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She’d whimpered like a lost child. “But I love him, Mama.”
“You sound like that idiot girl in West Side Story.” Mama put her hands together in prayer. “I love him,” she mocked Angela in a high falsetto. Then she jammed her hands on her ample hips. “I will not let you throw your life away on a beach bum.”
“He’s not a beach bum, Mama. He’s a tour guide.”
Her mother had glared. “Even worse. He probably picks up a new girl every tour.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
Mama had laughed. “You’re a silly girl. What makes you think he’d even want that little baby?” She poked Angela’s stomach. “You think you’ll fly over there in a year, and he’ll welcome you and the bambino with open arms? You’re even more stupid than I thought.” Mama shook her finger. “You will not embarrass me. Not one month away from your wedding. You will not think about that boy again. You will not write to him. You will marry Donald Walker and let him think that baby is his, do you understand me?”
“How am I supposed to make Donald believe it’s his baby?”
Mama narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve done out in that boathouse. And don’t give me that innocent look.”
She couldn’t deny it. She’d slept with Donald, even the night before she left on her trip. If only she’d waited until she’d met Xandros.
Her mother kept on at her. “Go over there tonight and seduce him. Before your holiday and after your holiday, he must sleep with you.”
What would her life have been like if she hadn’t surrendered to her mother’s browbeating? Would Xandros have been waiting for her in that small café on Santorini? Would he have welcomed Sienna? She had only the dreams she liked to tell herself, but she would never know the truth.
Her mother’s voice stayed with her. “Make sure Donald thinks that baby is his.”
Angela had, and they were married. She had a daughter and then a son. Then Sienna had her accident, falling out of a tree, a branch stabbing her leg. A doctor had pulled Angela aside to say that Donald’s blood didn’t match. They’d used her blood for a transfusion. Even then, she thought she might get away with it. Until she’d overheard a nurse telling Donald as well.
He’d made her pay from that day forward. He hadn’t divorced her, but he’d made sure the children hated her.
Teresa reached across the table to fold her fingers around Angela’s. “Maybe we should tell Sienna now. We can do it together to soften the blow.”
Teresa, though always supporting her, had believed Mama might be right. Xandros wouldn’t be waiting for her. He wouldn’t want a baby. And Teresa encouraged her to marry Donald for appearances’ sake, telling her it wouldn’t be so bad, that he had pots of money, that her life would be comfortable, and her kids would be her solace. The first years had been comfortable, if not loving. Angela loved both her children with all her heart. Her mother, however, never became the toast of Silicon Valley the way she’d wanted, even with her son-in-law’s connections.
None of them had found their dreams except Teresa, who’d fallen in love with a great guy and never made a wrong step.
“I appreciate the offer. But I’ll tell Sienna on Santorini.”
“Then I’ll to go to the church every day and light a candle, praying Donald says nothing before you leave.”
Angela hadn’t been to church in years. But she was grateful for Teresa’s candles.
