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Madelena
Santos doesn’t return that night.
He doesn’t return the next day.
By evening, I’m worried, but I’m not sure why. Is it for him? Did he drink? Is Caius telling the truth that he gets violent when he drinks? Did something happen? If so, what does it mean for me?
My mother-in-law is here, though. She flew in for the event. I’m not sure if it was scheduled or she is here because Santos has gone missing. I have my ear to the door and can hear her arguing with Caius in the living room. I don’t hear Ana, so I’m not sure if she’s been banished to her bedroom. I chose to stay in mine. I don’t want to be anywhere near the snakes inside.
“Go get changed. I’ll see to Madelena,” Evelyn says and I back away from the door just as she knocks and opens it simultaneously, not waiting to be invited in.
She stops in the doorway and looks around the bedroom. It’s nothing special, although it’s the best the hotel had to offer. Her eyes settle on me. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a simple black T-shirt. My hair is braided on either side of my head and I’m not wearing makeup, which is unusual for me. I had too much on my mind to bother.
“How old are you again?” she asks me, approaching.
“Twenty.”
She takes my face in her hands, turns it this way and that, blood-red fingernails digging into soft flesh. “You look like a child without makeup.” She lets go and looks around. “Where’s your dress?”
“Where’s Santos?”
“God knows. Caius will escort you tonight. I’ll be there to smooth the way.”
“Caius? I don’t want to go with Caius.”
“Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? Where’s the dress?”
“Closet.”
She walks over to the large, walk-in closet and returns with the dress still in its garment bag. She unzips it, then hooks the hanger onto the back of the closet door to look it over. It’s the first time I’m seeing it. It’s a shimmering black gown, and it’s beautiful, maybe more beautiful than the last. It’s fitted from bust to hips with a draped neckline and a sheer chiffon cape, and the skirt has a dramatic side slit.
Evelyn makes a face at the cape, but I know why Santos chose it. My arms will be exposed, but between the cape and the draping neckline the scars from old cuts won’t be visible.
The thought that he chose this for me, that he did it with that in mind, is strangely comforting.
Evelyn sighs. “I suppose it’s too late to have this thing removed. Can’t leave dress choices to the men, can we?” she asks, but she’s not really asking me. She checks her watch. “You need to get dressed. Hair and makeup will be here in twenty minutes. We leave in an hour. I don’t like being late.” She walks to the door.
“What about Ana?”
She stops, turns to me. “Ana?” she asks like she’s confused, but then she remembers. “She’ll sit this one out. It’s more important our family is seen with you.” She looks me over at that, sending me a very clear message how she feels about it.
“And Santos? Is someone looking for him?”
Her lips pull tight into a smile that shows her displeasure. “Santos isn’t my concern right now. Not when he’s chosen to go on one of his binges at the worst possible time. Get dressed. If you delay us, you’ll be punished.”
I raise my eyebrows at that because what the fuck does that mean?
She leaves, and I can breathe again. Honestly, that woman is scary.
With a sigh, I change into the dress, not wanting to test her. It’ll be better if I’m out among people rather than locked in here with them. I’m still holding out hope that Santos will show up. That hope, however, vanishes when Caius enters as the women are putting the finishing touches on my makeup and hair. Our eyes meet in the mirror. He’s wearing a tuxedo and has shaved his face clean. He’s handsome in a very different way than Santos.
Caius whistles appreciatively, and I roll my eyes, embarrassed at this overdone attention I don’t want from him. He dismisses the women. I make sure to thank them before they leave, then sit on the edge of the bed to take my shoes out of their box.
“Christ. How much did you spend on these clothes and shoes?” I ask, studying the pair of Jimmy Choo sandals with shimmering stones dangling along the ankle strap. “Not exactly my style.” I hold one up and study the pinpoint heel.
“Chunky boots aren’t my style.” He’s referring to my Dr. Martens. He checks his watch. “Put them on. We need to go.”
“Mommy doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Tell me something. What did she mean exactly with punishing me if I’m late? Would I miss dinner?” I raise my eyebrows but focus on slipping the sandals on and adjusting the straps around my ankles. “Perhaps be sent to bed early?”
