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I shift back and forth on my feet, eyeing the camera in the ceiling. Valentina twists to follow my gaze, then sighs.
“Yeah. You’ll get used to that.”
I scoff. “I doubt that.”
Valentina gives me a serious look. She’s clearly enjoyed her role as my snack-provider and makeup/hair artist, and she’s been chatty and relaxed most of the afternoon. But now, she looks grave.
“You have to get used to it, Deirdre. This is your life now. This is it. It’s not safe, and it’s not easy, but it’s what you’ve fucking got.”
The speech seems practised. I wonder if she’s said these exact words to herself.
“This isn’t my life,” I mutter, crossing my arms and shaking my head so hard that the rollers wobble and tug at my hair. “I have a life.”
“Had,” Valentina corrects me. “You may still be in Toronto, but where you’ve come from and where you are now are two completely different worlds. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
“How can you say that?” I cry. I’ve started feeling a sense of comradery with Valentina, but it comes crashing down. She’s not here to be my friend. She’s here to make sure I serve Elio in whatever fashion he chooses.
But maybe I’m wrong. Because the look she gives me isn’t cold, but pained.
“I say that because it’s true. Because it’s a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over again.” Once again, her eyes go to her ring, and for a second she looks like she wants to cut off her own finger.
“How old are you?” I ask her softly.
“I’ll be nineteen in June,” she replies, closing her hand into a fist and letting it drop.
Jesus. Only eighteen, engaged, and clearly unhappy about it.
I guess being the boss’s daughter doesn’t afford you as much power over your own life as I thought.
“Who’s your fiancé?”
“God, I don’t want to talk about him,” she moans. “I’m already going to have to see him tonight.” She sighs, twirling the ring on her finger, then meets my gaze steadily. “Look, this is shit. I know it is. You didn’t choose to be here, and I get it. I’ve had eighteen years to get used to these men and you’ve barely had a day. It’s fucking garbage. But you’re strong. Just like me. I can see it in those baby blues.” She smiles. “And if there’s anything strong women are good at, it’s surviving absolute trash heaps of situations like these.”
I’m not sure I feel that strong right now. I’ve thrown up walls, but they’re all being chipped away at. By my father, with his betrayal.
By Elio with his hammer.
But I have to be strong. I’m a survivor. Even if being a survivor has filled me with guilt for half my life.
I wonder what Mom would say if she were here.
No. If Mom were alive, I wouldn’t be here at all. She never would have let this happen.
“Alright, then. What kind of dress should I wear to get through an ‘absolute trash heap of a situation’?” I ask.
Valentina grins and wraps an arm around my waist, leaning in and squeezing. “That’s the spirit!”
I swallow, unexpected tears threatening to ruin my makeup. This is the first time I’ve been touched by another woman in a long time. I try to remember the last time I hugged Willow and want to cry even more.
“Are you able to get a message to someone for me?” I ask, spinning in Valentina’s grip. “My best friend Willow. She’s worried about me but her dad took her phone and won’t let her contact me.”
“No tears! Ah! Your makeup!” Valentina says, fanning her hands over my face in a frantic motion. “Is she Irish?”
I know what she’s asking with that question. She’s not asking just about her family background, but asking if Willow is in the life.
“Yeah,” I say. There’s no point in lying. “Her dad runs a pub called Briar and Boar for Darragh Gowan.”
“Hmm. How about a letter? I could send it for you.”
