Before I can process my reaction, the cabin attendant serves us bowls of warmed nuts and sparkling water. Thank God for the interruption. Why the hell was I thinking about my wife’s scent, of all things? Or what’s reflected in her eyes?
I have a few walnuts. Lareina watches me for a while, then takes a cashew from my bowl.
“What’s wrong with yours?”What excuse will she give this time?
She squirms a little. “Not enough cashews,” she says.
I eye the two cashews on the top of her bowl. “Let me guess. Mine looks better.”
“Something like that.” Smiling sheepishly, she swaps her bowl with mine.
I go back to the documents.Let her have the damn nuts.As far as habits go, it isn’t too bad. Not like ordering a salad,stealing half my fries, and then getting upset when I order a side of fries for her, which one of my exes did all the time.
Soon the plane lands in L.A., and my apprehension regarding Harvey dissipates, as though being back on my home turf has restored my footing. Lareina deplanes ahead of me. She’s pretty on the gray tarmac, in spite of her long, unbound hair blowing everywhere and the smudged, wrinkled dress hanging limply on her frame. As the SoCal sun hits me, the surreal, fairytale-like daze from Vegas vanishes, leaving me sharp and clearheaded. Regret and remorse twine around my gut like twin snakes.What was I thinking when I agreed to her ridiculous proposal?Now I’ll have to live with her, share my house with her.
Having a stranger in my sanctuary feels violative. My house is my own, and I don’t let anybody in, other than family and staff for maintaining the vast mansion. My exes didn’t last long enough to move in with me, and they certainly never got to set a single foot inside.
I suddenly realize that I’ve never pictured my future wife inside my home. The respectful marriage I envisioned would take place at some abstract location, but not my home.
Suddenly, Lareina stumbles with a small yelp. I lunge forward to catch her.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I just…” She pulls her dress up, revealing her bare feet and a jagged rock.
“Where are your shoes?” I straighten and start to turn toward the plane. Is this another of her weird habits and fetishes?
“I don’t have any.”
“What? Did you lose them yesterday running away from your cousin?”
“No. I never had any. Doris—my aunt—likes to keep me barefoot, thinking it’ll stop me from running.” Lareina snorts, then laughs to herself as though the entire belief is absurd.
Damn it.Can’t believe I didn’t notice.She walked all over Las Vegas without shoes.I drop to my knees, then take a narrow foot in my hand. It’s slightly cold, with hard calluses on the side. I check the sole to see if there’s some injury she isn’t telling me about. A small scrape, but it doesn’t look infected or anything. I run my finger along the scarlet line, and she immediately yanks her foot out of my grasp.
“Stop! I’m ticklish,” she says.
“Hush. Does it hurt?”
“Only a little, if you touch it.”
Itsk, shaking my head.
She blinks. “Are youmadat me?”
“No. I’m annoyed with myself for not realizing sooner. And I want to punch your aunt for not giving you shoes.”
“Really? But she’s a woman.”
“So?”
“I thought men don’t hit women.”
“I’ll hit anyone who’s the enemy.” Another hard-learned lesson from Mom’s kidnapping. Looking at her angelic façade, nobody would ever think she was capable of hurting her own child. She taught me women can be just as vicious as men. “Enemies are supposed to be brought down hard and fast, not given another opportunity to hurt you.”
Lareina smiles. “Thank you. That’s actually nice to hear. Sometimes people defend her, saying she’s just a woman doing her best. I always hate that.”
“And you should. A woman doing her best wouldn’t leave her niece shoeless.” I examine her other foot. Again, the same—cold and callused, with a red sole from walking all over the city.
