Evie
Tony was taking some time talking to Geno. I had gone up to the nursery, sitting in a rocking chair that we had gotten for the room. It was a quaint room and it was comforting. Within it, I was allowing myself to think.
I was tired of being passive.
I was tired of waiting.
I couldn’t let my baby come into this world to a mother who just …let things happen around her without intervening!
There was a fire lit under me, and I wasn’t going to let it go out.
When Tony came looking for me, I began talking before he could put a stop to it.
“I want to go to the press and fix what my father has done,” I said immediately.
“What?” He blinked at me as if I were crazy. I stood my ground.
“I want to go to the press and fix what my father has done,” I repeated. “All of this. All the lies. Everything. I want to come clean about us—about the pregnancy. They can’t vilify and they can’t control if I’m the one setting the record straight, and they can’t make a victim out of me if I’m not one—”
“No.”
I stopped my tirade.
“What do you mean, no? You heard what my father said. You saw what happened because of what he said—”
“No one was hurt—”
“Not this time. Tony, what the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t okay. We have to fix this.”
“You’re not fixing anything, Evie. Do you hear me?” He shook his head. “Listen, this will blow over, and we’ll figure something out. You don’t need to be doing anything rash. Let me handle this.”
My jaw locked.
“Let you handle this?”
“Yes.”
“What do you plan to do, then? Go public and tell them that you didn’t do all those things to me? Do you think that they’re going to believe you when you’re the one who’s being accused? Do you think they’re going to care?”
“Evie.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Look. Our fathers are involved in this. And they’re not good men. We both know this—”
“If I can tell the truth—”
“Evie, just let me handle this, okay?”
I stared at him. He wasn’t going to back down. That was fine. I wouldn’t either.
“Fine. Do what you have to do.”
At least not to his face.
# # #
Tony was a heavy sleeper. It served me well when I wanted to do things like make him breakfast in bed or get some shopping of some sort done before his very, very late rising. This morning it was serving a different purpose, as I was the first to rise in the entire compound and therefore able to leave without being noticed and before anyone could stop me—let alone tell Tony.
The plus side to being my father’s daughter was that I had the numbers to all the major press. I knew personally several news anchors and quite a few journalists who were always interested in a story—even if it wasn’t a factual one. Regardless of that, I had resources and they were meeting me at City Hall to prep for the interview of a lifetime.
It had been so long since I’d been in front of a camera, let alone pulled at, poked, and prodded. I was made up and done up to perfection—though I would admit it was nice that all of this was happening outside of the scope of my father’s control.
I was surprisingly calm when all was said and done and I was placed upon a podium. Camera lights flashed. The phone that Tony had bought me buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. Tony would be furious, but it was something that I was willing to endure if it meant that I got this out the way that I wanted to get it out.
I started to speak.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in front of a camera, so forgive me if I’m a little rusty,” I said, giving the crowd that Brown smile that they had come to know and love. “But it’s been for good reason. As you can see, the rumors are true—I’m very, very pregnant.”
Click, click, flash. Cameras went off. I playfully showed off my belly and went back to it.
“I know there’s been a lot of talk the last few days about this whole thing. And a lot of people have had a lot of opinions about this pregnancy. After my father’s colorful press conference, however, and the photographs that were released to the press without my consent, I wanted to set the record entirely straight. Yes, this is a child conceived between myself and Tony Esposito. But unlike the story that my father told you, I wasn’t kidnapped, nor was I raped, nor have I been raped. I willingly, and knowingly, had unprotected sex with Tony Esposito, knowing exactly who he was. A child came about from that, and while it wasn’t the most responsible thing, I also don’t regret it,” I said. “I’ve been staying with the Esposito family, not against my will, but as family. I haven’t been mistreated. I haven’t had anything bad happen to me. I’ve even had regular prenatal checkups. I have a nursery planned for my baby. I’m certain that, given the circumstances, my father thought that he was doing the right thing in trying to explain and even trying to protect the image that he thought would be ruined by this, but the truth is that, whatever you happen to think about this personally, I’ve never been happier, nor have I ever been healthier. I hope this clears everything up for you. I’ll be taking my leave now.”
Questions boomed out as I started walking away. People tried to approach me, but by merit of me being pregnant—and having confirmed quite boldly that, yes, it was an Esposito child—they weren’t so rough with me that they risked or threatened any sort of real harm to me.
I led myself to the taxi that had brought me here and could take me discretely back to my car where I’d garage parked it without my being further hounded. Whatever happened now would be determined by which story was the believed story—mine, or my father’s—but I was fairly certain that it would be the story told by a woman who was glowing with pregnancy and not the repugnant story that my father told.
I paid the cabbie when we pulled into the garage, thanking him. He tipped his hat, too busy counting the rather large stack of bills that I slid to him.
My phone buzzed again in my pocket and I checked it. There were several texts from Tony.
Where are you?
Evie, this isn’t funny.
Evie, I swear to God, if this is to make a point.
Evie, they’re saying you’re about to make a press release at City Hall. Tell me you’re not there.
Evie, this is serious. What the hell are you doing? I’m on my way.
I’m watching this on my phone, and I swear to god, you’re marvelous, but also fucking crazy.
Evie, we need to get back home ASAP. I’ll meet you where you parked; Allan saw the garage, but getting in is a bitch.
YOUR FATHER IS HERE. WATCH YOUR BACK JUST IN –
I never finished the last message from Tony before I was pulled into a vehicle.
“Let me go—”
“Evelyn.”
Across from me, my father sat. The only thing keeping me from lashing out at him was the fact that I was in a very, very strong set of arms. I glared at him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Trying to fix the horrendous mess that you’ve decided that you’re going to make of our family name,” my father said. “When I got wind that you had called a press conference, I came right down. I had hoped that you would corroborate what we released, but clearly that was asking far too much of you.”
“You lied about how I got pregnant and where I had been.”
“A far better cover than telling the country how you let some mafia thug screw a baby into you.”
“You can’t change facts just because you don’t like them.”
My father’s lip twitched as we pulled away.
“If you think that there’s going to be anyone who buys that story you told, I wasted the money spent on your education. Clearly what’s wrong is that you were made to think that this was all okay—Stockholm’s, if you will. But no matter. You’re going to be a good girl for me, Evelyn, and you’re going to play by my rules.”
“Or what?” I challenged. “What are you going to do to me, hm?”
“If you decide to continue on with this little fantasy about having consensually decided you were going to have a child with Tony Esposito, I don’t think I’ll have much choice but to relieve you of your source of trauma.”
He let that sink in.
“You wouldn’t,” I said, horrified. “I’m too far along—”
“And I know plenty of doctors that don’t care as long as there’s money involved and a sob story about a disenfranchised girl to go along with it. So. I’ll ask you again, Evelyn. Are we understood?”