The subdued conversations around us drone out Sylvia’s words. Nobody but her friend and I heard. For that, I’m profoundly grateful. I’m not sure I can handle the whole room’s eyes on me in the midst of Gabriel’s grief.

A switch in her flips, and I no longer exist. She looks right through me. Like Magda, she walks to Gabriel’s side to receive the sympathy and support she deserves. I didn’t expect anything different, but it makes my standing clear. Gabriel and I may be married, but only in name. To everyone else I’m still the maid, the slave, the toy, the imposter. I can’t even deny it. All of those things, I am. The only people who pay me kind attention are Michael and Elizabeth Roux.

Elizabeth hugs me by the door. “How is he doing?”

I can only shake my head.

“Come here.” Michael takes me in bear hug, holding me for two seconds to his big body.

Up to now, I haven’t realized how much I needed a hug. There’s nothing sinister in the gesture. The only vibe he gives off is of platonic affection. I immediately like him more.

Elizabeth hovers a palm above my stomach. “May I?”

I try to give her the bright smile of an expecting mother, but my effort flies half-mast. “Sure.”

She places her hand on my belly and looks at Michael with sparkling eyes. “Oh, my God. I swear I feel the baby kick.”

“He’s been kicking up a storm since this morning.”

“You’re beautiful, Valentina. Truly stunning. Isn’t she, Michael?”

“Breathtaking,” he says with a kind light in his eyes.

“I think I’m making the baby active.” Elizabeth removes her hand. “He obviously likes me.” She looks toward the lounge, taking in the guests. “Poor Sylvia.” Her attention returns to me. “Poor Valentina. She hates you, doesn’t she?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Elizabeth makes a sad face. “The way she looks at you…”

“I deserve it.”

Michael grabs my hand. “No, you don’t, and if you ever say something so self-degrading again, I’ll get Gabriel’s permission to spank you myself.”

A baritone voice resonating from behind us makes me jump.

“What was that, Michael?”

The three of us turn in unison. Gabriel is standing two steps away, his white shirt and black tie pristine, as if he hasn’t been wearing it since early this morning. He appears together, like he has a handle on everything. Only the haunted look in his frozen-over eyes gives him away.

“I was just telling Valentina not to put herself down,” Michael says.

Gabriel’s eyes find mine. They penetrate my soul, making me cold inside. “Is that so?”

“Our deepest condolences, my man.” Michael places a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “There are no words.”

“No, there aren’t,” Gabriel says.

“Gabriel.” Elizabeth embraces him. “If there is anything, anything at all…”

“Thank you.”

“Congratulations on the wedding,” Michael continues. “We’re happy for you.”

“Yes,” Gabriel says without looking at me.

Inwardly, I cringe. If I had any doubts about Gabriel’s feelings toward me, I don’t any longer. He thinks like Magda and Sylvia. It’s only his sense of responsibility and honor that prevents him from tossing his true thoughts in my face.

Elizabeth saves the moment by asking Gabriel questions about the funeral planning. All the while, he ignores me without ignoring me. He pretends I’m not standing next to him, but we’re so aware of each other our bodies hum.

The atmosphere is uncomfortable. The stress is too much. Every muscle in my body is clenched. A band tightens around my abdomen, squeezing and holding for three seconds before releasing. After two beats the pattern repeats, but it doesn’t hurt. My first Braxton Hicks contractions.

Needing to escape the tense situation, I offer to get Elizabeth and Michael a drink, but Gabriel stops me before I can walk away.

His fingers curl around my upper arm. “No.”

I stare at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Go upstairs and rest.”

Is he trying to ship me off? Is he ashamed of me? Of everyone seeing the evidence of what happens between us in the size of my belly? Hurtful feelings scorch through me, but this isn’t the time or place. This isn’t about me. Or us. This is about him and Sylvia. This is about Carly.

“All right.” I smile brightly for his guests. “Let me know if you need me.”

I purse my lips as another contraction hits. Gabriel holds my gaze for two more seconds, his eyes too knowing, too piercing. When the invisible vice on my belly snaps, I offer Elizabeth and Michael a polite greeting and free my arm from Gabriel’s hold, turning for the stairs, but he doesn’t let me go. His palm presses on the small of my back.

