10. Deirdre #2
“Seriously, Rosa. Just call me Deirdre. I’m not Mrs. Titone. We’re not married. And we’re not going to get married, either.”
Rosa doesn’t answer me verbally. Instead, she just holds up the bedding for my inspection. Heat floods my face, and then drains out of it, when I see the unmistakable stains of my blood and Elio’s semen.
“That wasn’t… That’s not…”
Words fail me, and I throw up my hands, wondering why I’m even bothering trying to convince her. She works for Elio. She’s loyal to him. It doesn’t matter what I say.
I could tell her I’d throw myself off a cliff before I married Elio and she’d probably just nod noncommittally and say, “ Sì , Signora Titone.”
Rosa shoves the soiled bedding into the basket attached to her cart, and I’m so filled with shame I suddenly can’t face her.
She’s seen what we’ve done. She’s seen the blood, the stains.
She’s going to be the one to clean the bedding, like those marks never even existed in the first place.
And then I feel twice as bad, because I realize she’s going to find the exact same thing on the bedding in the other room, too.
I have the feral urge to sprint ahead of her into Elio’s room, strip the bed myself, and burn the evidence.
But burning anything related to Elio just feels a step too far. I remember what he told me last night, about the relief he felt as a young teenage boy when he covered up his scarred hands with black leather for the first time, and the fight goes right out of me.
But the urge to get away is still there, bubbling beneath the surface.
I don’t have classes today, so I don’t have a pre-authorized excuse to leave the house, but at least I don’t have to stay in either of these bedrooms. I start to leave, then at the last moment I grab my violin and bow.
The familiar heft of the weighted wood in my hands is comforting, and that’s a relief, because I was beginning to worry that violin would never mean what it once had to me. That Elio had ruined it for me forever.
But he hasn’t. I won’t let him. It’s a part of me, and of my mother, and I won’t let him take that from me. He can poke me and prod me and humiliate me and make me come, but when I’m alone, my music will still be pure. It will still be mine.
Feeling reinvigorated by that internal decision, or maybe it’s a realization, I march out of my bedroom, then through Elio’s and out into the hall.
One of Elio’s soldiers, whom I recognize as a guy named Robbie, is stationed at the top of the stairs.
He watches me with eyes that I know have been commanded never to leave me. At least, not until Elio’s home.
I do my best to ignore him, but I can’t, because when I pass him on the stairs he dips his head and mutters, “Morning, Mrs. Titone.”
I nearly fall down the fucking stairs. Robbie lurches forward, but thankfully I manage to find my footing without him grabbing me for support.
“So it’s not just Rosa, then?” I say, spinning on the step to look up at him. “You’re all going to call me that now?” I blow out an irritated breath, shaking my violin bow in the air, emphasizing each word. “That’s not. My. Name!”
“Mr. Titone says that’s what we’re to call you going forward.”
“And because that’s what Mr. Titone says, that’s what goes, huh? Even though that isn’t even my real name?”
I almost say “real name yet” and want to smack myself with my own bow. Because there is no yet in this situation!
“Yup.”
Unbelievable.
“Well, fine then, if I’m Mrs. Titone then don’t I get a say in things? Aren’t you supposed to treat me with respect too, as your boss’s supposed wife?” I counter. “So don’t you have to listen to what I say as well?”
Robbie’s thick eyebrows come together over his nose, like I’ve thrown him off in a way he doesn’t expect and doesn’t have an Elio-approved answer for.
If anything, Elio’s probably caused some of this confusion by telling his men they have to respect me or something.
But now I’m asking for respect by requesting to be called by a different name and clearly, that does not compute for Robbie over here.
The man looks like his brain is about to melt, so I give up on trying to get an answer out of him and continue on my way down the stairs. I stop in the kitchen, putting down my violin and bow to make myself a fresh cup of tea.
“I can call Rosa for that,” Robbie says hurriedly as he follows me into the kitchen. This whole guard following me thing is getting old already. I wonder if one day I’ll just be used to it.
No. I can’t get used to a life I plan on escaping from. Somehow…
“I can make my own cup of tea,” I tell him. “Or am I not even allowed to do that?”
“You’re allowed. Boss says you can do just about anything as long as you don’t try to leave the house or cause any danger to yourself.”
