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He’s here.
Even if Angelo isn’t, his overbearing presence is everywhere, ruling my life with text messages and a muscle monkey set on ruining what’s left of my freedom and my sanity.
I sag in Roch’s hold as a terrible insight hits me.
There’s no escape for me. Ever.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Angelo
“Edwards is biding his time to kill you,” my father says. “You know that, don’t you?”
We’re sitting in the library in front of the fireplace, sipping cognac after dinner. I register the color of his skin. These days, the evaluation is an automatic reaction for me. He has a healthy glow on his cheeks from the heat of the fire. The pallid complexion of a few months ago is gone. The surgeon is happy with his recovery. My father is still learning how to breathe with half of his lung capacity, but his life expectancy has been prolonged, a gift we don’t take for granted. I’m only grateful he finally saw reason and agreed to the operation.
He makes an impatient sound. “Did you hear what I said?”
I wrap my hand around the glass to warm the digestif and to release its aromas. “He knows I’ve set measures in place for the bribe information to go public if anything happens to me. Besides, I’ll be married to his daughter before he can try.”
My mother enters with a tray of the Turkish coffee my father likes. She puts it on the low table and kneels to pour the strong brew from the cezve.
“Will the wedding take place there?” my father asks.
“We’ll have a legal marriage before an officiant in South Africa.” I swirl the glass and inhale the scent of bosc pear, caramel, and vanilla before taking a sip. The liquor is opulent and velvety. It’s an excellent brand. “The ceremony and celebration will happen here.”
A coarse rattle sounds in my father’s chest. “When?”
“As soon as she turns eighteen.”
“Angelo,” my mother exclaims in a soft voice, quickly looking up from stirring sugar into the coffee. “Not in January.” When I frown, she continues, “Not a winter wedding. The choice of flowers are so limited, not to mention that we won’t be able to have it in the garden and profit from the view. At least let her wear a pretty dress without freezing to death.”
I consider that as I enjoy my drink. What she says makes sense. Anyway, what do I know about what women want on their wedding day? However, I’m eager to close this deal. What prevents me from saying so is the rare excitement lighting up my mother’s face. She’s looking forward to this wedding, which will be the first of my generation in the family.
“Would you like to take care of the arrangements?” I ask.
Her expression brightens. “It will be an honor.”
“Are you sure it won’t be too much work?” I leave my empty tulip glass on the side table. “I can hire a company to oversee the planning.”
“Nonsense.” She straightens. “I’d love to do it. We can put a gazebo in the garden. We’ll need plenty of flower arrangements to add color.” Her eyes sparkle. “There will have to be a band. There will be enough young people to fill a dance floor. We can have it built on the side of the gazebo and put fairy lights in the trees. Oh, and the cocktails will have to be served at sunset. The view over the bay will be spectacular. It will make very beautiful wedding photos. Champagne. French of course. We don’t want your bride to think we’re used to nothing. And non-alcoholic cocktails for those who are driving.”
“Slow down and give me my coffee before it gets cold,” my father grumbles. “You’re carrying on as if the wedding is happening next week.”
A flush darkens my mother’s cheeks. She hands first my father and then me a cup of coffee before taking the tray and walking to the door with an averted gaze, but I don’t miss the smile that tugs at her lips.
“You did right to let her handle the wedding,” my father says when she’s gone. “When we got married, there wasn’t money. She didn’t have any of that.”
My thoughts go to Sabella. What will she want? A small intimate gathering or all the bells and whistles my mother has in mind? Whatever the case, I’m not taking this joy away from my mother. Sabella will adapt. She’ll see my mother’s good intentions for what they are.
Speaking of weddings. “When are you going to get down to the business of choosing an appropriate match for Adeline?”
As the first-born, even if only by three seconds, it’s my right to get married before my sister, but Adeline shouldn’t wait too long. She’s beautiful, kind, and generous. I’m not blind to how men stare after her in the street. The only reason our father allows her to study in the city is because she has a bodyguard who protects not only her life but also her virtue.
