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The smile I force onto my face feels brittle and they watch me head for the stairs and go up into the house. The hall is paneled with dark wood and the lights are low. There are voices coming from the dining room. Deep, male voices talking rapidly.
I can’t face anyone yet. I go into the nearby bathroom and lock the door.
In the mirror, my face is pale and tense and mascara has blurred beneath my eyes. I sit on the closed toilet and swipe beneath my eyes with wet tissue, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened tonight.
The men who occupy the seedy underbelly of Coldlake are supposed to be Dad’s enemies. I was on stage with him at his campaign rallies three years ago and he spoke about being a law-and-order mayor and being tough on crime. The people cheered when they heard that. Coldlake is prosperous and safe for the most part, but there are dangerous places, too. Dangerous people. Among the big, flashy stories in the news about a new park opening or a business achievement award, there are short paragraphs about missing people and unsolved murders. Money going missing from retirement funds and shops being burned to the ground. No city is perfect and there’s no such thing as zero crime anywhere, but I always believed that Coldlake was a better city than most. Is that because it is, or because I’ve been told that, over and over?
I stare around at the marble tiles and vanity. The gold taps on the sink and art on the walls. Isn’t it strange that we can afford such a big house and expensive lifestyle on Dad’s salary? I’ve never thought about it before. I reach up and pull the tiara from my hair, turning it this way and that in the light. Dad gave it to me this morning. I assumed that the sparkling stones were cubic zirconia. Imitation diamonds. In my reflection, the diamonds around my neck sparkle with as much luster as the ones set into the tiara.
Dad can’t afford a diamond tiara. He shouldn’t beableto afford a diamond tiara.
This house. All that we possess. Our lives weren’t built with hard work, but with lies.
“Dad, what have you done?” I whisper, the tiara dropping from my fingers.
I have to find Dad and tell him that he’s out of his depth. These men can’t be controlled. They’re forces of nature, and he’s not as powerful as he thinks he is.
I slip out of the bathroom, my heart pounding, and edge down the hallway. The voices from the dining room are louder now, and I can hear Dad’s voice among the four men’s. There’s an ornate Venetian clock standing against the wall, brought to the United States by my great-grandfather. I huddle in its shadow, thetick tockof the mechanism drowning out whatever’s being said. If I can just make it to midnight without being promised…
It’s a stupid thought. Even if I hide until dawn, there’s nothing stopping the men from coming back tomorrow night, and the night after, and the night after that until they get what they want.
I don’t want to know what they’re saying about me.
I can’t do this.
Why is this happening?
These four men could be blackmailing Dad somehow, and he thinks he’s got no choice but to appease them by marrying me to one of them. Maybe he’s too ashamed to tell Mom and me the truth, but I’ll never be ashamed of him if he’s honest. Honesty and transparency are the most important things. That’s what Dad’s always said.
I place my hand on the cool wood of the clock and peer around it. I can see the door to the dining room from here, but no one who’s inside.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps approach and a voice grows louder. “…business to attend to and then we can finish this. Excuse me.”
Dad appears in the doorway and heads upstairs without noticing me. His face is serious and he seems confident and at ease, but after so many years in office and training himself to appear self-assured, it’s impossible to tell what he’s really thinking.
Now’s my chance. I’ll follow him upstairs and beg him to call this whole arrangement off. Once he hears what his so-called friends have done to me, he’ll have them thrown from this house. Mom and I have always been at his side and the people of Coldlake trust us. If we speak out alongside Dad about whatever he’s suffered at the hands of these men, we’ll be able to overcome all their lies.
As I approach the staircase, I hear a voice that turns my whole body to ice.
“I won’t let you have her.”
Mom, in the dining room.
She’s with them.
Alone.
Mom speaks clearly but there’s a tremor in her voice, as if she’s summoned up the very last of her strength to confront this pack of demons. “Any of you.”
There’s a deep, rich laugh in response. Cassius’ laugh. In his accented voice, he asks, “And who are you to stand in our way?”
“Chiara’s mother,” she exclaims, her voice stronger. “I don’t know what my husband has promised you all, but the deal is off.”
“He’s promised us his daughter and we will have her.” Salvatore’s arrogant tone. “You have no idea of the pain we will rain down on your family if you dare to defy us.”
Taut silence stretches. I rest my hand against the wall by the door. I can’t see any of them, but I can picture my painfully thin and distressed mother standing up to those men all on her own. Behind me, the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight.
Tick tock.
