“There’s nothing to be worried about, baby,” he murmurs into his glass.
Dread stiffens my spine.I look up and swallow to clear the fear from my throat before asking, “What do you mean?”
“I’ll always be there to help you through your time of the month,” he says as he peers at me over the rim of his glass.
I can’t look away even as the blood drains from my face.
“What do you mean?”I repeat.
“You’ll continue to live with me after you marry Romeo.”
All the oxygen disappears from the room.
“But I thought… Why?”I manage through numb lips.
“He has parents, siblings, and all the lovers he could want to keep him company here in New York.It wouldn’t be fair for him to steal my only daughter away from me, would it?”
I blink in shock at the twisted expression on his face.
“Doesn’t he want an heir?”I ask.
My father shrugs.
“Would he marry you if he wanted one?”
Pain slices through my soul.
“What do you mean by that?”I croak through the frog in my throat.
“He knows you’re defective, Valentina.”He guts me with his choice of words and the disdain in his tone.“It’s not babies he hopes to gain from our alliance, although he will consummate the marriage.You’ll be husband and wife in every sense of the word, but you’ll always be my daughter first.”
I can’t breathe.Can’t move.Can’t think.
“I see the betrayal in your eyes, Valentina, but I forgive you.After all, you have your mother’s blood in your veins.You can’t help it.”
He stands and fixes his suit coat before stalking around the coffee table toward me.I’m too frozen to move.
“But I can.I can help you.”He lifts the braid from my left shoulder and rubs it between his fingers.“I’ll keep you by my side.Forever.”
With a mocking pat to the top of my head, he drops my braid and saunters out of the room, his gait slightly off from alcohol, and closes the door behind him without another word.
I stare at the lock, unable to break the ice holding me captive.When I finally move, my head feels hollow while my limbs weigh a thousand pounds.
I drag my body through the slog and find myself curled up in a ball on the bed with my braid in one hand and my empty fist under my pillow as I stare at the lamp on the bedside table.
With the hope I clung to burned to ashes, I drift through the hours like fog.Nothing matters as the sun brightens the curtains and streaks across the ceiling.Only grey shapes and dulled sounds exist as I dress and fix my hair and makeup.Breakfast has no taste, but I eat my bagel and cream cheese as I sit beside my father like the good little girl he expects me to be.
Even after we say our normal goodbye and part ways as though nothing changed between us, I remain numb on the inside.My father, as high-handed and micromanaging as ever, ensures my drivers know my itinerary for the day, so I greet them to keep up pretenses and plaster a polite mask onto my face.The expression remains in place all day, since it requires no effort.I don’t need to look at my reflection to know it never wavers.
I move through the day like a well-programmed robot until I return to the hotel after dinner.
On the foyer table lies a dress box.I take off the lid, hook my finger under a strap, and lift the black lacy lingerie top into the air.
I don’t need a note to know who sent it.
Mario Luciano.
It’s too much.I drop the fabric, cross the room, and curl up into a ball, pulling the blankets over my head, still wearing my day clothes with a face full of makeup and pins in my hair.