“I’ll walk you.”

I can’t be alone with him, right now. I’m afraid of the intensity of what I felt a moment ago, and most of all of his honesty. “I’ll be fine. Stay with your guests.”

And he does. He turns around and walks away.

In our room, I sit down on the bed. My hands smooth out the comforter that knows our secrets, our shame. Grief and blame tear me apart. My heart breaks a thousand times over for the man downstairs. I’m powerless to console him. How can I? I’m an ugly, dirty link in a chain of events that led to Gabriel’s daughter’s death.

* * *

Magda is getting impatient with me. She taps her nails on the desk upstairs in Napoli’s. “It’s been a month. You have to move on.”

A month since Carly is gone, and I can’t get my shit together. With moving on, Magda means killing, of course. Some jackass in Braamfontein crossed the line when he burgled our office. A month ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would’ve taken the idiot out without blinking an eye, but I made a promise to myself, for Carly, and I won’t betray my daughter’s memory.

I turn my back to her, facing the window that overlooks the gambling floor below. “Told you, I’m done. I’m out.”

There’s anger in her voice. “Without you, we’ll go under.”

“You have Scott and a thousand others you can recruit.”

“You are my son. Albeit a useless one, and thanks to––” She cuts herself short, gulps in some air. A shaky breath slips into the silence. “Now we don’t have an heir.”

Damn right, we don’t. My son won’t end up like me, just like it was never my intention to marry Carly off to a criminal worthy of running our shady business. What Magda won’t see is that we never had an heir, and we never will.

“It’s your business.” I turn back to face her. “Do with it what you will, but I’m leaving.”

Scorn deforms her mouth. “What will you do? How will you live?”

She’s got me by the balls and from the way that scornful smile grows into a spiteful grin she knows it. I have no idea. I have a wife and soon I’ll have a child to take care of. People hate me. Enemies have grudges. I need to keep my family safe, and the only way to do it is to have money. State of the art alarm systems, ammunition, and guards cost bucks. Big bucks.

I cast out my feelers carefully. “I could still run the office, take charge of our business affairs.”

She throws me a snide look. “In our business the only bosses respected are the ones who get their hands dirty.”

“We could clean up the business.”

She slams her fist on the desk. “This isn’t how this city works, and you know it.” She points a finger at me. “Try and run a clean loan shark business and see how far you get. The competition will ruin you in a day, and if they don’t, the police and government will. They’ll take kickbacks from someone willing to pay it, and we’ll be finished. Over.”

The sad part is she’s right. If you can’t do bribes and play dirty, you’re going down.

“I will not see my hard work to build this company up to where it is go down the drain.” She accentuates her statement with a nail she pushes on the polished wood of the desk.

I won’t break my vow. That leaves only one option. “I’m sorry, Magda. I guess that means you’re on your own.”

Her body goes rigid. Pushing back her chair, she rises stately. It looks as if her back is about to snap. The fine hair on her upper lip and chin trembles. Her nostrils expand and shiver like a buck smelling lion.

She presses her palms flat on the desk, regarding me from over the rim of her glasses. “You’re making a mistake.”

“This is the only right thing I’ve done in my life.”

Her arms are shaking so badly she has to lock her elbows. I’ve never seen her this mad.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” she hisses. “It’s her idea. Her doing. She planted this in your dim-minded head.”

My defenses rise. “Leave Valentina out of this.”

Her eyes narrow to slits. “I should’ve known. Should’ve guessed this is her game. She’s always been too holy for us.”

I take a step toward the desk. “Leave her alone.”

“This is what it’s come to, then?” She straightens, balling her fists at her sides. “You’ll choose her over your family, over your own mother?”

“She is my family, and yes, she comes first.”

Magda reels at my words. I may as well have slapped her. The color of her skin takes on an ashen tone. For a few seconds, emotions suspend between us––shock, betrayal, disappointment, anger. They pollute the air and poison the blood that’s supposed to be thicker than water.

When there’s no other expression but disillusionment left on her face, she says flatly, “Get out.”

I throw her words around in my mind. This is what it’s come to. To be honest, we’ve always been heading this way. I was always the son who disappointed. She took my choice and gave me a gun, but I’m not that boy any longer. I’m the man Magda bitterly hoped I would never be.

