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Theirhusbands weren’t much better.Theyall just talked stocks and bonds and sports and whether it was more prestigious to go toHarvardorYale.Celiahad attendedUSF—a state school—on a scholarship for students in extreme poverty.Soshe had nothing to add to these conversations.
Thekids her skinny sister-in-laws had produced were little terrors—every one of them had a nanny who couldn’t seem to keep them in hand.Theytore through the house yelling and screaming at each other while the adults ignored them and the aforementioned nannies ran after them, begging them to behave.
Allin all, theThielgoodswere a pretty unpleasant and unrelatable family and it wasCelia’sMother-in-Law-to-be who was the head of them all.SincePeter’sfather was dead, she ruled the family with an iron fist hidden inside a velvet glove.Itwas a well-known fact that she could and would change her will at any time, which meant that all of them had to do whatever she said.Theminute she cried or pouted they all jumped to attention, afraid of getting cut off.
Whichis probably the only reason they all came down here to spendThanksgivingin the first place,Celiathought to herself as she peeled yet another potato.Wishthey would have stayed home!
ShelovedPeter—he could be so kind and spontaneous and generous.Butshe was getting sick of his family.
Celiaglanced at the window again, but this time she looked at her reflection instead of the road outside.Atired-looking woman with big brown eyes and long, dark brown hair, wearing a simple red wrap dress stared back at her.She’dbeen up since five that morning, working on the “ThanksgivingFeast” thatMotherFrancesdemanded and she was beginning to wonder if she was going to get it done in time.
She’dassumed that at leastoneofPeter’ssisters would offer to help but that had turned out to be a mistake.Couldshe make dinner for 25 people all by herself in time to sit down by six?Celiawas betting she would be completely exhausted no matter what the answer turned out to be.
Comeon now,Celia—getting up early to makeThanksgivingdinner isn’t theonlyreason you’re tired,whispered a little voice in her head.Whatabout all those weird dreams you’ve been having?Haven’tyou been waking up half a dozen times a night and having trouble getting back to sleep?Admitit—you have!
Celiatried her best to push the thought away…only it wouldn’t quite go.Itwas true that in the past couple of months her dreams had gotten extremely strange.Shehad read once that you could never dream of anyone you hadn’t seen at least once in your life.Butthe faces that kept popping up in her dreams were definitelynotof people she’d ever met.Facesshe couldn’t fully remember once she woke, but they filled her with a strange emotion she’d never felt before—a kind of dread mixed with longing, which made no sense at all.They—
Suddenlythere was a loud knocking at the front door—so loud thatCeliacould hear it even all the way back in the mansion’s kitchen.
“Dickie—go see who that is, won’t you?” she heardMotherFrancescall to one of her daughter’s husbands. “Honestly—who bothers people in their home onThanksgiving?”
Therewas more mumbling and grumbling thatCeliacouldn’t quite make out.Shebecame aware that she had stopped peeling potatoes and was listening intently to what was going on in the other room, though why it should interest her so deeply, she didn’t know.
Sheheard the creak of one of the solid oak front doors swinging open and then her soon to be brother in law’s voice saying,
“Whatcan we do for you?I’mafraidIneed to let you know right now that we donate to charities of our own choosing and we don’t have any cash on hand.”
“Don’twant your fucking money,” a deep, somehow familiar voice growled. “Wecame for our mate.”
“Whatmy brother means to say is that we’re here forCeliaAlvarez,” another voice—still deep but not quite as growly—said more politely. “Canyou get her, please?We’rehere toClaimher.”
2
CELIA
Atthe sound of her name, the knife inCelia’shand slipped and she gave a little gasp as she felt a sharp pain.
“Dios!”she muttered, looking down to see blood welling from her index finger.Whowere the men at the door and why were they looking forher?
Beforeshe could answer the question, she heard her brother-in-law-to-be say,
“Who?Whatare you talking about?There’snobody named that here.”
“Yes, there is!” a female voice said—Peter’soldest sister,Celiathought. “She’sthat chubbyMexicanwoman in the kitchen.TheonePeterswears he’s going to marry for some reason.”
“Oh—the one with the big ass?”Dickie, her brother-in-law-to-be asked. “He’sgoing to marry her—really?Ithought she was the cook or the maid or something.”
“Well, you’re not far off,” the bitchy sister-in-law-to-be said snidely. “Shewas hisdecorator—can you believe it?OfcourseMummyinsistedthey sign aPrenup.”
MadredeDios!Thatlittle puta!
Celiaclenched her jaw as she grabbed for a paper towel to wrap around her bleeding finger.Shewas aLatina, but she wasnotMexican.Herparents had come fromCuba—which her future in-laws would know if any of them had bothered to try to get to know her!
Asfor their remarks about her being “chubby” and having a “big ass,” not to mention the way they were disparaging what she did for a living…well, it almost seemed like her brother and sister-in-law were having a contest to see how many hurtful and insensitive things they could fit into one conversation!
“Don’tinsultCelia!” the second deep voice said, sounding angry.
“Andshe’s not fucking marrying anyone—not ifwehave anything to say about it,” the deeper voice growled. “Nowwhere is she?Ifyou don’t bring her out, we’ll come in and get her!”
