Are my hips the right type for childbirth? Will my breasts sag from feeding? Do I need to lose weight? Put weight on? Change my hair? My earrings? My entire demeanor?
All while my father grovels and says I will do anything to please my future husband. Once again, I get no say in things.
Not tonight though. Tonight, I’m going to be a free woman. I’m going to pretend I’m not the youngest daughter of the poorest mafia family in the city. I’m just a woman with a credit card, a little black dress, and a Ferrari. They bought me the car but I’ve never been allowed to drive it outside the compound.
I swing my leg out of the window. From here, it’s easy. I climb down the drainpipe, glad I didn’t wear pantyhose.
I get down to the gravel without any trouble. I climb into the car and start the engine. I wipe my hands clean on the tissues I put in the car for the purpose. All planned.
I’m free.
I can’t resist smiling as I make my way down the drive toward the wrought iron gates. There’s a code you have to type in to open the gates. The code changes every day but my father’s memory is poor. It’s always written down next to the computer in his study. I made sure to check in there before dinner, while he was out watering the roses.
I punch in the code and the gates swing open. Then, with a roar of the engine, off I go.
I know where to go. My cousin told me in great detail everything I need to know to enjoy a night out. I know where to park my car. I know which busboy to give a fifty to so he opens the fire exit that lets me into the club from the restaurant kitchen tacked onto the side.
I’ve never been so far into the city on my own before. No chaperone. It’s exhilarating. Like I’m alive for the first time. Nothing can go wrong, that’s how good I feel. Invincible.
Shows how dumb I am.
Two
Aurora
* * *
Ten minutes after I park my car, I’m in the middle of the club. I’m actually in the club. I can’t believe it.
The noise is loud but not deafening. There’s a mix of a hundred different perfumes and drinks in the air, a heady smell that makes me dizzy with excitement. Sparkling spinning lights making all the glittery dresses shimmer like sunset on still water.
There’s so much life in here. It’s very different to the compound. There we get one radio playing violin while we all read quietly. Father working interminably slowly, trying to move our few bucks around so they multiply without any real effort.
Here, people are shouting, laughing, even taking drugs. I see white powder being snorted when I go to the bathroom after my first couple of drinks. Groups of women are gathered around the piles like kids admiring a new puppy. All of them giggling and talking too fast. I wonder if they bought it from one of my father’s sellers.
I can’t help but feel jealous of these women. None of them have my life. They’re all free to do what they want, marry who they want, live where they want.
Unlike me.
I manage to find a seat when I come back out and at once a man approaches. He’s tall, not unattractive, though there’s a sheen of sweat on his face and his eyes keep darting around like he’s afraid he’s being followed. “Not seen you here before,” he says. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure,” I reply, watching as he heads over to the bar. It doesn’t take him long to bring me back a glass of red wine. He hands it to me. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“Rory.”
“Nice to meet you,” he replies, holding up his beer and grinning at me. “Tim Edwards. I’m an accountant. You?”
“Cleaner,” I say, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Your health.” He tips back his beer, watching me the whole time.
I’m about to take a sip of the wine when a hand suddenly grabs hold of my wrist, spilling half the glass onto the table. “What the hell,” I say, turning to face the unwanted intruder who is now looming over me like an enormous wolf over a tiny soon to be dead bunny.
I look up into the darkest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s like staring at the devil himself. I can’t see anything of the man’s face. Only his eyes. “Don’t drink that,” he says. I pick up a light Italian accent behind his throaty growling voice.
“Oh, God,” I say with a groan. “You’ve come to collect me, haven’t you? My father sent you, didn’t he? Are you new? I’m not going home, you hear me. You tell him I’m having a night out. He can kill me when I get back. Besides, he’ll be mighty pissed if he hears you’ve hurt me so you best let go of my arm.”
The man frowns, loosening his grip on my wrist but only a little. “I do not know your father.”