Melinda
The windows of my house were all dark, and I was praying Dad had gone to bed. I kicked off my shoes and then, clutching them in one hand, opened the front door as quietly as I could. The foyer was dark, and the marble felt cold and almost damp against the soles of my bare feet.
Just as I was about to start climbing up the stairs, a light clicked on. Dad was sitting in the kitchen, at the table, staring at me. There was a snifter of cognac in front of him, but he was clearly sober. “Melinda,” Dad said slowly. “Come in here.”
I winced. Dad didn’t have to yell to make me afraid – in fact, it was usually the opposite. Whenever he was angry, I could always tell because of how quiet he became.
“Hi, Dad,” I said nervously as I sat down at the kitchen table. I felt like a completely different woman from the sassy, confident girl I’d been back at Hurricanes. Now, my tight satin dress and heels just felt like a costume, like I was a child playing dress-up.
“Melinda,” Dad said heavily. “We’ve been over this.” He glared at me. “Tell me exactly where you went.”
I sighed. “Dad, I just went out to meet Cassandra and Gloria,” I said, trying to keep my voice at a normal pitch. I was so sick of defending my actions to my father, and I was even sicker of feeling terrified every Samuele he spoke to me in that deadly quiet voice.
“I don’t care,” Dad said. He took a long sip of his cognac, like I was the one driving him to drink.
“Well, you asked where I went,” I said hotly. “What did you expect?” I glanced down at my dress. “That I went out for cheeseburgers?”
“I care where you went,” he said, his words falling like rocks. “But, Melinda, you cannot keep disobeying me like this.” He sighed. “You’re my princess, my baby girl. If something happened to you…” I watched as his grip tightened on the snifter. “If something happened to you, I would not know how to deal with the pain.”
I licked my lips. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I said, softening a little. “I know you’re worried, Dad, but come on. This is ridiculous! I’m twenty-one years old! Do you know what most twenty-one year olds do? They go out and party! They drink! They dance with their friends!” And they hook up with hot bartenders, I thought, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to say that to Dad.
“Melinda, I can’t have you sneaking out and disrespecting me like this,” he said. “Why don’t you have the girls over for dinner some night? We’ll call Giamatti’s and get steaks catered, and some nice wine. Wouldn’t Cassandra like that?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not the point,” I said. “The point is that I should be able to go out and party if I want to! I’m not a child anymore, and you can’t keep me locked up in here like a princess in a tower!”
Dad sighed. “Melinda, I can’t do this anymore,” he said. “I’m getting old. I’m tired.” He stood up from the table, shaking his head. “And if you can’t learn how to behave, you’re not allowed to leave unless I give my explicit approval.”
“But, Dad,” I cried loudly. “This isn’t fair! You’re treating me like a little kid!”
“You’re acting like a little kid,” Dad shot back, growling the words. “You’re acting like a goddamned child, Melinda! Didn’t I raise you better than that?”
I sighed and resisted the urge to glare and stick out my lower lip. On some level, I knew he was right. But I had no idea what I was going to do next. After all, it seemed like things were getting to a breaking point, and I was helpless to stop it.
“Go to bed, Melinda,” Dad said. He shook his head. “You look like a streetwalker in that outfit.”
My cheeks burned with shame as I hiked up the stairs and quietly closed the door to my room. More than anything, I wanted to scream until I was blue in the face. I wanted to cry and kick my legs and shout until I got what I wanted.
But if I was ever going to get any respect from Dad, I knew I’d have to act like an adult.
My face looked plain and puffy when I finished taking off my makeup. I didn’t feel like showering, so I pulled on a favorite old t-shirt and a pair of ratty yoga pants. The comforting clothes usually helped me relax, but not tonight. Spraying my pillow with lavender spray, I crawled into bed and played with my phone until I fell asleep.
In the morning, I smelled bacon and eggs wafting up the stairs before I’d even opened my eyes. The savory smells made my mouth water, and I eagerly pushed the blankets back and pulled a silk robe over my pajamas before venturing downstairs.
Dad was in the kitchen, humming and flipping eggs in a pan. I stared – I couldn’t remember the last Samuele I’d seen him cook. Ever since I was little, Dad had a hired woman, Debra, who came in and prepared most of our meals for us. She also did some light cleaning and took care of all the laundry. I’d never thought about how privileged I was before, but seeing Dad standing in front of the stove suddenly made me feel like a normal girl.
“Hi, Dad,” I said shyly as I sat down at the table. “Why are you making breakfast?”
Dad sighed. “I was up most of the night,” he said. He looked at me and I saw his blue eyes were bloodshot. Dad’s olive skin looked almost sallow, and his hair was sticking up in messy tufts all over his head.