Rapping my knuckles on the desktop, I give her my resignation with a tight nod and turn my back on her and the future I’ve been building all my life. A part of me feels sorry for her. Not only did she lose her only granddaughter, but also the ambitions she had for her son. I won’t be her successor. I won’t salvage and nurture the business she busted her balls for. It will go with her to her grave, and what I’ve done for this business will take me to hell.

Outside, I stop on the landing for a breath. I lean my palms on the balustrade and inhale deeply. This is where it all started. This is where I laid eyes on Valentina for the first time. She looked so young and damn innocent in her white uniform and so strong. She was standing right there, at that table, and when the croupier grabbed her arm, I wanted to chop off his hand for laying a finger on her. The minute I looked into her scared but defiant eyes, I wanted her. She was a challenge and a mystery. She was brave and naïve. So damn hot and so damn untouchable. Unobtainable, and yet, just there, within my reach. Every contradiction in the book. The woman I wanted, and the woman I had to kill.

It seems like three lifetimes ago, but it’s only been a year. If I were a better man, I’d right the decision I took here that night by setting her free. I’d cut her lose like I cut the cords with The Breaker, but I’m not a good man. I can never let her go. This is my unrepented evil. She’s my biggest sin.

Looks like we came full circle. It ends where it began. With her. Somewhere in between, I lost Carly. My marriage, the baby, the changes in our living arrangements, it was too much. My ruthless lust for a woman I stole drove my daughter away from me, pushed her right over the edge. My burden doesn’t feel lighter when I descend the stairs and walk the hell away from who I used to be. It only grows heavier the nearer I come to the house. I can’t lay that godforsaken burden down, because it will mean I have to set Valentina free, but I can’t look at her, either, because it means I’ll have to face my guilt.

* * *

As the days move on, Gabriel grows further and further away from me. He’s closed up in himself, and no amount of probing or baiting can lure him out. To suffer the loss he did is shattering, and the grief is devastating. He eats well and exercises every day. His body is the same rock-hard, strong one I remember, but the man inside has changed. Is he even in there, in the darkness that’s become his mind? No matter how much I talk or touch, I can’t get through to him.

From the dark circles marring his eyes, I know he’s not sleeping, even if he no longer sleeps next to me. After the funeral, he moved into the spare bedroom. He doesn’t go to work or see friends. He stays at home all day, but well away from me. When he’s not closed in his study or working out in the gym, he’s doing DIY work around the house. I watch him with his shirtless body up on the ladder, and my body doesn’t care that he’s still in grief or that he blames me. It only wants what it’s being denied––my husband’s touch.

Abstractly, he’s never been my husband, of course. Our house of cards, my make-belief reality, has come crushing down, and the man who taught me to be hungry for his caresses is now withholding them from me. This makes me sad. Since he hasn’t been inside me for weeks, I feel obsolete, like a purposeless burden. When he didn’t give me a choice, I didn’t want to be his toy or his wife, and now that I’m neither, I desperately want to be one or the other, preferably both. I’ll settle for anything he gives. There has to be hope, because he still gets hard for me. It’s difficult to hide when he’s working out in his sweatpants or swimming in his trunks.

Tonight, I cook his favorite dishes––lamb roast, green beans with bacon, and fried potatoes––and set a table with candles outside. Rhett, Quincy, and Charlie are dining inside, as usual. The falter in Gabriel’s step when he comes downstairs and sees the romantic setting in the garden almost has my courage failing.

Meeting him at the bottom of the staircase, I take his arm and lead him outside, not giving him the choice of heading for the dining room.

Without a word, he seats me and takes the opposite chair.

His gaze moves over the meal. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just dinner.”

For the first time in a month he meets my eyes directly. “Just dinner?”

“And spending time alone. We’re always with the others, not that I’m complaining. I like them, but…” Damn. My courage fails me.

The look on his face stops me before I can work up the nerve to finish my sentence. A veil falls over his eyes, and a shutter clicks in place. The silence stretches as he regards me with an emotion that slowly breaks through his unreadable expression. Under the thick surface of his mask, I recognize pity.

