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Chapter 31
I letthe silence filling the Riccis’ living room soak into my skin for a moment, appreciating it while I can, aware that Carmen has a knack for shattering things.
If hearts were made of glass, the remaining pieces of mine would be jagged and splintered, wholly incapable of being glued back together.
Her round eyes swing between Elena and me, like the pendulum I broke weeks ago, trying to decide which of us to rip into first. Tension coils tight inside my stomach, stealing the breath from my lungs as it takes up more space than necessary.
“Why don’t you two have a seat,” Carmen suggests, motioning toward the couch we just got up from.
Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, making my hand twitch against Elena’s side, itching to make the sound stop once and for all.
“No thanks.” My mouth parts to say the same thing, but it’s Elena’s words that fill the room, earning a shocked look from her mother.
“Did Kallum ruin my sweet, innocent daughter’s manners?” Carmen says, glaring at me. “Have a seat, bambina. Show your mother some respect.”
“The way you’ve respected my marriage by spreading rumors and lying to the tabloids about its nature?”
Frowning, Carmen says nothing for a beat, and I can practically see the cogs churning in her brain, working out a way for her to turn the tables and make herself out to be the victim.
She’s got that fucking glint in her eye; the one that flared to life each time she’d show up at whatever house I was renting at the time, sobbing with mascara smeared down her cheeks, begging me to forgive her for being weak when it came to her husband.
It was always ‘The children need their papá,’ and ‘He’ll hunt me down and kill me if I leave.’ Never just the truth, which was that she never intended to leave Rafael in the first place.
She had her cake, and she wanted to eat it, too.
“I’m not sure what your sisters have told you about my reaction to your... whirlwind wedding, but I’m sure it’s been greatly exaggerated.” Carmen settles in an overstuffed armchair, crossing one leg over the other, strategically rolling her ankle to make her leg appear longer through the slit in her robe. “Perhaps if you’d answered even one of my calls or texts, Elena, you’d have known that.”
“I have messages from you talking about how you want to rescue me,” Elena says, pulling her phone from where it’s stuffed in the cup of her bra, opening up a thread of texts. She scrolls through them, reading out loud every plea and promise from Carmen.
“Are you saying I was unwarranted, all things considered? You were uprooted from your life. Mateo was...” She drops her voice, even though no one around is going to say anything. “Dead. I was worried for your safety.”
“I was never in danger. Papá signed off on the freaking marriage certificate.”
Carmen’s wineglass pauses en route to her red lips, her eyebrows drawing down. “Scusi?”
“God, did he not tell you?” Elena asks, and I suddenly feel faint for the first time since my first hit.
Throat working as she swallows, Carmen’s eyes dart to mine, hurt reflecting there, still trying to call out to me.
“It’s true.” I shrug, ignoring the pain pooling in her irises.
Setting her glass on the coffee table in front of her, she presses her fingers to her lips, her gaze shifting, unfocusing as she gets lost in her thoughts. Probably trying to figure out how she can wield this new information against us.
“That isn’t possible,” she decides finally, with a little shake of her head. “Your father wouldn’t just allow you to marry Kallum.”
“Well, Mamá, he did, and when Kallum leaves Boston again in a few days, I’m going back with him,” Elena snaps, her body straightening like a band that’s been stretched far too thin, far too many times.
Carmen blinks. “Like hell.”
Not letting her say another word, Elena spins on her heel and trudges from the room. Seconds later, the front door bangs closed, echoing off the ceiling.
Gritting her teeth, Carmen glares at me. She pushes to her feet, and I hold up my hand, halting her. “I wouldn’t suggest coming any closer.”
“What are you going to do? Kill me?” Laughing, she runs a shaky hand through her hair, freeing some of the strands from where they’re trapped inside the collar of her robe. “Good luck getting Elena to forgive you.”
My hands vibrate, fingers flexing around empty air as I take a step forward. Usually, there isn’t much of an urge to cause harm; it’s always been more of a necessity to me, a way to maintain a certain level of respect among my peers, and, for a long time, the sole source of my income and connections.
I don’t like to take lives frivolously. It feels like cheating.
