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“Il tuo guardaroba per il matrimonio è qui. Preparerò tutto il resto.” Helga leaves as soon as she finishes. Your wedding wardrobe is here. I shall prepare everything else.
“Wedding?” they say in unison.
“Yes. Today we’re getting married.”
“No. No,” Cynthia voices, her words matching Siân’s reaction.
“You’ve known this day was coming,” I deadpan and my second drink before setting the empty glass on the coffee table.
“Yes, but you didn’t say so soon,” she retorts.
“So soon? I will never let you have her.”
“Oh, mommy dearest. I’ve already had her. And you know as well as I that you don’t have a choice. You’ve never had a choice.”
“You’re going to have to kill me. I will not let this happen.”
I huff, then push off the couch. Siân jumps to her feet, planting herself between Cynthia and me.
“Christian. No. Don’t you touch her.”
“I won’t need to touch her. All you have to do is comply. You know the deal, and you’ve been so good. Don’t ruin that now.”
She shakes her head in rapid succession while maneuvering so that she and Cynthia are walking back toward the exit. They are so focused on me that they don’t notice Tony as he stands and walks around the opposite side to position himself at the exit.
“No.”
“Siân, don’t test me. You know what happens when I get upset.”
“You’re not going to hurt me or kill me. You’re obsessed with me.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” I tip my chin in Tony’s direction.
He draws his weapon, but it’s the sound of it cocking that draws their attention. Tony presses the barrel to the back of Cynthia’s head, and she freezes.
“Stop it.” Siân is at his side, tugging on his arm to lower the gun, but his stance is strong.
Over and over, she pulls and pounds on him, yet he doesn’t flinch. It’ll take a lot more for him to react, like a gunshot to the shoulder. I imagine this moment makes him happy, he’s been wanting the chance to repay Cynthia, and all I would have to do is give the word.
“Christian, please. Make him stop.”
“What have I told you about consequences?”
“You told me you wouldn’t hurt her.”
“And I won’t. She’ll go on to live out the rest of her life so long as you make it down the aisle today.”
“Go to hell, you bastard,” Cynthia blurts.
“Is this your surprise? All of the nice words, and gentle touching, were just you trying to control me? What happened to us being equal? Hm? Or was it all just a lie”
“We’ll be equal in marriage. I’ve been very clear. You behave, and Cynthia won’t be badly harmed. But she’s here today to ensure you make it to that altar.”
“I’m so stupid. Here I was thinking you were changing, that maybe there was some good inside you, but you’re just twisted and demented. Just like your father.”
“And that’s your problem, topolina. You spend so much of your time overlooking the things right in front of you. I’m the only person who’s shown you their true self.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I never denied that. But someone here has lied to you for your entire life.”
Cynthia’s book stiffens at my words, her eyes nearly bulging from her skull. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see the truth. They’re the spitting image of each other, from the same color eyes, the shape of their nose, the brown hair even with the strands of gray sprinkled along Cynthia’s crown, their physical appearance though Siân’s frame is slender from her youth.
The evidence is written in their features, yet somehow, Siân has missed that as she does everything else. When I make eye contact with Cynthia again, she’s pleading with me.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Siân asks. She catches wind of the glances shared between her beloved caretaker and me.
There’s a pregnant pause. Everyone stares at each other. Emotions are heightened, fear and frustration presenting their ugly heads.
Stepping close, I can feel the heat radiating from them. “Why don’t you tell her who the fuck you really are?”
19
SIN
I stare at my reflection one piece at a time, applying makeup mechanically. I could be a painter swiping colors over a canvas, but no. An artist feels a connection to the work they are creating. I feel no connection to myself at this moment. I only see parts of my face rather than the whole. I can only take in so much at one time.
Is this the way it goes when your entire life has been blown apart? Everything I thought I could believe in and trust has been shattered. For all I know, this is my mind’s way of trying to cope with the fallout. Narrowing my focus until I can only tackle one tiny thing at a time. Smooth on the foundation. Apply contour. Highlighter. Blend.
She lied to me. So did he. All of them, everyone, nothing but lies. And for what? My protection? If I hear that one more time, I'll burn the house down. I was never given a choice. I see it now as I swipe shadow over my eyelids, leaning in close to the mirror. When I'm this close, I can't see anyone around me. Including the biggest liar of all, hovering somewhere behind me in the room. Waiting to help put my dress on.
