There’s no getting out of this. I knew sooner or later I would need to deal with it. Having to navigate my spouse’s parent. Forced to endure a front-row view of their version of love for their one and only child. What would Serafina Fabbri’s be?
I met Iris’s mother once, two weeks before the wedding. A cordial five-minute visit before I excused myself and departed for an unexpected but urgent business meeting. Assuring Mrs. Fabbri that there would be another time for us to get to know each other. I guess that time has come.
“Thanks.”
“We’ll also need to arrange for a reception to hostla Famigliaelite who are eager to celebrate our wedding. It’s expected. After what happened at the cathedral, everyone understands it may take a little time. So, how does next Sunday sound to you?”
“Sure. What do you need me to do?”
“Start using the credit card I gave you.”
Iris shifts on her chair nervously. Did she really believe I wouldn’t notice? I had Mario hand her the Amex Black Card when he dropped her off at the hospital for her mother’s surgery, right after we signed the marriage contract. I know he relayed my instructions for her to use it for whatever she needed. She hasn’t spent a cent.
“I don’t feel comfortable spending your money beyond the things we agreed on. You’re covering Mom’s care and meds, plus her rent and other expenses. That’s all I need. Anything more simply feels wrong.”
Fury spikes inside me like a goddamn fever. I’ve seen the state of her clothes. The woman has two pairs of shoes, both of which crossed the line to inadequate ages ago. The rest ofher things aren’t that much better. She wore that threadbare monstrosity of a coat the entire New England winter, in freezing rain and during record snowfall. Each time I saw her in that thing, I wanted to drag her into a proper store and buy her some decent clothes. Pants. Sweaters. Jackets. And boots. Warm outfits so she wouldn’t freeze her ass off in cold weather. And pretty, well-made things for the spring and summer. Isn’t my money good enough for her? Is she refusing purely out of spite? Whatever it is, I can’t let it stand. If shewon’tuse my money to buy herself nice things, I’m going tomakeher. She deserves those things. She deserves all the nice things.
“Being my wife comes with certain expectations, including looking the part. That was part of our deal. So take the card, and have Theo drive you to the most exclusive boutique in town. Buy yourself a brand new wardrobe. Is that clear?”
“Crystal, Mr. Ruffo.” Her gaze is downright frosty as she slowly rises from her chair. “I bid you a good night.”
My phone starts ringing as I enter my room. I pull it out of the back pocket of my jeans and answer without bothering to check the caller ID. It’s probably Mom, she already left me a couple of messages.
“Are you alright?” Ms. Zara’s voice sounds a little frantic on the other side.
“Ms. Zara! Hi! Um…yes. Everything is fine.”
“Hmm. Are you lying to me, Iris?”
“No. Of course not.”
There’s a pause before she responds, long enough that I check to make sure the call didn’t drop. She’s mulling over her words. She does that whenever she has something important to say.
“I don’t want to butt into your private life, Iris, but you are very special to me. So I’m going to repeat what I said to you a month ago when you told me you were marrying Adriano. If I find out he’s making you do something you don’t want, I’ll be there in a jiffy to get you out. Even if you protest.”
I sit on the edge of my bed, a sigh escaping me. Ms. Zara is the only person to whom I told the truth. Okay, only half of it. I told her that Ruffo offered to pay for Mom’s transplant and medical care if I agreed to marry him.
“He’s not making me sleep with him, Ms. Zara. His reasons for wanting this marriage are…of a different nature.”
“And you still won’t tell me what they are?”
“I can’t. I gave him my word.”
“Jesus Christ, Iris,” she sighs. “I really wish you had come to me instead of making this deal with Adriano. We could have figured something out.”
“The timing wasn’t right.” I know she would’ve tried to help. If Ruffo didn’t arrange for that blip with Don Spada’s accounts. Something that got resolved right after Mom was moved out of the ICU. Right after Ruffo let me know what would happen if I don’t hold up my end of our deal.
“Do you like him?”
The phone nearly slips from my hand.
Many folks have been dismissive of Ms. Zara, not paying her any mind. In their ignorance, they’ve all failed to realize exactly how clever she is. How good her people-reading skills are.
“I’ve seen how you look at him,” she goes on. “How you fidget or tune in when his name comes up in a conversation. You feel…something.”
“I… I don’t know. I thought I did. For the longest time, I had this terrible crush on him. But then I discovered he isn’t exactly who I thought he was and...” I shake my head even though she can’t see me.
The things he’s done… I should be terrified of my husband. I should probably hate him. But I don’t. God, why can’t he pretend with me as he does with everyone else? Then I wouldn’t feel so bad when my heart leaps every time he’s near.
