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That’s cute. As if I might actually have a say.
“Of course,” I respond smoothly. “I look forward to uniting our families,” I add, fighting to keep my tone even.
A muscle tics in Don Lorenzo’s cheek, and I offer him a stiff smile. I can feel Silvia’s eyes on me, and it takes all my self-control not to look her way.
“It’s settled then,” Don Lorenzo states, not bothering with a show of asking Silvia what she thinks.
“In the interim, I think it would do more harm than good if your daughter and my son were to be kept apart,” my mother says lightly, and my stomach drops.
Always moving chess pieces, and of course, I won’t know what her next move is until she’s put me in my proper square on the board.
A sharp intake of breath makes me finally glance toward Silvia once again, but her eyes are on her father, her lips pressed into a line.What doesthatmean? Is she silently hoping he’ll agree? Or does she want nothing to do with me now?
The incessant second-guessing is driving me insane. I’m not supposed to care, and now that I can’t possibly do more damage to our relationship, I find myself incapable of sleeping in the bed I’ve made.
“Agreed,” Silvia’s father states.
Before I can look away, Silvia’s eyes flash to mine, and in them, I can see her fear. Her vulnerability. Her self-doubt. With everything that’s happened, I’ve lost the girl with boundless enthusiasm and hope, the one with fierce passion. In her place is the girl I met this summer, scared and helpless, unable to speak up for herself.
And suddenly, I see. The real Silvia has always been hidden beneath this fearful exterior. It’s her father who’s smothering the life out of her free will and taking away her voice.
“Have you had any thoughts as to where you would like the ceremony held?” my mother asks Don Lorenzo as if carrying on a conversation about what painting might look best above the mantle.
“I assume you’re going to propose it should happen in New York,” Don Lorenzo states dryly.
“Well, that would be wonderful. But I actually thought we could find somewhere with a bit more… equal ground. Don’t you think?” That’s my mother, playing the diplomat now that she’s got Silvia’s father right where she wants him.
“And where do you imagine that is?”
“What about France?” she suggests. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Jesenia, to watch your only daughter get married in the Chateau de Villette? Or possibly somewhere in Mallorca. That could be beautiful this time of year.”
Silvia’s mother hums appreciatively, though her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
It doesn’t escape my notice that no one bothers to ask Silvia or me where we might want to get married. And while that suits me just fine, I can’t help but think about how that might affect Silvia.
I know how some women dream of their wedding days well in advance, sometimes planning it in their minds years before it’s even a reality. My sister’s like that, willing to go on about her dream dress or what might be an ideal venue. But it seems like poor Silvia will be an afterthought in her own wedding.
The thought makes my chest constrict because I’m partially responsible for what’s happening to her. I’ve played a key part in trapping her here. And now, what little voice she had seems to have been completely stripped away.
My eyes travel to Silvia as I think about her, and I see the resignation in the curl of her shoulders. She spins her fork slowly in her pasta without actually eating it. Her lack of appetite makes me think she’s not holding up to the walls closing in around her.
As if sensing my eyes on her, Silvia looks up. My stomach flip-flops at the unexpected eye contact. And in the depths of her hazel gaze, I can see the sadness, the worry, and something bordering on loss. I want to say something.But what?Anything that comes out of my mouth will be scrutinized thoroughly by both our parents.
I drop my eyes to my plate, forcing myself to take a bite and maintain a composed face.
The discussion about our impending nuptials carries through the majority of dinner, Silvia and I eat without a word. Our only line of communication is through subtle glances, and still, I find it challenging to meet her eye.
Finally, we’re finished with dinner and a bottle of wine. Don Lorenzo escorts us to the front door with his wife and daughter. Now that he and my mother have come to an agreement on the date and possible locations of the wedding, he seems to have lost some of his bluster. Instead, he’s settled back into the cold, calculating facade I’m more familiar with.
“I’m sure we’ll be speaking soon,” the don says as we stand in the foyer.
“Yes, lots to plan in very little time.” My mother smiles, her red lips stretching into one of her rare genuine smiles. The evening’s proven very productive for her. I’m sure she’s on top of the world for the moment.
“I was hoping I have a moment alone with Pyotr, if you don’t mind. Just to say good night,” Silvia says after her parents give us a stiffly polite send-off.
Don Lorenzo scrutinizes her with scarcely veiled contempt. “Make it quick,” he says smoothly. Then, with a nod of his head, he ushers his wife from the entry.
“I’ll be in the car,” my mother says, giving Silvia a wink. But the look she directs my way says I better not make her wait.
