I stroll, still feeling the men’s stares behind me. I don’t let them intimidate me, I can’t do it, because to let their gaze hurt me, their presence pains me and their coldness wound me, is to admit that I’m alone in this house and I can’t do it, no matter how obvious it may be.
I head for the door I saw when I got to the main floor, near the study, and walk there with intentions of looking for a juice or something I can feed Dante, who starts to wiggle in my arms. He must be uncomfortable, given that I am a stranger to him. As calm as I may inspire in him, in the end, I am a stranger, one who came to invade his family, his home, his very existence—a person who came to change his life forever. I don’t want to be one of those stepmothers who erase their mothers, who carried them in their wombs for nine months, from the lives of the children. I don’t want to be, and I won’t be. But, I promise myself right there, as I walk in the direction of the kitchen door, or at least what I think is the kitchen, to be good enough to keep the memory of Dario’s dead wife and Dante’s mother, his birth mother.
“Hello,” I say as I walk in. I met Donatella, the housekeeper. “I’m looking for some juice for Dante.”
“It’s almost time for dinner. If he drinks juice, he won’t have his pumpkin mash for dinner,” she replies.
I sense her annoyance as she speaks to me.
She doesn’t look at me and doesn’t lift her head from the pot where she stirs something. I smell stew, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself.
“Do you feed Dante dinner yourself? Does he have a babysitter? Does Dario stay with him all day?”
“Mr. Dario doesn’t have time for such things,” she replies without looking at me yet.
“That means you do.” I settle into a chair next to the massive refrigerator with two doors.
The chair feels comfortable to me. Maybe it’s just the tiredness and pressure I’ve felt over the past two days since I learned about my impending marriage to Dario.
Donatella watches me out of the corner of her eye. I know she is the closest source of information; therefore, she can supply me with all the data I need to understand the enigmatic and secretive mind of Dario Magghio, my husband.
“I don’t want you to think that I desire to meddle in Dario’s life or the life you lead here.”
“I didn’t say that, Mrs. Magghio,” she hastens to say.
This time she dries her hands on her apron and watches me without comment.
Dante plays with my hair, which falls scattered down my back. It captivates the little guy.
“Please don’t give me that title. Calling me Tatiana is enough.”
“Mrs. Tatiana,” she mumbles. Her eyes look like two wells full of secrets and wisdom. The woman seems able to read the soul and the deepest fears I have.
“Just Tatiana.” I have never been so formal. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on, so it’s best if you explain to me what the day-to-day cycle is like. What does Dario do when he gets up? What does he like to eat? With what does the baby entertain himself?”
“Oh, young lady…!” She approaches and leans back on the breakfast bar. Everything is organized, nothing out of place to attract the visitor’s attention or the newcomer, that is me. “Don’t make your life here a school of learning. This is to take it day by day. You will gradually understand what Mr. Dario likes and dislikes. You will know what time to wake up to feed the baby, which I am already here for.”
“You don’t have to. And the truth is that I ask because I don’t want to be a bother to Darío.”
My mother always told me, “If you get to a place and you see that from the first moment they put you in a qualm, resistance and look at you as if you were from another galaxy, don’t be scared, don’t get discouraged, in the end, they are just self-defense mechanisms that every human being employs. But, of course, some are stronger and more notorious than others.”
That happened with Donatella when she saw me arrive. I imagine she must have heard everything from Dario, from the servants, and the townspeople. I am the outsider, the twenty-three-year-old who married a man who was married to another, and thanks to their relationship, she gave birth to a little one, one who is now without her care. Thinking about it and noticing it in any other couple, I would say the woman was a gold digger. However, no one knows what moves inside. The heart of the pumpkin is known only to the knife. From the outside, it may all look like a simple relationship for money or status. Looking at it that way, I am a gold digger, a freeloader, or rather, my family used me as the bargaining chip to pay off a debt. Being emotionally useless, I gave in to my parents’ needs to not see either of them on the street.
Now I see myself as Donatella has been seeing me since I arrived.
“You are his wife; you are joined in holy matrimony. Even if you are a nuisance, he will have to put up with you until death tears you apart. The Magghio’s are like that, and that’s why Dawson still won’t marry. Though they are both of the same age, Dawson has always behaved like the younger.”
“Why not go along with that idea?” I’m confused by the turn of our conversation, but I don’t want to come across as rude.
I’m not interested in hearing from Dawson. The few seconds at his side, the way he expressed himself, gave me to understand the kind of person he is. Therefore, I know that he was not the mystery lover. It was Dario. And tonight, I am supposed to fulfill my role as a wife. He will want to possess me, to touch me, to feel me. Even though I hate to admit it, I want more than anything in this world to feel him inside me again, even if it is with promises he will forget the next day.
