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Solene
"You need to be punished for your indiscretion." He glares at her. "On your knees, hands behind your back, mouth open. You will take everything I give you without complaining. And—"
"Solene, are you here?" My mother’s voice reaches me through the closed doors of the wardrobe. I press back into the wall and hold my breath.
The light slicing in through the slats in the door dips as her shadow passes in front of the door. I press my book close to my chest and wait…wait… Footsteps fade as he walks in the direction of the window.
"Where did she go?" That’s my brother’s voice. I freeze.
"Maybe she’s out in the garden?" my mother replies.
"I checked before I came here," he snaps.
"Perhaps she’s in the maze; you know how much she loves that space."
"I’ll go check." Footsteps sound again, and the light through the slats disappears for a few seconds when my brother walks past. A second set of footsteps pad away. I stay frozen, my palms clammy, sweat pooling under my armpits. That was close. If my brother had caught me reading a spicy book, the two of them would have, have—I shudder. I don’t dare to think of the repercussions, of how they’d react to the contents of my preferred genre of literature.
After my father died, my brother became the head of our family. Which means, he also took on the responsibilities of Mafia Don. And unlike our father, he has an archaic view on the role of women in the family. It doesn’t help that he’s fifteen years older than me which makes him practically a father figure. Thing is, he loves to boast that I’m a reader—which, in Mafia circles, makes me something of an anomaly. Thanks to the American nanny my sister and I had in our early years, we read and write English better than the rest of my Italian family. It’s also why I prefer to read my smutty books in English. Of course, whenever my brother or my mother are around, I read only classical literature—with my smutty books hidden between the pages. On occasion, when I get tired of pretending to read the 'right' kind of book, I like to duck into the closet so I can read the kind of novel I prefer without having to hide it.
Silence returns. Some of the tension fades from my shoulders. I peek down at the book pressed against my chest, then at the shut door. I switched off my flashlight when I heard their voices earlier. I could switch it on and start reading again, b-u-t...
Maybe I should wait. Just a few more seconds to ensure my ma’s left. And then, I can slip back into the land of my lead characters and that very detailed scene I was reading. Why did the MMC say he wanted to punish the FMC, and why did that feel so hot? I bite the inside of my cheek. And when he commanded her not to come until he gave her permission... Why did that send a pulse of heat racing up my spine? Something liquefies between my thighs. Ooh, that doesn’t seem right, and yet it feels… right. It feels so good, surely, it can’t be wrong.
I draw in a breath, then another, waiting until my pulse settles down. Until my heart stops beating so fast. Then I crack open the door and peer out. The room is empty. Thank god! I crawl out of the closet then jump to my feet. I glance down at the page where I stopped."—you hear me, little girl? Don’t you dare come!"
I walk forward, throw myself onto the bed on my front, then kick up my legs and peruse the words.
"Oh, master, I can’t hold it, I can’t," she groans.
"You can," he growls.
"Please, master, please—"
The book is snatched out from under me.
"Hey!" I look up to find my mother has the book in her hands. She looks at the cover—which is discreet, thank god. Not that it’s going to help when she opens it up to the page where I was.
"No!" I jump up on the bed and swipe my hand out at the book. My ma steps out of reach, and I fall over on the mattress. I spring up again, reach for it, but she holds it away. She begins to peruse the contents, and my cheeks flame.
"That’s my book," I cry.
She merely continues reading.
"Give it back!" I lunge for it, but she holds up an arm to fend me off. I throw myself at her, but she moves aside. I tumble to the floor. My knees hit the wood, and I cry out. Tears of frustration prick the backs of my eyes. I shove the pain aside, leap up to my feet. But Ma is taller than me. She holds the book high and continues reading. The blood fades from her cheeks. Her jaw tightens. The tips of her ears grow white. No, no, no, when that happens, it means she’s really, really pissed off at me. Which means she’s going to— her palm connects with my face, and I cry out. Stars burst in front of my eyes.
"What is this filth you’re reading?"
"It’s not filth."
She slaps my other cheek, and the impact carries me back. My heels slip on the floor, and once more, I hit it--this time, on my butt. I bounce up and reach up on my tiptoes. "Give me my book. That’s mine, not yours. You have no right—"
She snaps the book shut and slams it down on my head. I cry out as black spots blink out behind my eyes. Bile boils up my throat. No, no, no, I can’t be sick. I can’t. If I am, she’ll know that she’s won, and I’m not going to let that happen.
"I hate you. Hate you!"
