But before I can object, she lays the demon against my bare chest. “Skin to skin contact,” she croons. “Nothing like it. Go ahead, mom. Don’t be scared to touch her. You won’t break her.”
I don’t move, so the nurse leans over me. She arranges one of my hands so that it cups the creature. The other, she runs over its head, so that my fingers touch a texture of coarse curls.
Huh. It’s got hair. Curly hair. Like me.
The nurse must see that I’m relaxing somewhat, because she tilts my head down. I don’t resist, letting her guide me so that at last, my eyes are taking in the sight of the child my heart is convinced will destroy me.
Oh.
The thing in my hands is definitely not what I’d considerpretty. Her skin is mottled purple, and the color doesnotgo with her hair, which is decidedly red. She’s got more wrinkles than a ninety-year-old, and her hands are clenched into angry little fists.
“She’s very ugly,” I mumble.
The nurse lets out a strangled laugh.
“Her skin is that shade because she overstayed her welcome inside you,” she explains. “The irritation will die down in a few days. Babies are always wrinkled. She’ll be a real beauty, I bet. She looks just like you,” she repeats.
I’m not listening to her anymore, though. No matter what she says, the baby in my arms is just about the ugliest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
But she’smyugly baby.
Mine.
All mine.
A violent surge of emotions chokes up my throat, and the nurse has to hastily intervene before I accidentally crush my new baby to my chest.
_
“Are you fucking serious? No fucking way, papa!”
“Iamserious, Lia. And don’t swear.”
Papa sits by the bed, averting his eyes as I breastfeed the baby I’ve decided to call Aurora. Though I haven’t gotten used to calling her anything butbabyyet.
“Papa,” I groan, “you must not understand what happened. I didn’t choose to go out with Carmelo Moretti. He’s not my boyfriend. Not anything like that.” I can’t believe I have to spell the words out to him. Or nearly, because I can’t bear to call what happened by its real, ugly name. “We had a… a one-night stand. But not even that. Not even that, papa.”
“I know.” His mouth sets in a grim line. “I know you’re not to blame, sweetie. These bad things just… happen.”
My chest constricts with the injustice of his reaction. No, it didn’t just happen. Carmelo Moretti made it happen! Carmelo Moretti, the guy papa is telling me I’m going to marry, whether I want to or not!
“I amnotgoing anywhere near that man ever again,” I hiss. “And I amcertainlynot marrying him.”
“Honey,” says papa, in a firmer voice than I’ve ever heard him use with me, “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”
“I DO have a choice!” I snap. “This is America, papa! The 21st century! Parents can’t just force their minor children into unwanted marriages!”
“Parentsmight not be able to,” growls papa, “but the Morettis certainly can. Carmelo Moretti has decided to marry you, and there’s just no way to stop that from happening. Got it?”
I stare at him, aghast. For the first time ever, I’m seeing papa as the weak, pathetic man he really is. Not as the powerful made man or as the loving father I’d always imagined he was. Not even as the stern husband who came to America with his daughter, leaving his unwilling wife behind.
“Youmay be too weak to do a thing about it, but I certainly will,” I lash out. “I’m going back to Ireland to live with mamaí.”
He lets out an exhausted sigh. “Your mother has made it clear many times over the years that she wants nothing to do with you. And anyway, if you leave, you’re just going to put everyone in danger. Do you really think Carmelo Moretti will let you leave with his child?”
I clutch the baby protectively, and my breast accidentally pops out of her mouth, causing her to whine in protest. “She’smychild!”
“The Morettis consider her to be their heir. The don only has one son, and Carmelo has no other progeny. So your baby isveryimportant. Now, either you give in, and Carmelo will treat you and your daughter very well, and make you as happy as you can be given the circumstances. Or you run off to Ireland, and within a fortnight, we’ll all be dead. So, which will it be?”
