39. Athena
THIRTY-NINE
ATHENA
I couldn’t complain about my wedding night. Aside from my nightmare and a slight hiccup with my mom, it was absolute perfection. And the days that followed were just as magical.
We had fallen into a routine over the last two weeks.
Manuel would devour me multiple times a night, hard and fast, then slow and sweet, giving my romance novels a run for their money. In the morning, we’d have a cup of coffee together—decaf for me, of course—and then he’d go take care of work while I headed into the library to take care of mine. We spent the afternoons either sailing or walking the beach. Yes, it was December and temperatures weren’t warm enough to go swimming, but they were perfect to explore the island.
My eyes danced across the screen, reading my lines with a small smile on my face. The words had never come so effortlessly and I couldn’t help but feel proud. It was witty, twisted, and so fucking hot, I knew it would be a success.
“This is great,” I murmured, smiling as I gave myself a pat on the back. Things were good, and island life was even better. Somehow I’d started to think of all this as my home, although I knew it had everything to do with my husband.
My husband.
I was still getting used to calling him that, but I had to admit that I felt undeniably possessive of him. I’d rather die than let another woman touch him. Even when I caught women looking his way during our strolls around town, I had to fight the urge to claw their eyes out.
Definitely not something I was proud of, but he didn’t seem to mind it.
My mom and I had come to a truce. We avoided talking about my marriage, but she was genuinely curious about my pregnancy. I shared all my appointment results with her, and celebrated Doctor Ferrera’s confidence that the baby was perfectly healthy.
I glanced at the clock. I had about an hour before my appointment in town.
I leaned back in the chair, stretching my arms above my head before bringing them down to my chest. My lungs expanded, happiness swimming through me. Closing my eyes, I hummed the first note, and before I knew it, I started singing.
For the first time in forever, I sang the familiar words of arias, letting the notes fill me. This wasn’t for my mother. It wasn’t to captivate an audience. It wasn’t to impress.
It was simply for me.
After what could have been hours, I opened my eyes to find Manuel standing there, staring at me with a look of disbelief.
“It was you,” he breathed.
My brows furrowed. “What was me?”
“That kid I caught singing eleven years ago,” he said, and realization settled. He didn’t remember that kid he caught. Had never connected the dots. “The girl who kicked me and bolted.”
I smiled sheepishly.
“I thought you knew.” He shook his head and worry flooded my mind. “Are you mad?”
“Am I mad you kicked me? No.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “Am I mad your mother used you like that? Fuck yes.”
I shut my laptop and stood up, wrapping my arms around him. “She didn’t really have a choice. She couldn’t sing that day because her vocal cords were damaged.”
“She should have informed the opera house and postponed the show, then; not used you.”
“We needed the money,” I protested weakly. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I learned the opera house actually fronted Mom the money. We could have left for the States immediately after the Triads’ attack. Instead, she lingered, giving them a chance to attack me a week later and bury me in a box, effectively guaranteeing a life filled with terrible memories.
Manuel cupped my cheeks. “You don’t believe that, amorina .”
“Honestly, I’m not sure why she insisted I do it,” I admitted. “Or why we stayed after you discovered what we’d done.”
His expression turned thunderous. “Maybe because she was busy scheming how to appear as a victim.”
My brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. “About a week after that performance, I got an urgent call from the carabinieri .” I scrambled for the word in my ever-growing vocabulary and couldn’t find it. “Police force,” he added. “She bribed the hospital staff to admit her, lying about being attacked. She had them call me, making it sound like she was on her deathbed.”
I stiffened, my mind shuffling through the events of that week. The attack in our apartment. The performance. Then a week later when… the box…
Oh, Mom, what did you do?
Goose bumps rose on my skin while dread weighed on my chest.
“A week after the performance?” I asked with a tremor.
“Yes.”
A single word changed everything, and my relationship with my mother would never be the same.