02
I frown. What a frivolous man.
As I'm thinking about how to answer his words, my phone in my purse rings. Ignoring Lincoln, I turn around and find a restroom to take the call.
It's my uncle calling. Since my father died in a car accident when I was eight and my mother fell ill shortly after, I've grown up in my uncle's house.
He didn't come to my anniversary party today because his son, my cousin Cary, got into an American university, and he's helping him settle in.
"Uncle, is everything okay over there?"
I check the time. There's a five-hour time difference between here and the US, so it's just the afternoon there.
"Yes, it just took a lot of time to find a place for Cary to live. You know, some neighborhoods aren't very safe," my uncle pauses, "And you?"
"I'm doing well."
There are two seconds of silence on the other end, then my uncle says, "Your aunt wants to speak to you."
I've actually spent more time with my aunt than with my uncle, despite the blood relation. In traditional families, men work outside, and the women and children stay at home most of the time.
My aunt usually cares about daily life, such as asking me how I get along with Mateo. Knowing that Mateo has a bad temper, she advises me to be more considerate. After all, the Morris family is revived by Mateo's money, and I say "yes" to everything.
Living under someone else's roof is both difficult and simple. Since I was eight years old, I knew that it would be easy as long as I obeyed and mechanically agreed to all their requests.
I think the call will end here, and am about to say some closing words, but my aunt suddenly changes the topic, "Ali, it's been a year since you got married, and there's still no news in your belly?"
I grip the phone tightly and swallow. "No... not yet."
"I'm not pushing you, but many women are lining up to marry into the Daniels family; if you don't hurry up and have a baby, how will you secure your position?"
I purse my lips, and after two seconds of silence, I say, "I'll try my best."
My aunt's tone softens a bit, "You know how lucky you were to marry Mateo; you must seize this opportunity."
Actually, my marriage to Mateo has a lot to do with Mateo's father, Mr. Daniels.
He was very successful when he was young, made a lot of money, and built the Daniels business empire. But his health deteriorated sharply a year ago, and now he relies on various machines and the most advanced drugs from the world's top laboratories to maintain his life.
An old man who is about to die is most concerned about his son's marriage. My aunt and uncle took advantage of this, got Mateo drunk, and sent me to his bed. After Mr. Daniels heard about it, Mateo was forced to marry me.
I still remember Mateo's expression on the day of our wedding, his face was darker than the tiles on the roof of the church.
Mateo pointed to the cross and whispered to me in front of the guests.
They thought he was sweet-talking, but I heard it clearly.
His words were full of threats, "You and your family better pray that the old man lives long enough to protect you. "
A year has passed. I don't know how to tell my aunt that Mateo has never slept in the same bed with me while awake. How could I get pregnant? Become the Virgin Mary?
This call exhausts me. I find an excuse to hang up quickly and take deep breaths in the restroom before returning to my battlefield.
In the center of the hall, men and women are now dancing or chatting on the side, and no one notices me anymore.
I breathe a sigh of relief and pick up a glass of wine.
"Where did you go?" Mateo's voice suddenly appears behind me. I startle, almost spilling my wine.
"Restroom." I answer and then turn to look at him, noticing he is alone. I instinctively look around for the presence of another woman.
"Luna got drunk and left early," he explains. "Later, we will send off the guests together."
I nod, feeling a sudden discomfort in my waist.
Instinctively, I flinch and look down to see that Mateo's hand had just been on my waist.
He's still holding the same pose, his hand hanging in the air.
I swallow, look around, and then meet his eyes.
Mateo's face is calm. He looks at me for two seconds, then silently smiles, "You got jealous? Now try to embarrass me in front of everyone?"
"I don't have that right," I whisper.
But our movement has already drawn some curious or gossipy glances from those around us.
"Good that you know." Mateo's hand then reaches for a glass of wine from a nearby waiter, lightly clinks it against mine, and downs it in one go.
The party ends at nine in the evening.
I stand at the main hall entrance with Mateo, seeing off the guests. The red carpet runs through the garden, all the way to the ornate gate outside.
It's winter, and the cold wind is biting. The hall's heating is strong, but with the door wide open, I still can't help but shiver.
The voices fade, and the car lights outside flicker on one by one, then gradually disappear, leaving the mansion in silence.
I let out a gentle sigh, ready to go back and change out of my tight evening dress and remove my heavy makeup.
But then.
"You stay here," Mateo says to me.
I seem to have misheard him and look up for confirmation.
But he doesn't look at me. Instead, he tells the servants nearby, "No need to close the main door tonight, leave it open."
Then he turns and walks away.
He's still angry, making me stay out here to reflect on myself in the cold all night.
In this house, no one dares disobey Mateo's orders. As Mateo disappears, the servants start cleaning up, clearing the wine glasses from the tables, rolling up the red carpet, and scrubbing the floors.
No one dares to look at me or say a word; I become completely invisible.
It's dark outside, with only a few dim lights in the garden illuminating the sky. It starts to snow.
My high heels hurt my feet, so I walk to the sofa in the hallway, sit down, and sniffle from the cold.
I should have eaten during the day. I squint, thinking drowsily. To fit into the evening dress, I only had a piece of chocolate all day. Now I'm both hungry and cold.
The wind grows stronger.
I curl up in the corner of the sofa, turning my face inward to avoid the wind, and inadvertently notice a black suit hanging on the coat rack.
I pull the suit down and smell a faint jasmine scent on it.
The suit is large. I take off my shoes, curl up on the sofa, wrap myself in the suit, and slowly close my eyes.
I start to have shadowy dreams.
In my dream, I see my mother watering the flowers in the garden.
"Mom," eight-year-old me shouts from the balcony on the second floor, looking at her back, "It's only seven, why are you up so early?"
Mom, holding the hose, turns and smiles at me, "The midday sun is too hot; the water will burn their roots. Come down and help me."
Jasmine was my mother's favorite flower; our garden was full of them.
When the cold wind wakes me up again, I'm still immersed in the dream. I gently sniff the collar of the suit, hoping the jasmine scent will take me back to the past.
A voice filled with amusement suddenly reaches my ears, "Sister-in-law, does my suit smell good?"
Every hair on my body stands on end.
Lincoln is standing beside the sofa, looking at me, wearing only a shirt and vest on his upper body.
I don't know when he appeared or how long he has been watching me. But it seems he's about to leave, looking towards the garden, his eyes reflecting the faint, scattered light.
I quickly sit up, pulling off the suit to return it, "Sorry, I didn't know—"
I didn't know whether to explain why I was sleeping here first or why I was wrapped in his suit.
The old mansion is so quiet at night, my apology feels like an intrusion.
I slow my breathing, my voice getting softer.
I dare not speak or move.
Under the dual effects of fear and cold, my heart beats faster than ever in this snowy night.
"My brother's temper hasn't changed a bit over the years," Lincoln says knowingly, chuckling lightly. He bends down to pick up his suit, his fingers brushing against the back of my hand.
Something wet touches my hand, sticky.
Instinctively, I look over and then widen my eyes in horror.
Blood is dripping from his index fingertip.