Page 16 of Mafia King
“Which Greek prince stole your heart?”
I have to tell her something, but what? I have to tell a horrifying story without the horror, and I have never felt so far outside the world I aspired to be a part of. “Um, Italian actually.”
“No shit. I guess you weren’t kidding, huh?” Her face is pure awe, recalling some string of words I wasn’t kidding about.
“What?”
“About how serious Italian men are?”
Had I told her anything about living on the other side of the river?
I had to cancel plans to attend Novia Gardiamo’s last-minute wedding.
And maybe I told Scarlett about Mariella Casella, who married a man she didn’t seem to like, but who insisted.
What did “insist” mean then? And what does it mean now?
Did I know all along that girls were being forced into marriages? Did I not pay attention to it because I assumed it wouldn’t happen to me? Did I tell Scarlett these stories as if they were funny anecdotes about a faraway culture?
We’re sitting, and Scarlett is talking right through my self-doubts.
“I mean, my god, we’re only apart for, like, seven weeks and you got engaged?”
“Well, married actually.”
She looks genuinely hurt. “You got married without me?”
Thankfully, she’s drawn the attention back to herself and I have to nodyes, biting my tongue to keep from spilling the details she can’t hear. That it might have been dangerous for her to be in the church that day. That I didn’t even pick out my own wedding dress, or have a real reception, so of course I wasn’t responsible for the invitations.
Scarlett is still talking. “You didn’t let me plan your bachelorette party or your wedding shower. We didn’t go dress shopping! I feel cheated from this entire experience!”
I want to shout, “Same!” Instead, I grab her hand. “It all happened so fast there wasn’t time for any of that.” That’s true enough anyway.
“Violetta,” Scarlett purrs. “Are you… you know…?”
“Am I…?” I leave space for the answer. When she arches her eyebrows and looks at my belly, I realize I must be the dumbest person in a hundred-mile radius. “No!”
I deny it as if I’m offended, which I don’t have to be. I’m married after all.
“I’m not pregnant,” I add less defensively. “It was just so emotional.” True. “And in-the-moment.” Also true… for me. “But I promise you, if I ever have a make-up bachelorette, you’ll be the only one in charge.”
“If?” Scarlett snorts. “Like this husband of yours could stop me.”
Could. Would. Can. Will.
“I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
Lies. Not only can I wait, I will prevent it from ever happening. If she ever meets Santino, she won’t believe or understand him. Even now, watching one of the most familiar faces I know, I can see the mistrust. Scarlett never understood my obligations, and she won’t understand them now.
How could she? I still don’t.
“He must be that fucking wonderful to scoop you off your feet like that.”
My friendship with her is over. She just doesn’t know it.
Instead of being rescued, I’ve been caught. Spending an afternoon with my old life was supposed to help me remember who I am, but instead, it’s telling me I no longer fit and never did. I was playacting the entire time.
“Yeah,” I say.
