Maya clamped her hand over her mouth then ran from behind the counter and into the bathroom. Aria chuckled as she watched her go. That was the third time that morning. She knew she really shouldn’t laugh. She could only imagine how poorly Maya felt.
Aria was just about to check on the cinnamon buns that were baking in the oven out in the kitchen when the door to the bakery opened. She couldn’t quite contain her grimace as she laid eyes on the person who crossed the threshold. Diego. Her husband.
“What are you doing here?” she said. It was bad enough that she had to see him at home. Work was her one refuge, or at least, it was supposed to be.
It was dumb to antagonize him, but she’d long since given up trying to be civil. She’d learned that it didn’t matter how she spoke to him, anyway. The way he treated her changed with his mood, but it varied from hostile to downright abusive.
“How much money have you got on you?”
Aria’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? I gave you money yesterday. Have you spent it already?”
“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” His face, not handsome at the best of times, arranged itself into a sneer. “What are you, stupid?”
Aria wished she could tell him to get lost, but every time she’d tried to put her foot down before, the threats had started. It wasn’t worth it. Not when Maya was here.
“I haven’t got any money, Diego,” she said, hoping that would be the end of it.
He glared at her then strode behind the counter, grabbed hold of her arm and squeezed.
“Ow, get off. You’re hurting me!”
“Listen carefully,” he said in his heavy Mexican accent. “I know you’ve got money in the bank, so don’t fucking lie. Go and get me three hundred dollars. I’ll be waiting for you when you finish work. Get it or there’ll be trouble, understand?”
He shook her then squeezed her arm harder. “Understand?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I understand.”
He finally let go of her arm and strode to the front of the store.
“Remember,” he said. “Three hundred dollars. Make sure you get it.”
He left without another word. Aria rubbed her arm as if she could wipe away not only the lingering tenderness in the limb, but the memory of their exchange. No luck on either front. She’d have to wear a long-sleeve shirt to work for the next week—she knew from experience his steely grip on her was going to leave a bruise.
A moment later, Maya appeared in the door to the back room, so Aria quickly plastered a fake smile on her lips.
“Feeling better?”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Maya said. “I swear. But I heard everything. Are you okay?”
Aria nodded, ignoring the lump that rose in her throat.
“Does Diego always get physically abusive with you?”
“Um…”
“Aria, it’s okay. You can talk to me.”
Aria burst into tears.
She’d never spoken about her relationship with Diego to another living soul, but she was tired of keeping everything to herself, tired of bottling things up. She felt like a dam that was filling up with water—there was only so much she could contain before she burst.
“He’s a monster,” she said between sobs. “And he’s getting worse with time.”
“Was he like that when you married him?”
Aria dragged a hand across her eyes and sucked in a juddering breath.
“I…”
