as he lay the stone tool down.
“Respect the plants,” I sighed. My lower lip wobbled, and I savaged it with my teeth in punishment for the show of weakness.
“They hold the power; we wield it,” he added. A line he’d repeated to me over the years.
“Mom’s gaggle of friends will be devastated not to get their monthly dose.” I moved the mangled plant to the side with a pang of regret. Father barked a laugh.
“Don’t worry, Anita. I have plenty more driedraettleleaves. I wouldn’t want the ladies of Greenich Bay to have to fend off the attentions of their husbands again.” He chuckled under his breath. The mistake I’d made forgiven.
I looked around the small space. With the two of us pressed in, and the plants, it was cramped and musty. Moonlight filtered through the glass on the greenhouse side, making the plants solemn guardians. I longed to put my gloves on, let the methodical work ground me. The buzz of my thoughts lessened when I floated around the room. Without it, the dresses mom insisted I wore rubbed harsher. The sounds were too bright, and my head pounded with a low thud almost constantly. Thiscouldn’t be it. I wasn’t giving up. I didn’t care what losses I had to endure.
Three Months Ago
I stretched my fingers out, concerned by the continued tremble in them. The room was too hot. There was no breeze tonight. The hotel had AC, but I wasn’t used to using it. Normally, cracking a window would be more than enough. But no cool wisp of air rescued me. The heat emanated from a lump in my stomach, coiled tight and throbbing. For a spring wedding, it had been unseasonably hot, the church had been stifling, and Romeo had even choked on his vows. He’d needed a sip of water to make it through without coughing.
Mrs. Romeo Orazio. It sent a zap down my spine. The memory of my husband’s lips on mine made me quietly gasp. I rushed into the bathroom, turning on the tap and splashing my face with cold water. My first kiss had been disappointing. The barest brush of Romeo’s lush lips and he had snatched my hand and tugged me down the aisle. His expression unaffected by the raucous cheers his dad and right-hand man encouraged. I pressed my hands to my cheeks and stared into the mirror. I’d taken out the pins, but the volume in the hair remained. My dark brown locks locked stiff with hair spray. I wanted to wash my hair, but the thought of Romeo returning to find me naked made my throat close. The white negligee I’d picked out was like liquidin the candlelight. The silk of it was smooth and luxurious on my skin. I wore no underwear underneath. A tip one of the older ladies had whispered in my ear tonight. I blushed then, scurried away from her bold words. But it felt right, sensual and hopeful, a promise.
Tonight, I was opening myself to Romeo in a way I never had with anyone. I never intended to do this with anyone, ever.
But I’d imagined it so many times over our courtship, even though Romeo had been the perfect gentleman. He’d gone no further than a few chaste touches. Once he’d gathered me close to his hard chest, wrapping his muscular arms around me. It had been a brief moment; one I’d wished he’d lengthened. People didn’t wait until marriage to bed each other anymore. It was the sixties, after all. This new era ushered in more freedom. But not in my world. They still expected women to be virtuous. Most people found their way around that, but I wasn’t interested. There had been no one who captured my eye, not that I had much opportunity. Mom had pushed me on potential husbands before I made it clear it was a futile effort. Paolo was overbearing and protective. Even if I’d had suitors, they wouldn’t have made it through him. He didn’t have to worry. The only man I had ever noticed and craved was Romeo. He made me want to crack out of my shell and make myself anew.
The door of the suite creaked open, and I moved to hover in the doorway of the bedroom. I swallowed hard, past my heart lodged in my throat.
“Romeo?” I asked, frowning as my husband stumbled in and sprawled on the bed with a groan. His shoes hung limp off the bed.
“Hello…wife,” he chuckled. His smile wobbled enough I could tell he was drunk, the reek of alcohol confirming it. His classic black suit unbuttoned, the black tie hanging on an angle. He propped himself up and patted the empty spot next to him.
“You took longer than I expected.” I wandered over to him and sank onto the soft duvet. Romeo reached out and clamped a hand on my thigh. He kneaded the skin, eyes roving over my body. My modest cleavage heaved at his intimate touch. I froze, my stomach a riot of nerves and excitement. If his hand inched up a little higher, he’d be touching me somewhere no other person had.
“I ran into some friends. They wanted to celebrate a little longer.” He shrugged. A spike of irritation flared through me. I’d been waiting in our suite for over two hours. The honeymoon suite he’d booked had been glamorous when I first arrived. Now, the burgundy velvet headboard made me wince. The bunch of red roses gleamed in their beveled crystal vase. The room stunk of sweet petals, cloying and infuriating. They weren’t from Romeo, but the hotel staff. I contemplated stripping their lush petals. But I repressed the urge. I had to get better at hiding my roiling temper. But I was exhausted. When we arrived here after our reception, Romeo had insisted he step out so I could get changed. I’d thought it gracious. Except he didn’t reappear. I’d spent two hours wringing my nerves until they frayed. And where had he gone?
To have drinks with his friends. On our wedding night.
His hand was too hot, and his kneading became harsh, pinching my skin as he dug in with his fingers.
“That hurts. I don’t—I don’t like that,” I stammered, shifting out of his groping with a reproachful look.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he slurred, rolling over until his body melded its warmth against mine. My negligee shook where my heart crashed against my rib cage. I didn’t know what he wanted or what to do next. No one had ever prepared me for this moment, and I thought Romeo would take pains to make sure I would feel comfortable. To coax my fumbling, foolish effortswith his expertise. That he would be patient and kind with his lessons.
“You’re so sweet,” he barked a laugh and sighed and rolled away. An ache sprang inside of me as his oppressive warmth faded.
“I…sweet?” I repeated, perplexed by his wording. Romeo reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. The electric shiver that shot down my spine made me dizzy, but the stink of alcohol made my nose wrinkle. My stomach squirmed. I was at sea, and there was no raft to keep me afloat. My nerves were flailing ropes, anchored underneath crashing waves of the unknown. I drowned, my lungs feeble in their efforts to find oxygen.
“You are my wife,” he whispered, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to my shoulder. The bare skin prickled, and the sensation was like riding a sharp edge of pleasure and pain. His glacial eyes were tormented.