He pities me. He must think I’m pathetic. Irrational anger spreads through my veins. This is his doing, what he made me. If I’m needy, it’s his fault. If I want him, he’s to blame. How dare he sit there and judge me, feel sorry for me for wanting him? Tears prick at the back of my eyes. No matter how fast I bat my eyelashes, I can’t blink them away. One slips free, two… Goddamn. Do I have to show weakness after weakness?

The mask slips another fraction as he reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Don’t.”

Don’t cry? Don’t want? Don’t feel? I want to shout and hurt him like I’m hurting, but I sniff my tears away and force my irrational hormones down.

“I’m trying so hard…” My voice cracks on the last word. I can’t carry on speaking for the fear of sobbing all over the roast.

He rubs a thumb over my knuckles. “You don’t have to try, beautiful.”

I don’t have to try what? Staring at him through my tears, I will him to explain, but he doesn’t.

He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the back. “You need your strength. Shall I dish up for you?”

My heart shatters into tiny shards. It takes everything I have to take my rejection gracefully and not jump and fight him like a bitch in heat. I nod. When he’s busy dishing food onto my plate I quickly wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. It’ll be easier for him to just let me go.

“Gabriel?” I wait until he faces me. “Set me free.”

His eye turn hard. “I already told you it’s not going to happen.” He puts down the spoon. “Eat. Your food’s getting cold.”

I vowed to take whatever I could get. Looks like I’m settling for being an unwanted responsibility.

* * *

Kris picks up on my change at work. She drags me outside to the garden table for lunch and sets down a box of chow mein takeout in front of me. I feel bad that Charlie is eating alone inside, but when I mention it, she shakes her head and points a chopstick at me.

“Stay put. We’re going to talk.”

I groan.

“You can give me that look all you like,” she shakes out a napkin in her lap, “but you’re going to spill the beans. What’s eating you?”

“Hormones.” Lately, I’ve been using that a lot as an excuse.

Her chin sets in the way that says she won’t give up. “How are things at home, with Gabriel, I mean?”

I don’t want to saddle Kris with my problems, but I do need a friend to confide in. “Not well. He’s a walking corpse.”

She stuffs her mouth with noodles and mumbles, “Sounds kind of normal with what he’s going through.”

Immediately, I feel selfish and bad for thinking of my needs when I should be placing his first.

“Mourning takes time,” she says.

“He hasn’t been back to work, and he hardly leaves the house.”

“He doesn’t need to work if he doesn’t want to. He’s got enough money.”

“I’m worried about him sitting in his study all day.”

“I’m sure he’s doing stuff.”

“I wish I knew what to do to help.”

“Give him space.” She takes another big bite. “And be patient.”

When I don’t say anything for several seconds, she stops eating and looks at me again. “You want things to work out with him, don’t you?”

This is the crux of the problem. “Yes,” I whisper.

“You feel you shouldn’t because of how the two of you started.”

“I don’t know what I feel. I only know I want this to be real. I don’t want to pretend, anymore. I want a real husband who loves me for me, not an owner who married me so his enemies won’t decapitate me.”

“Whoa.” She laughs. “It sounds harsh when you put it like that.”

“But true.”

“Yeah. Harsh, but true. What are you going to do?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me. What should I do, Kris?”

“I guess it depends on what you want.”

“I want him.”

“Then fight.”

“Fight?”

“Yes. Give him another few months to mourn and then start walking around naked. That should catch his attention.”

I swat at her with my napkin. “We have other people living in the house.”

“I know. Maybe that’s part of the problem. You need time alone. Send the guys away and bring Charlie over to me.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I’m practical.”

“You’re still a good friend.”

She checks her watch. “Eat your food. We’re back on in five. See? I’m practical.”

That gets a laugh out of me.

* * *

Pulling weeds from the vegetable garden, I sit flat on my ass on the ground as I can’t bend down anymore. Dr. Engelbrecht, who does a house call every second week, tells me I’m gaining too much weight. Some of it is water retention, but for the most part it’s unhappiness. I gobble down ice cream with peanut butter sauce when I’m sad, at least since I’m pregnant. The extra weight restrains my movements, and I still have two months to go.

