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“It’s not me who’s suffering.” Tears burn in my eyes. “I wish I could take it away for him.”
“I know.” He gives my shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “I know how you think, Val. It’s not your fault.”
Unable to look him in the eyes, I turn my face to the side.
“It’s not your fault.” He accentuates his words with a gentle shake.
“Sure. Yes.” I twist free. “I’m going to start lunch. We’ll probably have visitors popping in throughout the day.”
So many people stop by to pay their condolences I lose count. Business associates, mafia, government officials, employees. They all arrive in dark suits with respectful faces and expensive flowers, muttering words of sympathy and solace. Gabriel sits in the lounge, receiving the drips and drabs of guests who never dwindle enough to grant him a moment of solitude. The only way I can make myself useful is to bake savory and sweet pastries and prepare salads and casseroles, which I serve as the hour of the day demands. Savory snacks in the morning, lunch from twelve to two, and sweets in the afternoon with tea. Quincy and Rhett help to load the dishwasher and unpack the crockery in a continuous cycle. Charlie is happy to take charge of brewing fresh tea and coffee.
Magda arrives shortly before teatime. Despite her brave composure her face is ashen. We face each other in a strained atmosphere by the door. Since our move, she hasn’t been over to visit, not even to see the house. No matter our history, my heart aches for her loss.
I place a hand on her arm. “Magda, I’m sorry.”
She shakes off the touch. “If it wasn’t for you…”
My stomach dips, and my insides twist, guilt eating at my gut. I step aside to let her in. “He’s in the lounge.” I motion at the group crowding the sofas.
Sylvia arrives a few minutes later on the arm of her boyfriend. Her hair is neatly plaited in a French braid, and she’s wearing makeup, but she looks haggard. Her eyes slice through me, and then her gaze drops to my big stomach. The way she looks at me makes me feel dirty, like I cheated or did something wrong. Was I wrong in surrendering to Gabriel’s advances? Shouldn’t I have been stronger? A better person would have resisted. Indefinitely. I feel like I’m standing in a spotlight about to receive judgment.
“This is her,” she says to Francois. “This is the reason my Carly committed suicide.”
11
Valentina
The subdued conversations around us drone out Sylvia’s words. Nobody but her friend and I heard. For that, I’m profoundly grateful. I’m not sure I can handle the whole room’s eyes on me in the midst of Gabriel’s grief.
A switch in her flips, and I no longer exist. She looks right through me. Like Magda, she walks to Gabriel’s side to receive the sympathy and support she deserves. I didn’t expect anything different, but it makes my standing clear. Gabriel and I may be married, but only in name. To everyone else I’m still the maid, the slave, the toy, the imposter. I can’t even deny it. All of those things, I am. The only people who pay me kind attention are Michael and Elizabeth Roux.
Elizabeth hugs me by the door. “How is he doing?”
I can only shake my head.
“Come here.” Michael takes me in bear hug, holding me for two seconds to his big body.
Up to now, I haven’t realized how much I needed a hug. There’s nothing sinister in the gesture. The only vibe he gives off is of platonic affection. I immediately like him more.
Elizabeth hovers a palm above my stomach. “May I?”
I try to give her the bright smile of an expecting mother, but my effort flies half-mast. “Sure.”
She places her hand on my belly and looks at Michael with sparkling eyes. “Oh, my God. I swear I feel the baby kick.”
“He’s been kicking up a storm since this morning.”
“You’re beautiful, Valentina. Truly stunning. Isn’t she, Michael?”
“Breathtaking,” he says with a kind light in his eyes.
“I think I’m making the baby active.” Elizabeth removes her hand. “He obviously likes me.” She looks toward the lounge, taking in the guests. “Poor Sylvia.” Her attention returns to me. “Poor Valentina. She hates you, doesn’t she?”
“Is it that obvious?”
Elizabeth makes a sad face. “The way she looks at you…”
“I deserve it.”
Michael grabs my hand. “No, you don’t, and if you ever say something so self-degrading again, I’ll get Gabriel’s permission to spank you myself.”
A baritone voice resonating from behind us makes me jump.
“What was that, Michael?”
The three of us turn in unison. Gabriel is standing two steps away, his white shirt and black tie pristine, as if he hasn’t been wearing it since early this morning. He appears together, like he has a handle on everything. Only the haunted look in his frozen-over eyes gives him away.
