Guilt or my stomach, I couldn’t decide which made me feel worse. In that moment, it seemed my conscience was louder than the physical, and guilt clawed its way forward again. I was so disturbed by it that I sat up in bed and grabbed for my phone. I tapped at it for a few moments, before I sighed and put it back on the side table.
He was mine. I would protect him no matter the cost, even if that meant prolonging this secret for a time.
But, my brain protested,what if something comes of this? More than you can handle alone?
The door squeaked open and the light in the hall outlined the shape of Aunt Lola. She poked her head in.
“Why are you not asleep?” she said, her lips pinching.
She came fully into the room, setting her wide bottom beside me on the bed. She carried a particular smell, one that I could never truly place. Powered makeup, rice, and spring blooms came to mind. The scent was pleasant but distinct.
Maggie Beautiful entered next, her face drawn down in worry. She stood with her back against the wall, watching me.
“I—” I looked down at my hands. “If I were to tell you something, Aunt—”
She put a finger to her mouth, taking one of my hands in her free one. Uncle Tito came in then, surveying the scene.
“Bed with you!” he said to me while simultaneously trying to shoo his wife away and adjusting the covers she had disturbed.
She held firm, taking his hand. “Tito,” she said gently, “we are discussing women’s business. Have a drink. Relax yourself.”
He pushed his glasses up, giving her a narrow look. “I would,” he said slowly, “but her husband will not rest himself! I tell him,” he muttered, going for the door. “All is fine! Does he believe me?NO! Who am I? Just the doctor!”
The sound of his voice floated down the hallway, complaining about Brando the entire time, until silence finally replaced the noise.
I went for the phone again, to call Brando, but Aunt Lola stopped me.
“Later,” she said, putting the phone to the side. “We talk now.”
“You’ve been around—” I clutched the cross pendent that hung from my neck “—this life, a long time.”
“All of my life,neonata.”Baby Girl.
Nodding, I made my mind up. I asked Maggie Beautiful to sit. After she did, I told them both what had transpired in the bathroom. Maggie Beautiful growled when I told her that it was no woman who had assaulted me, but Nemours, the man who still had power over my contract. She had never seen him before. Aunt Lola crossed herself, her hand coming to rest over my belly in a maternal, protective way.
“Let me see what this monster has done to our girl,” she said, lifting my pajama top. She sucked in a breath and released it on a hiss. “Thatrattobastardo!”
The area was already bruised, and what felt like a tight knot that was as hard as stone bloomed underneath.
“I—I don’t know what to do,” I said, my lip trembling. “If I tell him, he’s not going to wait. It’s hard enough for him already, to accept the fact that someone else binds him. If he decides to take…the position, as head of the family…I couldn’t forgive myself. That’s not our life. If I don’t tell him, and he finds out… I’m not sure which would be worse. Not to mention the guilt. It’s eating me from the inside out.”
Aunt Lola patted my hand, a distant look coming into her eyes. Then she rose, fiddling around the room. She cleaned. “Lothario is not my brother,” she said sadly. “If he was, this would be war.” She waved a hand, then let it come to rest on the music box Brando had given me—wherever I went, it went. “However, Lothario is the head of this family now, and given history, he knows your husband will not wait for his command, but will seek revenge on his own. No matter what therattohas done, Lothario is in a position to decide how he should be dealt with. And if your husband goes against his wishes or acts too quickly?” She paused, giving me a moment to think this over. “As it stands, the family is in turmoil. Ettore’s treachery has caused bad blood. If Brando challenges Lothario, the family will split like a rotten peach.
“But,” she said, turning to me, “it is your husband’s right to know,neonata. He will be back, that no-good—” she cursed in Italian for a long string of time, including Ettore, until she straightened up and composed herself. “Therattobastardois taunting your husband, using you as bait. If you did not show any signs of desperation tonight, he will make sure next time you do.”
Maggie Beautiful threw her head into her hands. “My son. My daughter. Oh, such a mess!”
“What do I do, Aunt Lola?”
“You will tell your husband.”
Maggie Beautiful began to sob.
“But,” Aunt Lola said, nodding to herself, “you arehiswife. You are your husband’s main council, his highest council. Therefore, just because we are behind the scenes does not mean we do not run the show, ah?”
* * *
Throwing myself into rehearsal was the only respite I found from the ever-mounting stress. I had found that dance was a trusted friend that I could rely on, no matter how daunting the circumstances. Losing myself in the performance, in the character I was playing, had become a coping mechanism. It was more than therapeutic.
