grandmother, Alba. Her Sicilian accent was still strong, even after so many years in America. While most of the family had an accent straight out of Brooklyn, Alba was a first-generation immigrant, and proud of it, since every other sentence started with: “In the old country…”
The matriarch of the family was a touchy-feely sort who couldn’t speak a word to someone without putting a hand on their arm. But Faith didn’t mind. It was unusual but comforting, a sharp contrast to Alba’s cold, silent husband.
The ugly lie of the fake engagement squirmed through Faith’s insides. Maybe the elderly woman would mercifully pass before she ever had to suspect the truth. She could die with the unshattered hope that babies were still on the way to carry on Leo’s line. Faith felt a twinge of guilt for fantasizing about the woman’s demise.
Inwardly, she scolded herself. This man was keeping her from freedom. A less secure freedom, sure, but still. Shouldn’t she be able to meet a man in the normal way and fall in love? Shouldn’t she have a mate? And if they wanted children… if she could have them… children she’d chosen to have? And if she didn’t want them, shouldn’t she have the peace of mind to know she never had to bear them? Shouldn’t she be able to come and go freely and have a job if she wanted and hobbies and places she went and people she saw?
It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain anger or fear toward a man surrounded by his family with all its boisterous and colorful conversation and good Italian food.
She startled when Leo laid a hand on her arm. He was so warm and solid and safe. He shouldn’t be safe. Sure, he hadn’t harmed her. And after that first night he’d been careful not to scare her and to keep his distance.
Whatever sexual needs or desires he might have, she knew he’d taken her primarily to keep her safe, and then that started to make her feel guilty. And selfish. After all, she wasn’t the only one whose options had been cut off. What about his right to choose an appropriate wife? Someone who was wired like him, who liked the same sexual things he liked? What about his right to have children? What about him not having to keep someone locked away like a household pet to keep them from the barrel of Angelo’s gun?
All fair questions.
Leo leaned in, his lips and warm breath brushing her ear. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she whispered.
He squeezed her arm. “Good.”
He turned back to his cousin while Gina engaged Faith’s attention to discuss… what else? Weddings and babies. It was pointless for Leo to have bothered to learn anything on the questionnaire. The family’s biggest concern about her past was her Irish heritage, which they were working to overlook. The only other thing that mattered was being a good wife to Leo and breeding good quality Italian-looking stock. They’d overlook the lack of pure Italian blood if she could give them enough tiny dark-haired babies to admire and coo over. They were nice enough people. A normal family like everybody else’s—if you turned a blind eye to the crime, but it was still unnerving how fixated they were on this one subject.
In Catholic wedding vows, women promised to accept children as they came from God. And yet, this obsession with procreation went above and beyond standard Church doctrine.
By the time everyone moved on to dessert, Faith was ready to hit the panic button.
“Leo?” she said, low enough that she didn’t draw too many curious stares.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he said with practiced precision. She could almost believe the ruse. Something inside her twinged and ached at that moniker, wishing it was real instead of an act for his family.
“Can I go to my room for a few minutes?”
“What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I’m overwhelmed. T-too many people here.”
Concern passed over his face, then flitted away. “Be back soon. We still have to go to Mass.”
Of course. Christmas
The matriarch of the family was a touchy-feely sort who couldn’t speak a word to someone without putting a hand on their arm. But Faith didn’t mind. It was unusual but comforting, a sharp contrast to Alba’s cold, silent husband.
The ugly lie of the fake engagement squirmed through Faith’s insides. Maybe the elderly woman would mercifully pass before she ever had to suspect the truth. She could die with the unshattered hope that babies were still on the way to carry on Leo’s line. Faith felt a twinge of guilt for fantasizing about the woman’s demise.
Inwardly, she scolded herself. This man was keeping her from freedom. A less secure freedom, sure, but still. Shouldn’t she be able to meet a man in the normal way and fall in love? Shouldn’t she have a mate? And if they wanted children… if she could have them… children she’d chosen to have? And if she didn’t want them, shouldn’t she have the peace of mind to know she never had to bear them? Shouldn’t she be able to come and go freely and have a job if she wanted and hobbies and places she went and people she saw?
It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain anger or fear toward a man surrounded by his family with all its boisterous and colorful conversation and good Italian food.
She startled when Leo laid a hand on her arm. He was so warm and solid and safe. He shouldn’t be safe. Sure, he hadn’t harmed her. And after that first night he’d been careful not to scare her and to keep his distance.
Whatever sexual needs or desires he might have, she knew he’d taken her primarily to keep her safe, and then that started to make her feel guilty. And selfish. After all, she wasn’t the only one whose options had been cut off. What about his right to choose an appropriate wife? Someone who was wired like him, who liked the same sexual things he liked? What about his right to have children? What about him not having to keep someone locked away like a household pet to keep them from the barrel of Angelo’s gun?
All fair questions.
Leo leaned in, his lips and warm breath brushing her ear. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she whispered.
He squeezed her arm. “Good.”
He turned back to his cousin while Gina engaged Faith’s attention to discuss… what else? Weddings and babies. It was pointless for Leo to have bothered to learn anything on the questionnaire. The family’s biggest concern about her past was her Irish heritage, which they were working to overlook. The only other thing that mattered was being a good wife to Leo and breeding good quality Italian-looking stock. They’d overlook the lack of pure Italian blood if she could give them enough tiny dark-haired babies to admire and coo over. They were nice enough people. A normal family like everybody else’s—if you turned a blind eye to the crime, but it was still unnerving how fixated they were on this one subject.
In Catholic wedding vows, women promised to accept children as they came from God. And yet, this obsession with procreation went above and beyond standard Church doctrine.
By the time everyone moved on to dessert, Faith was ready to hit the panic button.
“Leo?” she said, low enough that she didn’t draw too many curious stares.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he said with practiced precision. She could almost believe the ruse. Something inside her twinged and ached at that moniker, wishing it was real instead of an act for his family.
“Can I go to my room for a few minutes?”
“What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I’m overwhelmed. T-too many people here.”
Concern passed over his face, then flitted away. “Be back soon. We still have to go to Mass.”
Of course. Christmas
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