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“I know who it is, dear,” she said, beckoning us into the hallway. “I’ll go get your father. You can go into the kitchen. I made tea and scones.”
The house was dark and smelled faintly musty, but otherwise pleasant. As we moved down the hall, I noticed there was a lot of religious artwork on the walls. Icons of saints and angels stared at me with flat eyes, dust gathered on their edges. There was a shelf right before the kitchen door and on it was a statue and a heap of little drawstring bags.
I was about to ask about it, but we walked into the kitchen and her father stood by the sink. Waiting for us. His eyes fell on me and narrowed. He was a tall man with a thin face, easily twenty years older than her mother. He was wiry with age, but still in good shape.
“Duran Esposito,” he said.
I held out my hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
He looked down at my hand and his brow twitched. I dropped my arm.
“Where is your mother?” he asked, turning to Iris.
“She said she was getting you,” Iris faltered.
“She’s been very stressed about this whole thing,” he said pointedly. “She’s probably in the bathroom crying.”
Iris’s lip quivered. Instinctively, I put my hand on her lower back. “Sorry, dad, I just didn’t have my phone. There was a lot going on,” she said. “I would have called if I could.”
Her father’s eyes swiveled to me and his mouth thinned.
“I know you didn’t have your phone,” he said. “Duran contacted me with it after he compromised you.”
“Compromised?” I echoed.
“Yes,” he said. “And now you’ve embarrassed my daughter.”
“Embarrassed?” I struggled to follow his train of thought.
“My daughter is a good girl, she doesn’t do things like that. I know you must have had a hold on her—I know what kind of man you are.”
“With all due respect, sir, she’s my wife before she’s your daughter.”
I could tell that pissed him off. He took a second, his fists balled at his sides. The door swung open and her mother walked in, going to the stove to bang the kettle down. She turned around and crossed her arms over her chest.
“This is really embarrassing for us, Iris,” she said.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Sorry, mom,” she whispered.
“Don’t shame my wife,” I said firmly. “She’s twenty-one years old and she made her own choice. No one cares what she does with her body or who she marries.”
“We do,” her mother snapped.
“She’s not you,” I said. “We didn’t do anything wrong. We fell in love and got married. You should be happy for her.”
Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but her father cut her off. His eyes were glued on Iris, who was miserably twisting her wedding band in circles.
“Are you happy, Iris?” he said.
She nodded, lifting her tear-filled eyes. “Duran is very kind to me. I know things didn’t go down the way you wanted, but we’re both really happy.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to happen, but it wasn’t for her mother to burst into sobs and throw herself on her daughter. Iris was so shocked she just stood there with her arms out. Her mother was mumbling unintelligibly into her shoulder, patting her back. Slowly, Iris’s arms closed around her mother. An awkward silence fell.
“Mom…are you okay?”
Her mother pulled back, wiping her face. “Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t like it, Iris, I’m not going to lie to you. I wish you’d done it differently. But I’m so glad you’re safe.”
I glanced at her father, but his eyes were lowered.
