LETICIA
THE PAWN OF THE PLAN
I’m aboutto open a photo from Royal, but Dad bellows from somewhere in the main portion of the penthouse.
“Leticia!”
Berto said he and Dad weren’t coming back before they left for the airport...
Is Berto okay?I rush down the stairs as fast as I can.
Dad is standing at the door to his study wearing his usual look, the same one Berto has adopted, black suit with a white shirt, no tie, and his shoulders back. This time, though, his fists are clenched, and I hesitate to approach. He’s always been so unpredictable, but it’s been a while since he’s even really raised his voice at me. It’s been since before Antonella came home that he last hit me. Almost a year maybe?
“I don’t have all night, Leticia.” He gestures toward his open office door.
I amneverinvited into Dad’s office.
I’m allowed to deliver items to him in his office, but I’m never there for any intentional business purpose.
Well, tonight’s the night, then.
I straighten and cross the open space, my flats beating against the cold terrazzo floor all the way to his office, and then I try not to wince as I step across the threshold.
Berto is staring out the large window, which looksout at Lake Michigan, with a pensive expression and his glass of malt liquor halfway to his mouth. It’s dark outside, so I don’t even know why he’d bother looking out at it.
“Take a seat, Leticia.” Dad’s voice is low and harsh as he points me to a chair.
Stiffly, I perch on a chair across from his desk, my skirt protecting me from the cool leather of the seat. The rich oak arms feel like a cage, and I don’t dare lean back into it.
Dad takes a moment to sit. The wood and leather of his chair creak in protest as he settles in. For a moment, the room is quiet with dreaded anticipation.
Or maybe that’s just me.
“Why is Ian Cavanagh inviting us, and you, by name, on a hand-delivered invitation to Christmas at their home?” Dad slides an invitation across the desk.
I don’t pick it up, but I glance and see all four of our names, not just mine, spelled out in a fancy metallic font.
Why wouldn’t they invite me?I want to question and be assertive, but that’s not me. That’s Antonella.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Then who is it that you’ve been exchanging texts and phone calls with? It started within the last two weeks. One of them, I’m assuming, is Antonella, but there is this other one you speak to at all odd hours of the day and night.” Dad presents the phone bill from across the desk.
I don’t reach for it either.
“Royal Cavanagh,” I answer honestly and quickly.
The truth will come out, and there’s no shame in it. We’re just friends.
Berto sputters on his next sip of liquor. “What?”
“Royal Cavanagh? Leticia, now is not the time for one of your silly little jokes.” Dad talks down to me.
“I’m not joking.” But I also don’t remember the last time I told a joke. I don’t bring that up. “I called Clark Enterprises to get someone to give me Antonella’s new number, and I connected with Royal. We’ve been chatting since then. He’s nice.”
“Nice.” Dad scoffs. He narrows his eyes at me, pinching his lips tightly. “Hardly.”
“Leticia, he isn’t nice. He’s using you.” Berto speaks with false sympathy that’s amplified by a pitying scowl.
