My mother is barely seated before she starts. “Why are you here?” she asks, plopping an olive in her mouth.
“I’m traveling in Europe this week, representing the foundation. I don’t have appointments in London, but I wanted to see you.”
“A visit, out of the blue, in the middle of the week. Antonio, don’t lie to your mother. It’s a sin that will send you straight to hell.”
I’m already going. But I don’t say that because I know it’ll upset her.
“Monday isn’t the middle of the week.” I hedge for a minute, thinking about how I want to start. “I’m planning to add to your security detail. I don’t want the change to alarm you.”
“Why?” she asks warily, her body tightening.
As much as I’d prefer to focus on the snacks, I meet her gaze. “I’m getting married.”
She’s startled for a long moment, and then a smile blooms on her face. “Oh, Antonio, another girl in the family. I wasn’t sure you’d ever settle down. Every time I see you in the paper with some starlet”—she shakes her head—“I’ve always wished for something better for you.” Her brow furrows. “Is it one ofthosewomen?”
I scoff. “Thosewomen aren’t so bad. But no. She’s not an actress or a model—if that’s what you mean.”
She narrows her eyes. “Tell me about your future bride. Do I know her? Why haven’t I met her? I was just in Porto. Is she pregnant?”
“Are you expecting answers, or are you just going to ask questions?”
My mother eyes me like she’s beginning to think that this isn’t the happily ever after she wants for her son.
“To answer your questions, in no specific order: She’s not pregnant. You didn’t meet her when you were in Porto, because she was not there at the time. No, it wasn’t sudden. Yes, you know her.”
Her shoulders ease with every answer I provide.
“Sonia?” she asks hopefully.
I roll my eyes.
“Am I supposed to guess?”
59
Antonio
“Daniela D’Sousa.” I just lay it out there. I don’t put a shine on it or provide an explanation of any sort. I won’t lie to her.
“Daniela D’Sousa,” she repeats, blanching. The wheels are turning, and I see the confusion swirling in her eyes. “Maria Rosa and Manuel’s daughter?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“What’s this about, Antonio?” she asks in a tone not much different than she used to question my behavior as a teenager. “Surely not love.” Her mouth puckers like she’s tasted something sour, because she already knows the answer to the question.
“Not love. But perhaps we’ll grow fond of one another as the years pass.” I shrug. “It happens.”Although right now I don’t see it.
“Why would you do this?” Her voice is as tortured as her expression. “The vineyards? You don’t have enough money? Or power? I want to know how this happened.” She bangs her index finger on the table. “Everything.”
“I didn’t go to Manuel. He came to me about an arrangement.”
“A betrothal contract?” She gasps in horror.
As much as I’d like to assure her it’s not the case, I nod.
My mother jumps out of her chair and wraps her arms around her midsection, moving across the terrace with her head down.
When she gets to the edge, she slams her hand on the railing and scowls at me. “How could you do this? Maria Rosa was my best friend, like a sister. When Vera went missing, she was the one who risked everything to help me find her. Do you know how many times I cried on her shoulder because the man I was married to was a monster? She saved my life. And this is what you do to her daughter?”