“What about causing danger to others?” I say with false sweetness.
“He… didn’t address that specifically.”
I snort, shaking my head as I open cupboards, searching for the tea. I find it, rolling my eyes and shoving the sleepy cat tea box out of the way until I locate the bags of Irish breakfast.
“How generous of him,” I say as I take down the tea and a cup.
I fill the kettle then set it to boil. As the water boils, I stare out the massive wall of windows that look out over Elio’s sprawling property.
It looks like it’s snowed even more since last night, but the sky is brilliantly clear now, the light catching like iridescent fire on all the frozen branches and snow-carpeted ground.
The kettle clicks, steam rising from its spout. I pour the boiling water over my teabag, wait for it to steep a bit, then add some milk before disposing of the teabag in the bin I saw Elio use last night.
With my hot cup of tea, I wander to the windows, staring out at the beautiful world I’m no longer allowed to inhabit. At least, not without him.
“Am I allowed to go outside? If I stay on the property?” I don’t turn around to ask Robbie, but I know he’s still there because he’s been ordered to follow me around.
“Mr. Titone said you’re to stay inside when he’s not here.”
“And he’s not here now, is he?”
“No, Mrs. Titone.”
I take a scalding sip of tea to keep myself from saying something shitty at once again being called Mrs. Titone. I know the guy is just trying to do his job, and that his boss is possibly the most frightening man alive, but this is already wearing on my nerves.
I take a few more sips, stewing over the fact that Elio’s not here. That he can just waltz out the door and leave me here while he gets to traipse around doing who the hell knows what. Meanwhile I’m just stuck here drinking tea and looking out the window and getting more and more annoyed.
Screw it. I’m not going to just stand in this spot looking longingly out at something I can’t have right now.
I put my tea down on the kitchen island then start to wander the main floor of the house.
So far, I’ve spent most of my time here upstairs in the bedrooms, or down here in the kitchen and living area.
But there’s got to be a whole lot more to discover considering how freaking huge this place is.
I go through the kitchen to a narrow hallway on the other side I’ve never walked down before. It branches off in a couple of directions. I choose right and keep walking, aware of Robbie following close behind, monitoring my every movement.
I gasp when the hall suddenly opens into a vast, glittering space. It’s so bright in here that I have to squint and shield my eyes for a second. How many lights are on in here?!
But as my eyes adjust to the exquisite luminescence of the space, I realize that there isn’t a single light on at all.
Instead, almost this entire room is comprised of glass.
It’s a rectangular prism that juts out from the house, and three out of its four walls, plus the ceiling above, are completely transparent.
The sun absolutely drenches the room, and me, and it bounces right back off the floor because it’s not a floor at all, but water.
It's an indoor pool. A fucking big one, too. A giant, pristine rectangle of aquamarine blue. Beyond the pool is a smaller circle of water that looks like it has jets and benches built into it. Against the longest glass outer wall, looking like they’re backed right up against a drift of snow, is a row of chaises longues with pillows and towels arranged neatly on top of them.
The tile of the floor in here is a rich, warm colour that speaks of terracotta, or maybe water-darkened sand.
That plus the turquoise of the water and the blinding blue above makes me feel like I’ve stepped into some Mediterranean paradise.
I lick my lips, not realizing how much I’d been craving sun and summer until now.
Warm weather is always such a relief after long Ontario winters, especially for me, because that sunshine and heat makes me feel like I’ve clawed my way out of the cold, dark time surrounding the anniversary of my mother’s death.
In spring and summer, everything comes back to life. Including me.
I walk along the edge of the pool towards doors on the far side of this glorious room.
One door leads into a large closet with what I assume are chemicals for the pool and hot tub, plus extra towels and cushions for the chairs.
The other door opens into a huge, luxury change room, the kind you’d see at a massive hotel.
There are spa-like showers in there, another closed door for a private toilet, marble sinks, as well as cedar benches and hooks with fluffy white robes hanging on them.
I turn around and shut the door, narrowly avoiding smacking into Robbie’s chest.
“You don’t need to follow so close behind me,” I grumble. “I promise I’m not going to go in the cleaning closet and drink a bunch of bleach.”