The July midday sun beats down on my head. Even in winter, it’s hot. I seem to have an internal heater inside, making things worse. Unless I want to faint from overheating, I better seek out the cool interior of the house. As I’m battling to lift my heavy body, a pair of hands clasps my elbows and helps me to my feet.

I look up into Quincy’s face. “My knight in shining armor. Thank you.”

“Where’s Gabriel?” He looks pissed off. “Wait, don’t tell me. In his study.”

“This is hard on him, Quincy.” I don’t know if I mean me, the baby, or Carly’s passing. Probably all three.

“Yeah.” He motions at my stomach. “This is not hard for you.”

“It’s not the same.”

He looks like he wants to argue, so I say quickly, “Charlie has a session with Christopher. I’m going to make a fresh pitcher of iced tea.”

“Need help?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He watches me broodily as I make my way back to the house. Christopher is already there, chatting to Rhett. I show the doctor and Charlie into the cinema room with an uneasy feeling. The last few sessions left a mark on Charlie. He was agitated afterward, but Christopher wrote the mood swings off to a normal mid-phase of the therapy. Today, I wait by the door, immediately noticing the tense set of Charlie’s shoulders as he exits.

I grab his arm before he can escape. “How did it go?”

“Po–pool.” He jerks free and skirts around me, heading for the sliding doors.

“I made iced tea,” I call after him. “It’s apple and cinnamon.” Charlie’s favorite.

He gives me a backward glance, but walks away with quick steps. He’s irritated and won’t be swayed.

Christopher follows next. “Well, I’ll be on my way, then.”

“Can we please talk for a moment?”

He glances at his wristwatch. “I have another appointment.”

“Five minutes?”

He can’t refuse me without being rude, but the corners of his mouth turn down. “All right.” He puts his briefcase down and takes the tea I offer.

“Charlie’s been irritable of late. To be exact, since your last four sessions.”

“I told you it’s normal. We hit a barrier in his development, and breaking through it is hard work, but once we’re through he’ll be fine. Better than fine.”

“What are you working on?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that. It may compromise our goal if you interfere.” I open my mouth to object, but he stills me with a hand in the air. “Trust me, all caring relatives interfere. It’s human nature. We can’t stand seeing our loved ones suffer. Just remember that all great results come with hard work.”

I’m not reassured, but he downs his drink and leaves the glass on the table. “Great iced tea. It reminds me of my grandmother.”

“Thank you,” I mumble as he sees himself out.

I’ll give it two more sessions, and if Charlie is still worked up, I’ll stop the treatment. Sometimes Charlie gets impatient, especially when he can’t express his feelings, but mostly, he’s just a big, huggable bear. I don’t want him to be unhappy, ever.

* * *

Days weave into nights and nights into days. Time is one, slow, never-ending, torturous cycle. Most days, I pour over photo albums with pictures of Carly from when she was born up to her death. I study each picture, hunting for details and information I may have missed before, like on how many photos she wore her blue T-shirt with the red heart. I never realized how much she liked it. Had I known, I would’ve packed it in a box and kept it with her first baby shoes, her favorite rattle, and the doll she slept with until she was five, the one whose hair she cut off, believing it would grow back. My life is a box of memories. Full, yet empty.

I’m making an effort to carry on with my life. The money in my bank account won’t last forever. I accepted a management job at one of Michael’s firms, which is nothing but charity from his side. He’s turned out to be a good friend, and no matter how hard it is to pull my head out of the sand, I refuse to disappoint him.

Magda and I are still not on speaking terms. She sent me an email stating whatever happened between us, her grandchild will always be welcome in her house, and she hopes I’ll change my mind.

Tough luck. I’m on my way to a new future that doesn’t involve loan sharks or breaking bones. I need to do this for me, but also for the people who depend on me to take care of them.

I’m about to leave for my first day on the new job when Quincy steps into my study.

Adjusting my tie, I say, “I’m running late.”

The wide stance he takes makes me look, really look, at him. His fists are balled at his sides and his jaw is flexed. He is mad. Furious.

“We’re going to talk, Gabriel. Now. This has gone on for long enough.”

“Talk about what?”

“You want me to spell it out for you?”

What the fuck is eating him? “Why don’t you?”

“Your neglect of Valentina.”

