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Chapter 3
I drop onto the mattress, my legs killing me after my shopping spree, watching the staff carry all the bags inside my room. They deposit them inside my walk-in closet, hanging up dresses in an endless row. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I massage my feet. On occasion, I love getting all dressed up, but I’m not the type to wear dresses daily like my mother and sister.
A sigh tears from my chest. The more I stay in this house, the less I fit in, and the knowledge grips my heart in an unyielding fist. My parents and sister get along so well, while I’m the black sheep of the family. But obeying my father, because he’s a man, respecting him for just being my father, accepting his morally repressive views, for no other reason than obligation is something I refuse to force myself to do.
Today was an exception because, usually, I spend my days locked in my room, facing punishment for an outburst. Even my sister has stopped hoping. And my mother, she rubs her temples so often, she’ll soon dig holes in her head.
My nonna comes into my room. Without her, I would have gone crazy by now, and of course, the phone calls and texts from my best friend help, but by now, she is even more miserable with her situation than I feel. And that has to mean something. I need to visit Aurora and stop that bullshit marriage. It’s okay if I become a widow. I will smile when they take me to jail for murdering Cato, because I will finally be free. But Aurora, she doesn’t need to go through with her forced marriage. Fathers are supposed to protect us, not sell us.
A tear falls down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. I refuse to let them dictate my or Aurora’s life. Our future.
Nonna sits on the bed next to me, taking my hand in hers. “Never let anyone stomp out that fire inside you. You, mybambina bella,were made for great things. My dear, they have no idea what is going to hit them. Patience, even small compromises, go a long way. Learn to play the game and beat them at it.”
I huff, my hands dropping on my thighs, my shoulders slouching. “I hate this bullshit, Nonna.”
She lifts my chin with her wrinkled fingers. “It’s always been our way. If you would have been a boy, you would have been a ruler, but you were born a girl. A fierce girl with the spirit of a hundred warriors. You will be a queen, and queens need to learn to make themselves loved, coveted. To be underestimated is a blessing, my dear. It makes it easier to conquer, to make everyone bow at your feet. You can be a trailblazer if you do this right.” She pats my hand. “Your father respects the man who is now the ruler of our family. That means he is even more ruthless than your father.”
I ball my hands into fists. Cato can shove his ruthlessness somewhere else. He will never have me; I will never bow to him. That man is nothing to me but my ticket out of my father’s clutches. If he thinks me wanting my freedom is a game, then he should get ready, because I will do anything to win.
“And now, put a dress on, a smile on your face, and beat him and everyone else, who think you are powerless, at their own game.”
“I just want to be free, Nonna.”
“Freedom is an illusion, my dear. Go for something better, power—that’s at least tangible.”
My head drops. I wish I were the girl my nonna sees in me, but all I want is to escape this world and live a life of my choosing.
“If I can’t be myself, I don’t want to be anyone else.”
She palms my cheek. “You’ll see, in time.”
With that, she leaves me while I walk into the walk-in closet.
My first instinct is to destroy all the new dresses, but instead, I drop to my knees and hug the tulle material.
I will be a queen, the queen of my own destiny. That’s what I want. Inhaling a fortifying breath, I change into a cute red dress, ignoring the fact that it’s Cato’s favorite color, and head downstairs for dinner.
At the dining table, my mom smiles, Viviana gives me a thumbs up, and my father offers a jerk of his chin. Compromise, right?
I force myself not to claw at my skin, biting my tongue into submission.
“Red is your color.”
“Thank you, sis.”
“Maybe tomorrow you can try that green ruffle one?” My mother clasps her hands together in excitement.
“Mmhmm, Mama.”
My father furrows his brow at me. “You might not like how things are, but this isFamiglia, Chiara. I’m glad you finally understand.”
I breathe through my nose and nod. Freedom of choice is inconsequential when I have to bow to a tradition I didn’t choose, when my only fault was being born into this world.
My parents exchange a surprised look, while my sister squeezes my hand under the table. I can be pleasant; I can play the game. I choose to bide my time; it’s the only smart choice.
After dinner, I excuse myself, too afraid I’ll crack under the pretense.
***
