Chapter 8 Niña Amada Mia #2
“I’m not some doll you can dress up as you want, Ernesto. My family isn’t rich like yours, but my clothes are just fine.”
“They are not,” I counter, my voice dropping. “You are a Damos now. You will look the part as my wife, whether you like it or not.” My eyes are on hers. A silent reminder of how I own her and she has no choice but to obey.
The tension in the room is so heavy that Camilla has stopped eating and is staring at me, while Veronica watches our exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, a flicker of amusement in her eyes and on her smile.
“Alright, you two,” Veronica interrupts, her voice smooth as silk. She turns to Alejandra with her genuine smile. “Ignoralo, es bien bruto el pendejo.”
“Veronica.” I chastise my sister as Camilla giggles at her words. I narrow my eyes at my daughter playfully and point my fork at her plate. “Come Milá. No le hagas caso a tu tía.”
“Ay, forget him, Alejandra. We’ll make it a girls’ day,” she waves her hand dismissively towards.
Camilla gasps and shoots her arms up in excitement. Her happiness is short-lived, though, when I tell her “Tú no, princesa. Tienes que ir a la escuela.” My baby girl's pouty-face game is so strong that I have to look down at my plate to keep myself from giving in and letting her go with them.
“Si chiquitina. School first, plus this will give me a chance to get to know my sister-in-law! We’ll terrorize some boutiques on Rodeo Drive and then have lunch at Ocean Prime. The shellfish salad is delicious.”
Alejandra looks at her, and then at me, her jaw tight, but she gives a solid nod and continues finishing her food.
So she doesn’t protest when a woman wants to take her out and buy her things, but I get a tongue lashing when I have just helped secure her family’s comfort and future? I will never understand women.
I have had enough, and I push my chair back and stand. “Good, then it’s settled.” I look down at my watch and check the time. I have thirty minutes to get Camilla to school and get to the office for my meeting with a new client.
“Mila, grab your stuff. Felipe is waiting for us outside.”
Camilla hops off her chair, but instead of coming directly to me as per usual, she runs to Alejandra’s side. She stands on her tiptoes and plants a sticky, syrupy kiss on Alejandra’s cheek.
“Can’t wait for our ball later, Ale!” She yells and runs into the living room to get her backpack. Alejandra’s expression softens completely as she stares after my daughter. I start to follow behind Camilla when Veronica’s voice stops me.
“Not so fast, ‘mano,” she says, holding up her manicured hand, gesturing toward Alejandra. “Your wife can’t very well terrorize Rodeo without proper ammunition, can she?”
My jaw tightens, and I glare at my sister, who merely sips her black coffee, unfazed. I huff as I pull out my wallet, grab the black heavy piece of metal, and toss it on the table, making a loud clatter when it lands next to Alejandra’s plate.
As I’m walking out of the kitchen, I glance back. Veronica has moved to the other side of the table and is sitting beside Alejandra. She picks up the piece of metal, her eyes gleaming.
“OH MY GOD,” I hear Veronica squeal, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you know how many years I have tried to get him to let me use this card! We are definitely going to do some serious damage.”
I can’t help the smirk as I make my way out the front door. Maybe this wife thing will have its perks after all.
Camilla sits in her booster seat, her little legs swinging back and forth.
Her curls are particularly wild this morning, despite the efforts I watched Alejandra put into taming them before breakfast. She had insisted on wearing a pink glitter headband, the sequins catching slivers of light with every movement.
This morning was smoother than most–no tantrums about not wanting to wear her uniform, no tears over wearing matching socks.
Instead, there was laughter and an easy warmth.
I can still hear the calm authority Alejandra showed when she turned Camilla’s argument into an agreement for her supposed princess duties.
I clear my throat, my voice cutting through her little humming.
“Camilla.”
She looks up at me with those big brown doe eyes that resemble her mother's. Her cheeks are plump and round from still holding onto the last bit of her babyhood. “Mande?”
“What do you think of Alejandra?” My voice is careful and devoid of emotion, but the question feels heavier than intended. I rest my elbow on the edge of the door, my fingers brushing against my lips as I watch her reaction.
Camilla tilts her head, her little face thoughtful. “I like her,” she simply says, her tone final.
“Why?” I nudge, curious to see what she says.
She hesitates, furrowing her brows, trying hard to find the right words.
“She’s nice to Chelo,” she starts, swinging her legs again.
“And she smiles at me a lot. And,” her voice gains excitement and cheerfulness, like when she’s getting ready to tell me a secret, “she made me chocolate milk last night, but with cinnamon in it! Like Abuelita used to!” Her eyes light up as she remembers, her little hands holding an invisible cup.
