Page 69 of Forbidden Pregnancy
I don’t feel or look like myself here. The changing room is thick with the scent of cheap perfume. I borrow body glitter from Gennifer and rub it into my skin. I look like a slutty mermaid. My teal blue wig brushes against my bare hips as I change into a sparkling metallic bikini top and tight black booty shorts that cause even my barely-there ass cheeks to hang all the way out.
It’s clear these outfits are meant to display my body to creepy old men and I understand now why the tips are so good. I’m grateful I only have to do this tonight and I’m only doing it as part of a plan I didn’t think would ever happen.
Convince Michael that dad needs to die. Convince Michael that the only way to protect Myra and his baby is that dad needs to die.I’ll save my celebration for Michael’s success, but there’s quiet excitement building over this plan. I’m the closest I’ve ever come and closer than I thought I ever would come to finally having my freedom. I didn’t think freedom would be the ultimate outcome of my stupid ass choice to drug Myra.
I acted too impulsively there, I understand that. What we found out about dad was enough to finally put me and Michael on the same side – forever. This will bond us together in a way that will lead to my lifelong protection. Life in this family is a survival game, ultimately. Men have certain weapons at their disposal, women have weapons of our own.
And our vulnerabilities. The last outfit change I make at the last minute involves trading out my practical flat sneakers for insanely high heels that make it clear that I’m not just meant to serve drinks, but to exist as an object on display. I hate everything about this and I can’t wait to just… finish the job.
My friend, Gennifer, tells me if I want to get onto the floor, I can take one of her orders out. Businessmen – not Italians, I checked – placed an order in the zone closest to the slot machines. My father prefers playing the slots to other games, so I have the advantage of understanding his habits.
He won’t suspect anything and I doubt he’ll recognize me dressed like this. I have tattoos beneath my clothing that he knows nothing about – not even Michael knows about the scorpion on my rib cage representing my star sign, or the butterfly on my ass. I also have a few tattoos on my back and hips… My body, my choice.
I’ll live by those words forever once I destroy the man who treated my body and my sister’s body like we were objects to be bought and sold to strengthen the mafia in service of men forour entire lives. Flora will have her freedom too. I’ll make sure of that.
There’s no chance at changing the patriarchal structure of our family. If I’m not answering to Michael, I’ll have to answer to Luigi Taviani.
When I walk out onto the floor holding two flutes of champagne on a tray, I can feel half the eyes in the room on my bare legs.
I don’t dress like this normally – dad would never let me. Even if dad would let me, Michael wouldn’t have. He’s always been an insanely protective older brother, willing to break ribs or noses to keep trouble away from me.
My skin looks even more blotchy and translucent with the blue wig on, but I’m more focused onpretending– carrying myself like someone other than Cosima Corsini. I hand over the flutes and flutter my lashes at the two leering old men who just ordered. One of them reaches his hand down to touch the back of my thigh.
“Thank you, doll,” he says. I smile at him, even if I want to dunk the champagne all over his head. The spot where he touches my thigh burns. Out of my peripheral vision, I spot my father hunched over the slot machines with a drink on the little table they have next to the seats.
He stares at the screen hypnotized into place, oblivious to my presence and even more oblivious to what’s coming next.
“You’re welcome,” I respond, running my tongue over my lips and inspiring this pathetic gross man to turn red – as if I would actually entertain a single sexual thought about him. I turn away from his table, quickly passing the slot machine where my father sits.
I touch his glass, the pill stuck with sweat on the edge of my thumb sliding inside of his drink without him noticing. The machine has him entranced.
“Can I refresh your drink, sir?”
My heart pounds. I know he won’t look up, but the fear reaches its peak. I can feel the tension rising in my chest as I fight back the urge to show any visible signs that something is wrong.
“No,” he responds gruffly. “Don’t need a drink. Don’t need help. I just need to win this fucking thing.”
His hand slaps the button aggressively as the wheels spin.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
I walk away from the table, my slight smile turning into a grin. It takes everything in my power not to rip the blue wig off my head and wave it around with an excited scream. I don’t stop moving once I slip the pill in his drink. With my head down, I pass every table and slot machine until I get to the employee break room.
I throw out the wig, return the borrowed shoes, and leave the slutty outfit in an empty locker before returning to my comfortable black leggings and black hooded sweatshirt. Hairspray from the wig application sticks my hair to my head, so I throw on a black Carhartt beanie to cover up the mess until I can get home and get clean.
I’ve done my part. The rest is up to Michael.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Myra
Baby Due Date
2 months after Pino Corsini’s mysterious disappearance
Isit in the garden patio alone early in the morning before Michael wakes up. I can’t sleep. The baby woke me up and Michael didn’t move when I slipped out of bed. The doctor gave us this due date so every cramp and movement from the baby makes me wonder if I’m going into labor.
The orchard has come along nicely since Michael and I began work on it after his father’s funeral. I still don’t know the truth about what happened. One night, over a month ago, Michael stayed out late with CC. Delphine came over to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid, but I still wanted to wait all night for them to get home. They arrived home shortly after four in the morning.
