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When I make to get up, my father exchanges a look with me, wordlessly instructing me to let him handle it.
“They should announce their betrothal as soon as possible,” he says in a placating tone, “but the actual engagement doesn’t have to take place until she’s turned of legal age. In the meantime, it’ll be wise to let them get to know each other.” My father spreads his hands. “The fact that I’m behaving so considerately and in the best interest of your daughter should reassure you.”
The laugh Edwards utters is cold. “Reassure me?”
My father waves at the papers on the desk. “If my promise isn’t enough, the figures will surely satisfy you.”
“Like I said,” Edwards says, balling his hands on the desk, “it’s not going to happen. My daughter is independent. She has a free will.” He slams a fist on his desk. “She will marry when she’s ready and who she bloody well wants.”
The patience vanishes from my father’s features. He stands. His smile is intact, but the quiet authority of his voice as he towers over Edwards leaves no uncertainty as to the outcome of this conversation. “Take some time to share the happy news with her. I can see it won’t be today. What’s another few months if it’ll help her get used to the idea? However, make no mistake. The wedding will happen. You made the bargain, and I’ll hold you to it.”
Edwards jumps to his feet. He opens his mouth but wisely thinks the better of whatever he was going to say and shuts it again. He’s got money, but we’re the ones bargaining with fear. Our threats are never empty.
The door is yanked open, cutting into the tense atmosphere.
A thickset woman with short auburn hair wearing a burgundy silk dress bulldozes into the room. “Sabella hasn’t come down yet. I swear—” She stops short when she notices us and quickly schools herself. “Oh. I didn’t know you were busy.”
Like gentlemen are taught to do when a woman enters a room, I get to my feet. Not that I’m anything of the kind. I just prefer the intimidating advantage of my height.
When she cowers a little, I can’t suppress a grin.
My father bows. “We were just done.” He takes her hand and kisses her fingers without touching his lips to her skin. “How are you, Margaret?”
“Fine, thank you,” she says with a stiff back.
My father extends an arm toward me. “This is my son, Angelo.”
I offer her a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Edwards.”
Her fingers are limp in my mine. She pulls away before we’ve properly shaken hands, regarding me with a downturned mouth.
An awkward silence follows, which she breaks by asking my father, “How is Teresa?”
“In good health.” My father inclines his head. “She asked me to congratulate you on Sabella’s birthday. She would’ve come, but this is a business trip for Angelo and me.”
The polite exchange is amusing. It’s nothing but role play, a practiced stage act devised by civil society. Yet when cut down to the bone, we’re all selfish monsters. Underneath the pretense, we only care about furthering our own agendas.
Margaret pulls her lips into a pinch. “Maybe next time.”
“Maybe.” My father shrugs. “Who knows? Next time, we may welcome you in Corsica.”
She glances at her husband with a question burning in her eyes.
“We’ve kept you from your guests,” my father says. “We should let you get back to them.”
“Yes.” Margaret looks both worried and relieved. “We better go outside before our absence appears rude.”
Edwards comes around his desk and opens a door that exits onto the veranda. “This way.”
We step aside for Margaret to go ahead.
“If you’ll excuse us,” she says when we’re outside. “I need a word with my husband.”
“I know how taxing these affairs can be.” My father takes a lighter from his pocket. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll make ourselves at home.”
Frowning, she takes her husband’s arm and leads him down the veranda and through the sliding doors. Before disappearing into the lounge, she looks over her shoulder with the expression of someone who’s just stepped into dog shit.
My father lights his cigarillo, takes a drag, and studies the crowd as he blows out the smoke.
Like mine, his calmness is deceptive. Inside, I’m a fucking stick of dynamite with a burning fuse.
No one promises me something and then takes it away.
No one refuses me what’s mine.
It’s a tactical mistake.
Denying me only makes me want it twice as much. I’ll not only fight ten times harder to get it but also as dirty as necessary.
I can’t say I didn’t expect resistance after our cool reception at the office. I bargained on some negotiations and modifications of the terms of our contract. What I didn’t foresee was Edwards’s blunt refusal to honor an oath he’d made to my father. I remember his promise. I was there.
