The next morning my mother’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed, no doubt from crying. I’d heard them that night, the shouting, her crying. The bruises on her hands told me he’d hurt her. I made a promise then that nobody would hurt my brother.
I lie in bed, unable to drift off to sleep. The conversation at dinner keeps playing like a reel in my head. Zev was right; it all felt too easy. My father didn’t shout. He didn’t demand that I do as he says. He simply agreed to me leaving this house, the business, and starting a new job in another city.
My mother wasn’t happy, and she made that clear. But she shut up when he told her to. The way she always did. Serafina Hernandez, the docile wife. My parents’ relationship was the reason I don’t believe in love. It is a business transaction in my world.
In the early hours of the morning my eyes finally droop closed.
And when my alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m., I switch it off. My gym workout will have to wait today.
* * *
“You look fabulous!” Stephan claps his hands together in glee as I look at myself in the mirror. He adjusts my dress as I turn one way and then the next. The soft gray, off-the-shoulder ball gown with floral lace applique detail on the bodice and shimmering, glitter tulle is mesmerizing, but it feels so much like my mother’s style and taste that it annoys me despite its beauty. She liked this one the least, and so it was a no brainer that it would be the one I liked the most.
Stephan twists my hair into a fancy, low ponytail then picks out earrings and a necklace for me. I kept my make-up light and natural.
“She may have chosen it, but it is perfect on you, El,” he reassures me.
“I’m going to trust you on that,” I give him a small smile. The last thing I want is to attend this charity dinner my parents are hosting, but it may be the last one I attend for a long time.
“Nice,” Zev says, letting out a whistle, as he enters the room. “The perfect Hernandez princess. I better keep my eye on you tonight.”
“Fuck off,” I laugh, flipping my brother off. I know he’s joking, but it still pisses me off.
“Zev, that suit looks perfect on you,” Stephan remarks. “If only…” he sighs dramatically.
Zev does look dashing in his black tuxedo.
Zev grins. “Hey, Stephan,” he slaps him on the shoulder, and they both stare at me, making me feel uncomfortable. “You clean up nice, sis. May I escort the pretty lady to the ball?” Zev takes a bow.
I roll my eyes and loop my hands in his when he stands. Blowing a kiss to Stephan, I walk beside my brother down the corridor. I can already hear the jazz music floating in from the garden.
“I hate these things,” he casts me a sideward glance.
“Liar,” I smirk. “You started looking forward to them once you hit puberty. All those girls you get to make out with in the pool house.”
“Oh, those were the days.”
“That was last month, brother.”
We laugh, but a somber feeling settles over me.
“Zev, do you think Father is really cruel enough to get in the way of my job?” I ask as we walk.
Zev stops, looking down at me. “You know the answer. El, our father doesn’t take kindly to defiance. If he isn’t saying something, he has something up his sleeve.”
I nod in understanding as we walk out of the French doors and into the massive garden which is already full of friends, family, and business associates of my father. The space is exquisitely decorated in classic white and silver. Angel lights are intwined with sheer, white, satin curtains above us, creating a tent in the middle of the garden. There’s a dance floor with an orchestra playing music and waiters drift through the crowd with trays of finger food and drinks.
My eyes land on my parents standing at the fountain, champagne flute glasses in hand, the perfect hosts, the perfect couple. This is what the world sees. I know it’s a façade. I’ve seen her bruises, heard their fights about his indiscretions. But tonight, I’ll play the part the way they expect me to.
My mother’s silver dress hugs her body like a second skin. For a woman in her late forties, Serafina Hernandez is gorgeous. Her brown hair, which matches my own, tumbles in curls down her back. My father wears a tailored tux, not different from the one Zev has on. My mother throws her head back when she laughs and touches my father’s arm as they talk to friends. His hand rests at the small of her back.
“Ready?” Zev whispers in my ear.
“Are you?” I whisper back.
“Touché.”
We make our way down the stairs, and several eyes avert to us. People smile and nod, and we do the same as we head to where our parents stand. My father turns toward us, a smile plastered on his face. It may seem friendly enough to anyone who doesn’t know the man the way I do.
