To my horror, I feel a hot tear slide down my cheek. He sees it and his grin widens. With a thumb, he shoves the drop off my skin. “You’ll be a fun one to break.”
I take a sharp breath; it’s as much as I can manage. “I’m going home.”
“You’re not—”
But I jerk free and start quickly away from him, counting on his not wanting to create a sideshow in the middle of his precious party. The bet pays off, and I make my way outside. There’s a cab waiting—I’m sure somebody else called it, but I get inside anyway and tell the driver to take me home.
#
The front hallway is dark, and for a few minutes I think maybe I’m actually going to be able to make it to my room without seeing anyone.
No such luck. Trying to slip past the living room, I hear Pop’s voice.
“Carmine called. He said you left him at the party. What do you think you’re doing, young lady?”
I stop. I consider just turning my back on him and stalking the rest of the way to my room. Because what the hell kind of way is that to talk to a grown woman? It’s not like I’m sixteen years old and sneaking in after curfew. No, this is bullshit. So I turn and stare him down.
He’s in the living room, pushing out of his favorite chair, where he’s been sitting reading the newspaper. He does not look happy. I toss my head a little and answer him. “I wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t want to leave, so I just caught a cab.”
“That’s no way to treat your future husband.” He folds his hands in front of himself, the paper dangling limply from between two fingers. “You don’t just abandon a man like that.”
I barely manage not to roll my eyes. “He’s a big boy. I’m sure he figured out how to take care of himself.”
He’s silent a moment. Then he speaks again, very slowly. “It’s a matter of respect, Jessica. And I expect you to show respect to your fiancé.”
“He didn’t need me there. And I have a headache, and I just want to go to bed. Is that a problem?” My face has gone hot with rage.
He doesn’t answer my question directly. Instead he shifts his posture, using one arm to gesture toward an empty chair in the living room. “Why don’t you come in and sit down. Let’s have a talk.”
“Pop, I don’t—”
“Come in. Sit.” His tone isn’t sharp, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells me it’s not worth fighting him. I come in and sit, perched carefully on the edge of the chair. He heads back to his chair and sinks into it, dropping the newspaper on the coffee table. “Now. Let’s talk.”
“What about?” I don’t quite meet his eyes. I don’t want to have this conversation. It’s just like conversations we had when I was sixteen. It’s infuriating.
“About your attitude.”
If I clench my teeth any harder, I’m going to crack a molar. Then he’ll have to pay for a crown, and won’t that make him happy? “My attitude?”
“I don’t like the way you flout my authority.”
“Your authority?” It’s all I can do to keep my tone even. It’s certainly more than I can manage to contribute anything to the conversation beyond repeating his nonsense.
He leans forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled. His expression is the epitome of reason and fatherly concern. “You’re living in my house, spending my money. While you’re here, you do what I say.” Leaning back again, he gives me a dark, level look. “Until you get married, you’re my responsibility.”
Your property, you mean. I don’t say that out loud, but damn, this grates. It’s not like I don’t know this is his attitude. This is just the way things are in this family. The women do what they’re told and the men do what they want. They run the “family business.” That’s not a venture women should dirty their hands with.
“Then maybe I’ll just get married and move out,” I shoot back, but it sounds a little weak even to my ears.
“That’s fine with me. I’ll discuss the details with Carmine.”
My fists clench. “I am not marrying Carmine. Forget it.”
Again, he speaks with careful reason. “I don’t understand this, either, honey. Carmine’s a good guy. We’ve known him since he was a kid. Shit, since he was born. He’s from a good family. He’s been raised right.”
A mob family, he means. And by “raised right,” Pop means Carmine has learned from right at his father’s knee the “proper” way to treat a woman. How to keep her under control. How to make sure she doesn’t know what’s going on. That she’s kept ignorant and controlled and covered in furs so maybe she doesn’t know she’s ignorant and controlled. He demonstrated that all too well tonight.