I nod slowly, biting back the flicker of emotion at the mention of my mother.
“Qué más?” My voice is soft and quiet.
Camilla’s small hands smooth over her plaid skirt as she considers my question. “Yesterday, when Chelito was showing her around the house, I went with them, and she let me hold her hand the whole time. I even got to tell her about my butterflies, and she never let go of my hand.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I lean back, placing my arm on the armrest and looking out my window, swallowing hard at the thought that it should have been Elena and Camilla walking hand in hand.
She takes my silence as permission to keep talking, and her words come out faster now that she’s uncovering her thoughts and speaking them out loud.
“Papi, I think she’ll make you happy,” she says, with the pure and unfiltered clarity a child has.
One who hasn’t quite grasped a handle on the complexities of adult relationships or this world.
Her wide eyes search mine, “If you’re happy, I’ll be happy, and then maybe… we can all do happy things together.”
I blink at her, caught off guard by her words. At this point in my life, happiness feels so foreign to me. So far removed from my life and the endless chess game I play to maintain my power and control over our empire.
Yet, here is my daughter, sitting in the back of an armored vehicle, speaking of happiness as if it were as simple as reaching out and taking it off a shelf.
“Happy things. Like what, mija?” I ask her, my voice a little shaky with an ache I’ve kept hidden behind the walls I’ve built around my heart.
Camilla perks up, her little hands gripping the handles of the booster seat as she leans forward eagerly. “Oh, like we can sing princess songs together! We can make cookies for my class like all my friends, Mami’s and Papis do. Wait, do you even know any princess songs, Papi?”
I smile despite myself, attempting to school my expression into something serious in order to answer her questions, but I simply can’t muster the energy to pretend I don’t care.
“Do I know any princess songs?” I repeat, my tone amused.
“I think maybe I should leave the singing to you and Alejandra, princesa.”
Camilla giggles, the same melody her mother's voice brought to my life.
There’s a pause, and then she grows serious, her little hand reaching out to take mine.
Her tiny fingers grip around two of mine.
“I know you’re busy, papi, and you can’t come to my school activities, but now I have Ale.
She can take me to school, and she can do the things mami’s do with their little girls, with me.
” Her words are careful, her tone gentle, as if she’s trying not to hurt my feelings–Camilla is too smart for her age.
But I can’t help but be hurt by her words. Not because she says them but because they’re true.
The words crack a part of the armor I’ve built around my role as her father.
I’ve always prioritized her safety, her future.
But in doing so, I have neglected the smaller, softer pieces she needs from me–from her mother.
It never crossed my mind how much she longed for someone to be next to her during the little moments, the ones that make children feel loved and seen–feel cherished.
I stare out the window, torn, and force myself to speak, but it comes out rougher than I intended. “I’ll make time for you, Camilla. For the school things and… the cookie days.” My throat tightens around the words. “For you, mi nina.”
Her face lights up as if I’ve just handed her the sun. “De veras, papi?” she exclaims, practically bouncing off her seat. “You’ll come too?”
I nod, unable to meet her gaze for longer than a few seconds as I swallow my guilt. “Claro que si,” I murmur, clearing my throat. “Anything for mi princesa.”
Satisfied, she settles back into her seat, humming the same tune as before under her breath. My eyes linger on the way her face softens in pure joy, her small hands now busy playing with the straps of her backpack.
“Así que, Alejandra makes good choco-milk?” I ask after a minute, my tone lighter, attempting to move the conversation away from the ache still lodged in my chest.
Camilla grins with her toothless smile, nodding vigorously. “The best. But don’t tell Chelito, papi, please. Es un secreto, ?okay?”
“Your secret is safe with me, princess,” I reply, managing a small smile as Felipe turns into the private drive of Camilla’s school, the gates opening for us.
Once we arrive at her academy, I reach over and adjust the collar of her blouse.
“Ay ‘ta. Have a good day at school, Mila, and behave.” I tell her sternly, though my voice is soft just for her.
“I always do, papi.” She sings-songs, unbuckling her seatbelt.
I grab her little hand, helping her down as Felipe opens the door and helps her out of the car–never taking his eyes off her. She lingers for a moment outside the car and turns back to look at me. “Tell Ale I want cookies for my ball tonight.” Her eyes were sparkling with mischief.
I reach across the seat and brush a stray curl away from her face. “Deal. But only if you promise not to cause any international incidents at school.”
She laughs all the way up the school steps as she greets a faculty member. The image of her pink backpack bouncing with every step burns itself into my mind, and I am reminded why I do what I do.