Page 35 of The Proposal

“Arabella,” Dante whispers as he steps into me and wraps me tightly in his arms.

His comfort is welcome, but it is not enough to prevent the horrible memories of that day from playing out in my mind.

“Why is Mamma screaming at Papa?” Lucia asks, her voice a hushed whisper. We crouch low on the staircase landing, straining to listen.

“Shh, I can’t hear what they’re saying.”

It’s rare to see Mamma lose her composure, especially with Papa, because, like us, she’s terrified of him.

“Who is Gloria?” Mamma shouts, her voice strained.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about, woman. I won’t tell you again. Get the fuck out of my office before I remove you myself.”

The fury in his voice sends a chill up my spine and makes my heart race.

“Get out of there before he hurts you, Mamma,” I mutter, my throat tight with fear.

“Get the fuck out now!” he roars, and Lucia and I both flinch at the harshness of his tone.

“I’m not leaving until you answer my question,” Mamma presses, her voice shaking with anger and desperation. “This woman approached me while I was in town. She claimed she’s carrying your child and will give you the son I can’t. Is that true? Have you been having sex with her behind my back?”

My eyes widen at her admission.

My father doesn’t reply, not with words anyway. When I hear that familiar sound of his hand connecting with my mother’s skin, tears rise to my eyes.

The slap she just received is followed up with, “Now do as I tell you and get the fuck out of my sight.”

Poor Mamma. I hate my father so much.

When I hear Papa’s office door slam closed and Mamma’s hurried footsteps coming down the hallway, I spring to my feet, pulling my sister with me as I rush back to our bedroom.

We’re both huddled on my bed when the door bursts open. The first thing I notice is Mamma’s split lip and a smeared line of blood across her chin.

“Arabella,” she says, trying to keep her composure. “Pack some things in a suitcase for you and Lucia; we are leaving.”

“Okay,” I reply, leaping off the bed and rushing towards my closet.

Minutes later, my heart is pounding as we descend the stairs, heading towards freedom. We don’t notice Papa in the front room until he says, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going with my daughters?”

Mamma freezes, her body going ramrod stiff. “We are leaving.”

“You can go, but Arabella and Lucia are staying here.”

Fear grips me; I don’t want to stay here with him. I want to go with my mother.

“The girls are coming with me.”

I feel relieved when she says that, but it’s short-lived. My father suddenly approaches us and grabs hold of Lucia, placing the gun he’s now holding to the side of my little sister’s head.

His angry eyes move to me. “Get in there,” he orders, flicking his head towards the front room.

I desperately don’t want to do that, but I’m not going to do anything that may cause him to shoot Lucia either, so begrudgingly, I do as he asks.

When I enter the front room, he shoves Lucia in after me. Without a word, he opens the top drawer of the side table by the entryway, takes something small out, and slips it into his pocket. I don’t see what it is.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he grabs a bottle of scotch next and heads for the door. He slams it shut behind him, and the latch clicking echoes through the silence as he locks me and my sister inside.

I run towards the windows in the front of the house and watch my mother walk towards her car.

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