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He’s a sexist jerk that follows my father’s ideology to a T.
“Take a seat, mi hija.” Picking my battles is prudent. I won a small battle against the others, but not the war. So I do; I pick the chair furthest from him and sit with my head held high and shoulders straight. This makes him chuckle. “You are a lot like me. So stubborn.”
“And yet, I’m the one risking everything.”
“For the family, we all make certain sacrifices.” His words pull a scoff from me which he ignores, choosing instead to stand and come sit beside me. “Name your price.”
“W-what?”
“What do you want? I won’t give you this opportunity again.”
“My freedom.”
“At the moment, I have to decline that request. You get one more.” My stomach sinks; I knew he wouldn’t give me the chance to back out. But what truly guts me is the menacing glint in his eyes, the victory smile on his lips. “Especially now that I’ve been offered something too beneficial in exchange for your hand in marriage.”
My world stops.
All sound vanishes for a while. I have no idea how long, but I come back to the chanting of the word no over and over again. It’s hoarse, so full of despair, and it takes me even longer to realize the person speaking is me.
There’s wetness on my cheeks. My breathing is labored.
“Don’t do this to me. This isn’t the 1800s where women were traded for cattle,” I manage to choke out while bringing my hand to my chest. I press down hard as if hoping to squash the sensation there. It’s automatic, the distress and pain, and my breathing becomes labored.
“Breathe.”
“You can’t—”
“Breathe, dammit!” But I can’t. Just the thought, thinking that I’d be trapped for the rest of my life—that my plans to move overseas in the next two years would vanish—caused my throat to close up. My body shakes. My vision blurs. “Last warning. Get a hold of yourself.”
“Please.” That’s all I get out as his hand wraps around my throat and squeezes, forcing me from my panic and punching straight into fear. There’s a difference in the two, a teetering edge that slams you back into reality where you can breathe but are being blocked not by your nervous system but by a physical presence.
“Calm yourself.”
“Dad, stop.”
“Are you ready to quit being childish?” My chest burns, the limited air he’s allowing only reigniting the panic within me. I’m fighting it, trying to stay alert, but the tighter he holds me, the more it grows. Dad’s face comes closer, his eyes staring straight into my wide ones. “I’m willing to listen to your reasoning, but you better have a very compelling reason as to why I shouldn’t force this on you. Nod if you understand.” I do, minute, but the movement is there. “We can shelve this conversation for now, but we will revisit. I’m only allowing you this respite because I need your head in the game and the artifact in my hands within the next ten days. Now, ask me for a favor, and I’ll grant it.”
He releases his hold and I cough, bringing a hand up to the tender skin. “What are you allowing?”
This is another way he controls me. I’m told what to ask for, but if I want to get out of the country and never return, I need him to think I’m being complacent. After this job, I’ll disappear. Maybe the Cancio family can hide me.
“Money or a personal favor.”
“Personal favor, then.” I don’t want his money. My response is immediate, though my tone is scratchy and my chest is still heaving.
“Ask.”
“My brothers remain untouchable.” Another cough leaves me and he stands, walking toward the water carafe atop the table next to the seat he’d occupied earlier. With the glass in his hand, Dad walks to me and holds it to my lips, urging me to drink. Begrudgingly I do, and with each second that passes, my body further calms. Not fully, but enough to control my panic. “Promise me. Not so much as a blemish on them.”
Dad is pensive as he sits back in the chair beside me. He rubs his chin, eyes on mine, but then nods in agreement. “Done, until they turn eighteen or ask to be a part of my office.”
They’re twelve and fourteen now, which gives me a few years to breathe. That, and they’re his golden children. His heirs. Their political careers are already set in stone, while neither care for the limelight.
Once they turn sixteen, I can take them with me.
“Then you have yourself a deal. I’ll bring it back.”
“I never had a doubt.” His chuckle is loud, shakes him a bit. “Now, let’s go eat. I’m sure your mother is wondering what’s taking so long. She lives for these dinners.”
