Page 29 of Downfall

My mother is making a big point of a family dinner though. Just the four of us. And as the hours approach my stomach is knotting more and more.

I’m out with Bella. She’s been my sanctuary these last few days and this park has been both my heaven and hell. Everything I ever wanted and everything I can never have.

The children are playing. The park is packed today because the sun is out. I can hear their laughter, can hear their joy. When I think back to my own childhood I wonder if I was a happy child. It feels so long ago. The few memories I have are all peppered with death. Our family fighting theirs. Every meal, every holiday focused around how to defeat them in some way, how to win some petty battle more constructed in our own heads.

An ice cream van is doing a roaring trade and I can’t help but watch as a little girl with dark brown pigtails jumps with excitement while queuing for one. She’s wearing a little pink gingham dress. As her face turns to look around Bella pulls on her lead and I drop my gaze, half annoyed but half so god damn relieved. I scoop the dog up into my arms and she snuggles in alleviating that awful hollowness for the briefest of seconds.

When I dare to look back up the girl is gone. Vanished. Part of me wonders if she was really there at all and it wasn’t just that my mind is playing tricks. Taunting me. Torturing me.

I grab my bag and reposition Bella to hold her more securely. If I’m going to play pretend at happy families tonight I need some alone time. I need to purge these feelings. This resentment too. I need to ensure my mask is so firmly in place it cannot slide.

And to do that I have to be away from here, away from all of this. From the haunting memories, from the haunting hope that somehow, despite everything, still pervades into my every excruciating moment of consciousness.

By the time six o clock comes I’ve mastered myself. I’m the perfect wife stood beside my husband.

He’s wearing a tailored dinner suit that clings to his impeccably honed body. His blonde hair is coiffed in a side parting. His face clean shaven. Everything about him screams control. But when I look at him that’s not what I see. I see chaos. I see danger. I see a man so used to getting what he wants that he will break the world to ensure it stays that way.

He meets my eyes. He looks almost bored.

A part of me wonders why he agreed to this evening. He didn’t have to. God knows he holds enough power to tell my father where to stick it and yet he said yes before the words were even properly out of my mouth.

He takes my hand raising it to his lips and kisses it as if he were a perfect gentleman and not an animal.

“I assume we are over our storming.” He murmurs.

I nod. He can think whatever he wants if it keeps things calm between us. I’m not so petty as to need to win every argument and with Paris it’s safer if I don’t.

His lips curl. “In that case I have something for you.”

My eyes flicker to where his other hand moves to the jacket pocket. I see the glint between his fingers as he pulls them back out.

“Turn around.”

As he wraps the heavy chain around my neck, I shut my eyes. It’s classic Paris. This is his form of apology. Bribe me with jewels. Cover me with diamonds. Afterall, I’m a woman, I’m easy to buy in his eyes, easy to placate.

“What do you think?” His words are loaded. He doesn’t care if I like it or not. It’s not about my opinion on this new necklace. This is an ascent. An acquiesce to his wants. My surrender to him as the victor.

My fingers brush over the cold stone. It’s a huge diamond. The necklace is double chained. With one wrapping around my neck like a choker and the second holding the massive pear cut stone that nestles just at the top of my cleavage. This would have cost a lot. More than most people’s entire salary for a year.

Perhaps it’s a sign of how far Paris thinks he’s gone, how big a line he thinks he’s crossed that he feels the need to buy my forgiveness with such a costly jewel.

“It’s beautiful.” I reply. It’s garish too. Far to brash an item for me to choose myself but it matches most of my collection, most of the rings and jewels Paris has bought over the years.

The car pulls up and mercifully stops any further discussion. He takes my hand more firmly and I scoop the bottom of my evening dress with the other.

We look a perfect united front. We look a perfect couple. And as the car pulls away that’s exactly how I intend to play tonight.

I’ll be the perfect wife. The perfect daughter.

Once again folding myself away for the wants of every other person around me.

* * *

We’rein the same room my family met in last time. It’s a ridiculously ornate space that resembles more of a great hall than a place to dine. Around us are the portraits of Capulets going back centuries right to the very founding of this city. It’s a stark reminder to anyone that comes to this house of who we are, what our history is.

I wonder what Paris thinks when he sees this. His family date back just as far though his have always held the bigger swathes of authority. Somehow we’ve always been the supporting act. The Montagues too. For all our jiving for power, neither of us have ever achieved what the Blumenfeld’s have.

That’s exactly why my father wanted our marriage. Unite the Capulets with the Blumenfelds and suddenly we’re on a par with them. We outrank the Montagues. For all intents and purpose we beat them.

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