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Very subtly, Angel shook his head. “Just eat,” he said.
I sat quietly and picked at my food while the men around me talked and laughed and kept loading up their plates. Beside me, Angel relaxed bit by bit until he was drawn into conversation with his brother and a cousin. His hand didn’t leave my thigh, but now he was just touching me, not gripping me in warning.
Angel’s father raised a glass, and we all copied him without question. “To Emma,” he said, “who brought us together for this impromptu lunch. It’s an admirable first try,mija.”
It was an insult wrapped in a warm tone, and we all knew it, but they toasted to me regardless, and I smiled like it was the nicest thank you in the world. “I hope to continue to improve myself, Padre,” I said in as sincere a voice as I could. “Gracias.”
The jovial tone was muted for a moment, but gradually, the men found their merry again. I kept glancing at my father-in-law, however. He squatted at the head of the table like a toad. Even with a smile on his face, I knew he was furious. Had I overstepped again? With a little squeeze from Angel, I turned back to my food and did my best to tune out the obvious danger that radiated from the man at the end of the table.
CHAPTER14
Angel
Ihadn’t had pabellón criollo since my mother died: it was her favorite, and Padre had all but banned anything that might remind us of her from the house. Why did Emma think of it? Did she look up Venezuelan dishes on YouTube?
I glanced around at my family; no one seemed to be the wiser about the meal. They were all grinning and lapping it up, as if this particular meal hadn’t been banned for more than twenty years. “Your wife is a hell of a cook, Angel,” my Tío Andre said in congratulations.
I glanced at Emma, who had a pleased smile on her face, but she didn’t say anything.She hadn’t been addressed, I thought.She knows that she should wait until someone speaks to her directly. My father had been wrong about her manners; she was doing admirably. She was learning to be a proper hostess, which will be one of her main duties as the matriarch of our family. “Gracias, Tío ,” I said.
“Where did you find the recipe?” Padre asked, eyes on Emma. His tone was soft, but dangerous.
Emma looked at him, and I could see the fear swimming in her eyes. “I was looking at Venezuelan recipes online, Padre,” she said. “I picked this one because it seemed relatively easy to do with my skill set.” Her tone was soft and sincere, but something about it didn’t ring totally true to me.
Luckily for her, Padre didn’t seem to feel the same way. “I will email you some recipes to try, if you’d like,” he offered.
Emma pushed her lips into a smile. “I would like that, Padre,” she said. “Thank you.”
Things settled once more, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father as he began to slump in his chair. He needed his pain medication soon. “Tío Gustavo,” my cousin, Stefan, said from farther down the table. He had seen Padre wince. “Are you feeling all right?Se le ve enfermo.”
The question was answered with athumpand a howl. Padre tossed the blade that he always kept in his pocket, razor-sharp, at the hand that Stefan had been resting on the table. The blade sank home into the back of his hand, pinning him to the table. Blood gushed out of the wound and puddled on the white tablecloth, and Stefan screamed in agony.
Beside me, Emma tensed; I could feel it as surely as if I’d had my hands on her. I hazarded a look at her face and was surprised by the neutrality of it. She was perfectly blank. “Someone take him out of here,” I said. “Get him patched up.”
Two of my distant cousins, Ernesto and David, grabbed Stefan under his arms and hauled him out of the room. We all looked at my father, who had gone back to his lunch as if nothing had happened. Nudging Emma to follow suit, I picked up my fork and went back to my food…though it had lost a lot of its appeal.
When the meal came to an end, Emma and Lili took the plates back to the kitchen. “Let a staff member wash the dishes,” I said as Emma turned on the tap on the sink.
She adjusted the water so that it ran hot. “I’ll do it,” she said.
“Emma.”
She lifted her head, and I saw the tears gathering in her eyes. “Please,” she said, “let me handle this, okay? I need to be doing something.”
I reached out and brushed a tear that slipped down her cheek with my thumb, and she leaned into the touch. Her eyes fluttered, and I was about to lean in and try for a kiss when someone cleared his throat behind me. I turned, and Padre was standing in the doorway. “Come see me in my office,mijo,” he said. His eyes flicked to Emma. “Leave your pretty wife to sort out the kitchen.”
“Si, Padre,” I said and moved to follow him. Before leaving, I told Emma, “Meet me upstairs when you’re finished.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgment before returning her attention to the sink. Even in the middle of a pile of dirty dishes and pots and pans, Emma was beautiful.What the fuck is wrong with you?I berated myself and rushed to follow after my father. He had already been violent today; keeping him waiting was not a smart idea.
Once we were in Padre’s office, he motioned for me to sit, and I watched him gingerly lower himself into his own chair. “Padre,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
He glared. “After Stefan?”
“Stefan is a moron for asking questions like that in front of everyone,” I said and knew that I was pushing my luck. “But now it is just you and me.”
My father’s face didn’t lose its hardness, but he said, “I hurt today.”
That much was obvious. “Do you need a refill on your pain medicine, Padre? I can see to it myself.”