“It’s not just an idea. It’s the promise his father made them make before he passed away over ten years ago. So the day the two of them decide to marry a woman, they must accept that their union will be eternal even after death.”
“It’s a bit of a tough promise. I can’t imagine doing something like that to a son of mine.”
That phrase makes me think of the number of femicides that there are daily worldwide, the number of women who die at the hands of their husbands, of their sentimental partners, because these, when they are united in holy matrimony and with the sacrament of the priest, father, pastor or officiant, the thought is nailed to their skin and heart: “Till death do us part.”
Those men who carry that intrinsic and yet undiscovered mental disorder generate the idea that the woman is theirs until death does them part. Then, after death, they will believe that she belongs to them.
“Each one is guilty of his actions. He will know why he made his children promise such a thing. We are not to judge anyone’s actions.”
“Wow, you seem to know them a lot,” I commented, intrigued by Donatella’s life in the castle. She must have seen countless events; she could even tell me if Dario went out last night and returned at dawn.
“I have more than thirty years here, Mrs. Tatiana. The things I have seen and heard have been enough for me to understand that the gentlemen are good people.” But, with every second he moves on, I feel there is a warning in his words. “I will hesitate at nothing if I see that in any way they will be affected.”
Donatella holds out her arms to me, and I understand that she wants to carry Dante.
“I’ll leave him to you, but first, let me get some air with him on the balcony.”
The only thing I heard mentioned about the castle where I now live: the beautiful balcony overlooking the lake. You can see the mist coming down to occupy part of the trees and the crystal-clear water where the moon was reflected every night.
“It’s not good for you to go near the balcony with the boy.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Mr. Magghio doesn’t like to go to that part of the castle.”
“It’s the balcony at the back of the kitchen. It’s not like I’m going to go off into the woods and get lost there for hours, so he has to come looking for me.” I stand up and walk towards the exit. “Don’t worry. Whatever the situation, you won’t be to blame. It was me who decided to leave with the baby.”
“Mrs. Tatiana…”
“I’ll see you in a little while. I need some fresh air.”
I don’t know where my desire to go out, to escape a little from my current situation, has come from. I know this won’t get better and won’t bring me back three days ago before I knew I would marry Dario. I think of Lucian as if by magic; his mannerisms, self-confidence, the way he kisses me. Nothing is as tempting to me anymore. With him, I never felt like losing my temper.
However, even if I am not entirely sure that I spent the night with Dario, I pray to God that it was with him and not with Dawson. After tasting the forbidden fruit of passion and sensuality, I find no logic in my years of relationship with Lucian.
I stop a few inches from the edge. The cemented columns with caracoled designs rise almost to the ceiling. The balcony edge is wide and thick. It gives me a chance to settle there, but with Dante in my arms, I just watch the lake in the distance. I breathe again and again. In the meantime, I stroke up and down the tiny baby’s back. My heart beats in a rush of mixed feelings. So this is all new to me, so unfamiliar. I am glad to know that this woman loves the Magghio brothers enough to threaten the newcomer, for I knew how to interpret her words, and I know that beneath that facade of an employee with more than thirty years at the castle hides a woman who has served as a mother to those two men.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Dario’s voice pulls me out of my musings and makes me turn around, somewhat exalted by surprise.
Seeing him, I’m confused. His fists are clenched, his brow furrowed, and his lips turned into a fine, thin, white line from being clenched so tightly.
I don’t understand what’s wrong with him. Can’t I even go out on the balcony?
“I’m not doing anything wrong. I just wanted some fresh air.”
“Get away from the balcony before I drag you inside myself.”
“But what…?”
Without giving me time to analyze what he gasped, I feel his hands around my body in a fraction of milliseconds and find myself being dragged inside the house. We pass through the kitchen; Donatella gives me a distressed look.
What the hell is going on? What’s wrong with this man?
“Get off me already!” I mumble. “I’m not your fucking toy. Don’t you ever grab me like that again in your fucking life,” I hiss as we reach the living room.
Dawson comes out of the den and looks at us, quizzical.
“What’s going on?” he asks his brother more than me.
“It just so happens that your brother is a caveman who thinks that because he paid to have a wife, he can do whatever he wants with me.” I turn and shake my arm to get him to let go of me. “I don’t know what’s the matter and what the hell is wrong with you, but you’d better, for the health of this marriage, learn to behave with me, do you understand me?”
Dario falls silent. His gray eyes are on fire. I’ve never seen him angry, but I know he must be exploding inside right now. Still, he nods without complaint.
“I’m going to bed. Which will be my room?”
“Third door. Second is Dante’s.”
“Okay.” I hand him the baby, and he clutches him, confused. “Happy wedding night. See you tomorrow.”