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ChapterOne
Scarlett
I’m sitting in the front row at my dead husband's funeral and all I can focus on is the chipped red nail polish that adorns my fingernails.
The pastor is busy reciting verses from the Bible so I take this time to look away and pick at my nails, flakes of red falling onto my short black dress before they finally land on the floor next to my heels. His words are becoming a faint echo in my ears, Luis’ mother sobbing next to me as I continue to pick and fidget in my seat.
Luis is my husband, or I guesswasmy husband. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to speaking of him in the past tense. We chose to have the service at his parents’ house, since their castle is large enough to take up nearly fifty acres of land. They even have their own chapel, that’s how rich they are. However, you’d think with the amount of money they make off of selling drugs, guns, and other illegal merchandise, that they would be able to put in more comfortable chairs in this chapel, but here we are, crying off our makeup while our asses nearly become numb from the solid wood beneath them.
Rosa, his mother, is alone like me. His father died when he was just a boy and since then, Luis has been her sole focus in life. Until now.
“Now, it is time for Luis' wife to deliver the eulogy.” The pastor says, cutting through my thoughts and halting the constant picking of my nails.
Rosa pats my leg reassuringly, her tan and manicured fingers appearing as quite the contrast against my pale thigh. I sigh and stand, wiping a few stray tears as I make my way to the front of the chapel. I look up at the stained-glass windows, staring at the painting of St. Michael for what feels like an eternity. His wings are broad and stretched out, his sword nearly drawn as he gazes down at us. I always thought Luis was like St. Michael. He was a fierce protector, a devoted fighter. I always felt safe with him, even though he was the leader of one of the most dangerous crime families in the world. He never made me feel scared, never made me feel unprotected. Up until his death, I was like his princess that was locked safely away in our little tower, hidden from the monstrosities that are a part of our world.
But now, here I am, staring at a crowd of nearly three hundred people with mascara running down my face, about to deliver his eulogy.
I place my hands on the altar, staring at my wedding ring as it glitters in the light. I try to hold back the sudden rush of tears, but it’s useless. People know how much I loved my husband, to hell with them if they can’t handle my sadness.
“Hello, everyone. Th-thank you for coming.” I stutter, my voice cracking before I clear it and face the crowd with sunken eyes.
“I don’t need to stand here and tell you how great my husband was, you all knew that. Everyone that met him automatically knew of his charm and his fun loving nature. They knew he was caring and fierce. They knew that he would die trying to protect anyone he loved.” I say, my tears falling at my last words.
I want to say right then that he didn’t die protecting the ones he loved. He died because of his greed, his need for more. More money, more power, but this is his day and I won’t ruin it. I’ll stand here like the good wife that I am and deliver as much of the truth that I can about him, even if I catch myself in a lie.
“Luis Romero had more to offer than just connection and money, he had a soul that wanted to give more than it could ever take.”
Truth, not completely a lie.
“He had this light about him, this joy that would make anyone in the room feel positive, feel hopeful.”
Truth, that one’s all truth.
“He loved his mother, and he loved this family. He would do anything he could to help a stranger and if someone ever came to him in need, his arms would be wide open.”
Only somewhat of a lie.
“He made me feel loved and safe.”
Total truth.
“He gave me a life full of joy and he never made me wish for a thing.”
Now that…that is a total and complete lie.
I never really wished for much in our marriage. My parents have been a part of the Romero family since before I was born. They died when I was eighteen and instead of being forced to navigate the world on my own, Luis was there. He was there and married me to keep me safe, to make sure that I would never have to want or wish for things again. And while I thought that was true for the majority of our marriage, it was just another lie. I pined for things he could never give me, longed for a life that could never be. And he made sure to let me know that. He crushed my wish for being a mother right from the start and continued to do it for the decade that we had been together.
I fidget with my wedding ring, twirling the five carat, pear shaped diamond before I sniff back the rest of my tears and deliver the remaining parts of my speech without pause.
It only lasts a total of five minutes. I've spent the last two weeks perfecting this eulogy rather than wandering the halls of our mansion sobbing like a lost child. Perhaps that’s the writer in me, or the perfectionist. I know how much Luis strived for perfection, so I made sure to give him this. His last and remaining perfect part of me.
When I leave the altar, people pat my body on the way back to my seat. I try not to flinch from the unsolicited contact and I keep my head down the whole way until I sit back down next to Rosa, who wraps her slender arm around my shoulder.
She’s always been like a mother to me. She has been open and welcoming, has kept me company when Luis would busy himself with work or go on trips to make a trade deal. She was with me during his last trade deal, the one he would never return from. And she hasn’t left my side since.
The pastor dismisses everyone but the immediate family to the courtyard where the reception is held. It’s not the final one however, Luis was not a simple man and always made it clear that he wanted a celebration of life whenever his time would come, we just didn’t really feel like celebrating today. That can wait. Right now, I have to say goodbye to my husband.
I let Rosa go first. I walk with her hand in mine and when she starts to openly sob over his open casket, I rest my hand on her back and turn my head. When I look over my shoulder, I lock eyes with my husband’s best friend, Nico Acosta, his dark eyes boring into my mine.