It takes a moment for his words to register. “My neglect of––” And then they sink in. “What?” I glare at him. “It’s none of your business.”

His stance becomes wider. “Is she your wife or isn’t she?”

My temper starts to slip. “Of course she’s my wife.”

“Then act like a husband, and if you can’t, let someone else.”

I see fucking red. Burnt black with orange, melted edges. “Keep out of my business,” I growl, “and out of my wife.”

“She deserves better. You got her pregnant. Now treat her right.”

Grabbing his lapels, I lift him off his feet. “If you’re wise, you’ll shut your mouth.”

He doesn’t look scared in the slightest. “Can’t face the truth? Not man enough to hear it?”

Before I can stop myself, I slam my fist into his jaw. He goes flying, hitting the floor with a thump. At that very moment, the object of our discussion walks through the door. Valentina freezes, looking from me to Quincy who is sprawled out on the tiles. It’s him she rushes to.

“Quincy! Are you all right?” She gives me a startled look. “Gabriel, what’s wrong with you?”

The jealousy I had tapered down to an art during the last few months bubbles back to the surface, ugly and acidic in my throat. She’s mine, and she’s carrying my child. Nobody gets her, no matter how much better a man he is.

Before I say or do something I’ll regret, I leave Quincy in her concerned hands and set off for work. I’m not going to tell her about it until the time is right, until I know it’s working out. She doesn’t need to worry about where the money is going to come from.

* * *

Throwing my full weight behind my resolution, all I eat, drink, and live for is work. I’m adjusting well in the company and get on with Michael. I respect him as a friend and boss. Elizabeth is his second-in-command. She often asks about Valentina, but gives up when she gets nothing out of me. It feels strange to work my way up in someone else’s business, but I’m grateful for the challenge. It keeps my mind off darker thoughts. The kinder they are to me, the harder I work to earn it. I want to prove my worth to them, but mostly to myself. This isn’t my father’s business or my mother’s money. I’m earning my own way, and it’s harder than I thought. I spend long hours at the office, coming home after eleven when the rest of the house is asleep, and leaving before they wake. Little by little, day after day, I stitch back a resemblance of a life.

* * *

It’s seven in the evening when Magda’s car pulls up to our gates, and Scotts announces her through the gate intercom. What is she doing here? Did Gabriel invite her for dinner? Since the funeral, she hasn’t been back to the house. Even if Gabriel doesn’t say as much, they must have had some kind of fallout.

I brush down my dress, a nervous habit that stuck with knowing how much she disapproves of my choice of clothes, and meet her at the door.

Her manner is urgent. “Is Gabriel still at work?”

“You’ll know better than me.”

“Me?”

“He works with you, doesn’t he?”

“He hasn’t told you?” She makes big eyes. Behind her faked expression, she seems pleased. “He works for Michael and Elizabeth Roux, now.”

Wow. That’s like pushing a needle under my nail and twisting it. The fact that he didn’t tell me something this important hurts in ways I don’t care to examine.

“Come in.” I step aside, wondering how much I should ask. I don’t want to give her ammunition to shoot down the already crumbling walls of whatever warped relationship Gabriel and I have left. I’m holding onto the ruins with both my hands, digging my nails into the broken bricks as I dangle over the wall, but I’m not sure cracks of that size can ever be filled.

She looks around the space. “Where’s everyone?”

“Charlie is upstairs, and Rhett is in his room.”

“Quincy?”

“With Gabriel.”

“Ah. Good. I was hoping we could talk alone. Can we go somewhere private? I don’t want to be interrupted.”

An itch crawls down my spine. I should say no, but my gut is stirring, and red flags are waving in my mind.

“In here.” I lead her to Gabriel’s study, the nearest room with a door.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you he left our company,” she says once we’re inside. “Then again, he doesn’t tell you much, does he?”

Why did he hide it from me? And Rhett and Quincy? Are they in on this, too? I can’t help how defensive I sound. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I bet he never told you why you fell pregnant.”

That itch from earlier spreads over my skin, making every nerve-ending tingle in alarm. “What?”

“He replaced your birth control with placebo pills.” She pushes a USB key into my hand. “Here’s the proof, and the reason why he chose you.”