She’s drunk again. She’s always drunk, but today she started earlier than usual. I think she’s scared for me. Certainly nervous for me. She doesn’t really like this any more than I do, but she has no choice in the matter either.
I hate her for not saying something.
For not fighting for me.
“You’re so beautiful, Natalia,” she coos, her hand stroking my long dark hair. Her eyes are glazed and her fingers tremble. She looks at me in the mirror and smiles.
“Thank you, Mother.” I force a smile back, giving her what she wants. “I get all my looks from you, of course.”
She lifts her chin higher, her own gaze going from me to herself as she admires her own reflection. “We come from good stock.”
Good stock. I want to laugh. She talks like we’re merely cattle, being bought and sold off at a farmer’s market. If we were cattle, her statement would be true because wedocome from good stock.
Smooth, tanned skin, long dark hair, blue eyes, slender bodies. I’m as beautiful as my mother was before the alcohol and drugs ravaged said beauty. I think that’s why she hates me too. I am what she once was, what she longs to still be. And she knows I will end up just like her.
My mother is a tiny Italian woman with a mischievous smile. Right now she uses that smile on me.
“He’s a good strong man, Natalia,” she says, her eyes back on me in the mirror. I don’t know who she’s trying to convince, her or me. I know all about Alfonso Rosso, and he is anything but good.
“I know,” I agree. And I do. Not so much about the good part, because I don’t think any man that my father knows is a typically good man, but he is a strong man. He’ll provide for me, protect me, and all I have to do is be a dutiful wife and provide him with an heir.
She steps back and examines me in my dress, making sure that I’m looking every bit the perfect wife-to-be. She sighs and seems dissatisfied with my appearance, but we both know I look good. My dress is long and tight, clinging to my ample curves. I wanted to wear black, but she was insistent that I wear gold. It’s cut low down the front, pushing my breasts up high and accentuating them. A long split around the thigh area shows off my legs. I feel like a cow on show, baring my assets to the richest farmer!
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t know how lucky you are. You could do so much worse than Alfonso Rosso, Natalia. At least your father chose someone attractive! I never had such luck.” She laughs bitterly. “You’re one of the fortunate ones.”
I make a noise in the back of my throat and she spins me round to look at her, her hand raising to slap my cheek. “I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I just . . . it doesn’t matter.”
“No, go on, say it!” she bites out angrily, her palm itching to strike me.
I decide it’s now or never. One last chance to save myself from this fate, even though I know it’s pointless.
“It’s just that he’s so much older than me, Mother.” I chew the inside of my cheek, already wishing I wouldn’t have bothered saying anything. No one cares what I think or what I want. It’s never been a decision I could make. And truthfully, I don’t care about his age anyway. I just don’t wanthim.
“Alfonso will give you everything you need in life.”
“But not love,” I interrupt.
“This is business!” she snaps, suddenly furious with me. “Love?” she scoffs. “Silly girl, who needs love when you have money, power, respect! Be satisfied that your father picked as strong a man as Alfonso Rosso and not some lowlife for you.”
“But Mother . . .”
“No!” she screeches. “You will marry him. Your father promised you to him when you were six months old. It’s a contract. A deal. And you will be respectful and follow through with his wishes.”
Tears fill my eyes and my chin quivers. How can she do this? How can she agree to this? My father is a scary man, but he loves her, and me. If she just spoke to him, he might listen to her.
“But I want to marry for something greater than power and money. I want love,” I plead.
My mother laughs. “Love? What do you know of love? If we all married for love we’d be whores on the street, child. Your father and I know best. You will marry Alfonso and you will be satisfied!”
I’m about to argue more with her when there’s a knock on the door and Mary, my nursemaid, comes in. I close my mouth and swallow my protests. It’s futile anyway.
“Gah, Natalia, look at you!” Mary gasps, her hands clasping before her as she takes in me and the tension between my mother and me.
I blush. “It’s just the dress,” I say shyly.
Mary says something in French that I don’t understand and comes forward, busying herself at my dressing table. She’s an older woman, plump around the middle with a hard face that never betrays her true feelings.
“You are beautiful and Mr. Rosso is a very lucky man.” She says his name with obvious distaste. She doesn’t want this marriage, this bonding, any more than I do. But like me, she’s bound by obligation and would never dare utter a word against my father’s decision.
