AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I know… I…” I pull another deep breath, “all right, let’s do this. Let’s just say goodbye and we can go...It’s not like anyone would care that we didn’t slice the cake or thrown the bouquet, and I really want to get out of here...”
“Great, the helicopter is waiting for us.”
?
“Rest assured, I will visit Isabella every day! She’ll be fine!” Giovanna tells me as she hugs me, and I feel grateful.Marcos’ mother has been lovely to me ever since she realized her son would actually get married.
I received phone calls from her almost every day that followed lunch at her house.The conversation was always very chill, almost natural, and I would say, Giovanna always showed a genuine interest in knowing about me, about the marriage, about Isabella.She even paid us a visit.And after the ridiculous situation that unfolded today, it is impossible not to make a mental comparison.
I sigh, still inside her embrace, and when she lets go, I miss her.I return her smile and thank her, before being hugged by Joaquim and then hugging Carmen, thanking her for everything, and she assures me that Isabella will be very well taken care of in the coming days.I nod, because I know it’s true, but that doesn’t weaken the feeling I have on my chest caused by leaving her.
I look around, trying to find Grazi, who is not within reach of my eyes.And not finding her, I leave Marcos with his parents and I go looking for her.
She lied. I know. But I have no idea what about.
“What happened, my son?” my mother asks as soon as Antonella is distant enough not to hear us anymore.
“Well...” I sigh, preparing to give the news at once, “Antonella is the daughter of Mário Machado Rodrigues...”
My mother’s eyes widen, and my father’s expression hardens immediately, because that is not any name.Antonella’s father is a highly regarded federal judge, and although until tonight I had no information about his family, his work in the federal legal sphere is a great reference for any jurist in the country.
“And why didn’t he take her down the aisle?”
“Why are we only aware of this now?”
Both speak at the same time, giving voice to their greatest concerns about the news I have just given them, and soon one sees the difference in their personalities.
“Antonella cut ties with them years ago after a very delicate situation.It was not... expected... that he or his wife would attend...” I clarify superficially, because this is not my story to tell.My mother frowns.
“And how did he get in here?”
“An issue on the guest list, no doubt...” A mistake of mine, that I put all the names that mattered in some way on Brazil, without having any idea that two of them belonged to my in-laws, but this part I keep to myself.
“What a situation...” my mother murmurs, and my father remains silent. Until he isn’t.
“Why don’t we go have a drink at the bar?” I agree with a nod and my mother, even though she knows exactly what he is doing, does not oppose. We moved away from the table and quickly stood, leaning against the counter as the bartender prepared the glasses.
“What aren’t you telling us, Marcos?”
“It’s not my story to tell, Dad.” Two glasses on napkins are placed on the counter, in front of us, and I take one, taking the first sip almost immediately.
“It has to do with the girl, doesn’t it?” I sigh.It is not as if it is very difficult to deduce the root of the problem, you just need to know how to make two plus two.
“They kicked her out of the house...”
“Holy shit!” I laugh.
“Sons of bitches, you mean, right?” I deny with my head, strolling my eyes through the crowded hall and hoping not to find the damn face, I would not answer for my actions.
“How old?”
“Seventeen, she was fuckin ‘seventeen, and they put her out with nothing but her body clothes.”
“You see a man like him and you would never imagine what goes on behind the doors of his house… Ever…” my father comments, sounding as disgusted as I do.
“It’s the history of society, isn’t it?Masked in the street, monstrous inside their own house”
“I’m glad it’s not the story of our house.” I lower my head, looking at the bottom of my glass.And when I raise it again, I touch my father’s forehead with mine, silently thanking him for that, for the story of our house being completely different from Antonella’s.
