“Blessing?” I reply. I figure it’s better to show ignorance than to give any clue that I know what he is about to say.
“Yes, Zaira, his blessing. We’re getting married,” he says confidently because he knows if my father wishes it, I must acquiesce.
“Oh, I see.” I’m cautious with my reply because the last thing I want to convey to my father right now is that I am apprehensive about this.
Victor reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box.Oh hell, he already has the ring! Oh God no. This can’t be happening,I think to myself, and all the while I have a smile on my face.
“Here, wear this,” he says as he hands me the box.
I really didn’t expect romance—you know, the hearts-and-flowers thing—but it sure would have been nice to at least get a decent proposal of marriage instead of “here, wear this.” I take the box from him, still smiling ’cause it is what a good Bonita daughter should do, and open it. Inside is the most ostentatious, gaudy diamond ring I have ever seen. Victor has known me all my life; of course he would know this ring isnotsomething I would choose. But based on what I heard from the other side of that door, it’s best I learn early on that, going forward, nothing about me matters anymore. It never really did. I never mattered to my father, and now I will never matter to my husband. What was it he said? I am only his wife to satisfy his needs, both in the bedroom and out? The thought makes me cringe. But, at least he won’t be getting a virgin. It was the one thing I was able to control about my future. During my senior year in high school, I made a point to give my virginity away to a boy that I had been secretly dating at the time. Although it wasn’t the most pleasant experience of my life, I was overjoyed that I had taken matters into my own hands.
“We’ll have a quick engagement. Six months work for you?” he asks.
Does he really care what I think? I nod ’cause I really don’t have a choice. In today’s world, women aren’t subjected to dowries and arranged marriages anymore, but in a traditional Italian family, like my own, this is our life. My father is the Don of a powerful family, and if he says I will marry and we will have a quick engagement, then I will do as he says.
After the decision is made for a quick engagement, I politely excuse myself from both men. Once in the hallway, I make it my mission to find Vince. Vince is my older brother and the closest thing I have to a best friend. Well, I had Michael at one time, but after his family was accused of murdering my mother, that friendship went to hell. Not only did my father forbid me to see Michael, I knew it was easier to avoid him. I mean really, how could we be friends after the accusations had been made? The damage was done.
I know Vince would not be able to change my father’s mind, but I need him to know and to know how I am feeling about all this. I can’t speak with Mia, my sister. She’s too immature to understand the ramifications of such an arrangement, and she has loose lips. I’d be terrified she would slip and confess my confidences. Vince is my confidant, and I know whatever I tell him he will take to his grave. And, if he wants to help, at least he’s in a position where he can do something, unlike me.
I find him in the kitchen harassing Greta, our housekeeper, cook, and nanny. Greta is the one who really raised Vince, Mia, and me. She is like a second mother to us all, especially after our mom was killed five years ago.
“Come on, Greta, just a taste of the cookie dough, for your favorite?” He teases. It makes me smile ’cause I can see Greta is making chocolate chip cookies, and even though Vince is twenty-eight, he is still mimicking his childhood antics by begging for cookie dough.
“No. No, Vince, no. Cookie dough has raw eggs, and you should not eat raw eggs. And you’re not my favorite. I don’t have favorites.” She’s admonishing him, no doubt.
“But, Greta, you know I’m your favorite, and I think it is important to note that I’ve been eating raw cookie dough for as long as I can remember. Just look at me. I’m as healthy as a horse!” He walks to her and puts his arm around her. “Come on, love, you know you’re gonna cave.” He’s smiling, and I can see the myrrh in his eyes.
Greta completely gives in and waves her hand, saying, “Fine, one taste.”
He kisses her on the cheek as he reaches into the bowl with the raw cookie dough, then digs his spoon in to get as much as he can. Once he takes the spoon to his mouth, he turns and sees me standing in the doorway.
“Hey, sis!” he says with a smile. My brother is quite handsome and very much the charmer. I think he would charm the socks off the most prudish woman and get her agreeing to whatever he wanted in less than five minutes. He’s gonna make a great Don someday, and I pray it’s sooner rather than later when it happens. He would never force me to do what my father is planning—never. His green eyes sparkle as he licks the spoon clean.
“Can I talk to you in private?” I ask.
“Of course, Zaira.” He puts his spoon down and walks toward me. “Let’s go outside on the patio and chat.” Turning back toward Greta, he says, “Hey, love, can you have…ugh, what’s her name bring us a couple of ice teas please?”
Greta shakes her head and says, “Her name is Holly, and she is the new housemaid,” Greta says, correcting him. “And yes, I will tell her.”
“I’m sorry, Greta. You know we have more maids running through this house than I care to count. Seriously, I’ve been thinking about changing the door to the servant’s quarters to a revolving one. Might make things easier, don’t ya think?”
She rolls her eyes and says, “Go, and get out of my kitchen!”
He gives her another kiss on the cheek and says, “You may not admit that I am your favorite, Greta, but you’ve always been mine.”
When he leaves the room, I turn back toward Greta with a shrug, and she smiles so big, I think she is gonna burst. That’s my brother, the ultimate charmer. I turn around and follow Vince outside the patio doors.
He sits at the table and looks at me curiously, “So, what’s up?”
“Have you talked to Papa?” I ask.
“About what?” He leans forward, curious about where I’m going with this conversation. We usually don’t discuss our father’s decisions about things because we both know all our complaining and commiserating about his choices won’t change a thing. But this time is different. I’m desperate, and the only one I can turn to is Vince.
“He’s made a match for me,” I say sadly. “Victor and I are engaged.”
“Fuck!” Vince shakes his head. “I had a feeling this was going to happen.”
“Did he tell you what he was planning?”