“I’m sorry.” I looked down at my lap, twisting my hands over my thighs and playing with the sash of my robe. “I really am, Dad.”
Dad sighed again. He plated breakfast – one egg for me, three for him – and sat down. His jaw was working like he was already chewing, but I recognized it as a sign of his discomfort.
“Melinda, I know you’re young,” Dad said.
“Dad, I—“
“Wait, Melinda,” Dad said. He looked into my eyes. “Please, let me finish.”
I nodded.
“I know you’re young, and I know young people want to go out and have fun. Melinda, you have to understand that I don’t want you to be unhappy. I want you to have a good life while you’re young like this.”
I bit my lip. I hadn’t expected so much tenderness from him – it was almost enough to make me tear up right at the table. I hadn’t cried in front of Dad in years.
“And I know it must be frustrating,” Dad said. “You’re growing up, you’re more beautiful than ever, and your friends have more freedom than you do.”
I nodded eagerly.
“Which is why I came up with a solution,” Dad said. He smiled tightly, not showing his teeth.
The scent of bacon wafting up from my plate was almost enough to distract me, but now that Dad had me hooked, I couldn’t look away. “What?” I asked softly. “What’s your idea?”
“You’ll have a bodyguard,” Dad said. “Before you protest, no, he’s not going to be an old man. I have just the right man in mind, actually.”
I bit my lip. “Who?”
“Antonio deFiari,” Dad said.
I swallowed. “Him?”
Dad nodded. “Yes, Melinda. Either you have Antonio as your bodyguard, or you don’t go out.” He smiled – this Samuele it was real – and spread his hands through the air, like he was giving me a gift.
I bit my lip. “But…I don’t know him,” I protested. “I’ve only met him once before!”
“Well, you can get to know him at the club,” Dad said. He narrowed his eyes at me, finally picking up a piece of bacon and biting into it. “But don’t expect him to drink and dance with you, Melinda. He’s going to be working, and I won’t have you tempting him.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” I protested hotly. “I haven’t agreed yet!”
Dad chuckled. The old spark in his blue eyes was back. “Well, either you agree, or you stay here until the day you get married,” Dad said. “There ain’t gonna be a middle ground, sweetheart.”
I blushed. “What if I don’t want him?”
Dad frowned. “You’d say that?” he asked. “Melinda, you’re being rude,” he added.
Before I could ask what he meant, Antonio stepped out from the dining room. My mouth went dry at the sight of him. Antonio was tall and muscular, but not bulky like Alexander. His body was lean and finessed, almost like a racing greyhound. He had close-cropped dark hair, dark eyes, and deeply tanned skin. He was wearing an unassuming black outfit, but there was no mistaking the gun holstered to his waist.
“Excuse my daughter, Antonio,” Dad said kindly. He gestured towards the table. “Come, sit with us. Eat something.”
My appetite floated swiftly away as Antonio sat down next to me. He wasn’t wearing any cologne, but a musky scent of tobacco and smoke washed over me. I stared at him until my cheeks grew red.
“Antonio, this is Melinda,” Dad said grandly. “You’re going to escort her out every Samuele she chooses to leave the house.”
“I didn’t say yes yet,” I huffed. I couldn’t look at Antonio for more than a second or two – the intensity rolled off him in waves, like heat from an asphalt parking lot in the middle of August. Just being in the same room as him was making me uncomfortable, and anxious.
And yet, at the same Samuele, I couldn’t stop the small thrill of arousal that was threading its way through my body.
“Well, Melinda, you’ll have to decide soon,” Dad said. He smiled. “Antonio will have to find another job if he isn’t going to protect you.”
I bit my lip. “Let me think about it,” I said, “for a day.”
Dad shook his head. “This isn’t a democracy, Melinda,” he said. “I was very generous by giving you a choice like this in the first place. If you can’t make a decision in two hours, I’m afraid it’s no more socializing for you outside of these walls.”
I groaned. I couldn’t believe how unfair he was being!
The whole Samuele, Antonio hadn’t spoken once. I watched him chew a piece of bacon. His jaw was strong, and there was a dusting of dark stubble over his deeply tanned face. When his dark eyes flickered over me, something hot and fluttery started growing in my tummy.
“I’m going upstairs,” I announced.
“Melinda?”
“What, Dad?” Turning back around, I put my hands on my hips. “What do you want?”
Dad frowned. “You’ll be back down here within two hours to let me know your decision,” he said shortly.
I sighed. “Yes,” I said after a moment. “I will.”