Chapter 3 The Lie

SANCIA

“Did you?!” she yelled impatiently when I didn’t immediately answer. Both Zia Francesca and Zia Lorena moved closer, eyes wide as saucers.

“No,” I said with an assuring chuckle. “Of course not.” I rolled my eyes.

“Jeez, mama, don’t look at me like that. I’m still innocent and pure.” I tried not to give myself away by squirming or blinking as she held my gaze.

“Francesca, can you please take Sancia to the bathroom and…and.”

“Mama, what are you saying?” I shouted in horror, “I was just wondering out loud. I’ve never been with a boy or any man, or you would have known; it’s not like I go anywhere; where would I even meet a man?”

I have always been a good liar, and my madre knows it, which is why she has difficulty believing me. For once, I wish she didn’t know me so well, but she did. Being a good liar isn’t working for me. Usually, it does.

“I promise, you know me. Besides, who would dare touch me?” I added. That finally got to her. I am Sancia. What man would dare touch the daughter of Don Carmello Vincenzo? Knowing what would await him.

No one!

“If you're no longer innocent, now would be the time to tell me before it's too late, Sancia,” she urged; fear constricted my chest as I considered what she said for a split second, but I discarded it quickly, knowing that revealing the truth could destroy my only chance.

“I know how important it is that I remain pure, mama. I would never bring shame to our family like that. I was just angry, and I heard that was why Zia Adelina was sent away after her wedding.” I felt a flicker of guilt, but I was grateful my voice sounded normal.

Sent away was the nicest way I could find to describe what happened to my favorite aunt when I was growing up. No one ever talks about her; it's as if she never existed in our lives, which is unfair to her.

“Swear to me, Sancia, that you are untouched,” she demanded.

“I swear, mama.” There was no hesitation in my voice. Mama stared at me for the longest time before exhaling.

“Don't you ever say something like that again,” she warned.

“You don't know how scared I was when you asked that question. I thought…I thought…” she shivered.

“Anyway, forget it,” she said with a final shake of her head.

“You took a decade out of my life,” my aunt Lorena said, looking like she was about to faint right then.

“I swear I thought my water broke; it turns out it was fear-induced pee; I lost control of my bladder,” she confessed, her pale face gaining color from her blush. “Please don't joke about things like this, Sancia; it's not funny.” Aunt Francesca nodded in agreement.

“I need to go get changed. Will you please come with me, Francesca?”

“Of course, come on.”

Aunt Francesca lent her a hand as she waddled towards the door. The woman looked like she would pop at any time; with her big, rounded belly, I wouldn't be surprised if she had quadruplets.

I honestly couldn't understand why she had to inconvenience herself just to come to this godforsaken wedding from home (Italy). I was apparently the only one who didn't think this was the start of something great.

Don't take my inner thoughts about Zia Lorena to heart. The truth is, I'm at my wits' end and find fault in almost everyone. Lorena is a kind and soft-spoken woman, and I like her a lot.

Both women were still whispering about the blasphemous words I said, their voices too low for me to hear as they left the room. I glanced back at Mama.

“I'm advising you now, don't ever let your father hear that name on your lips.” With that last warning, she was gone. I know what name she meant.

Adelina.

A look passed between Tina and me as she walked towards me. I could see the fear that reflected mine in her eyes. I broke eye contact and turned.

Staring at the woman in the mirror, terrified, big amber eyes stared back at me, accompanied by thick dark lashes straightened to perfection. My small, pointed nose looked more pronounced with makeup.

My pouting lips were lush and fuller, painted a beautiful dark red. My thick, chocolate-brown hair was styled in waterfall waves, the small veil tucked into the braids.

The wedding dress was a pure white work of art, a delicate blend of silk, tulle, and lace with long sheer sleeves, symbolizing the tradition I was expected to uphold, even as I felt trapped beneath its beauty.

To anyone outside my family, I was the perfect bride; no one would see the pain in my eyes, and even if they did, in my world, that is nothing. Marriages like mine have been happening since time immemorial.

My family believes in archaic traditions, one of which is the white bedsheet, despite it being the twenty-first century. A bride must show blood to prove she's a virgin after her first night with her husband, or there will be consequences.

I had lied to my mother. She thought I was untouched, innocent, a virgin. A virgin I was not.

My lover, the stranger I had given myself to, had left no doubt in my mind of that. When I naively asked him after the first time he'd taken me if I could still pass for a virgin, he'd chuckled and flipped me over on my hands and knees without a word. He slid back inside me, going deeper than before.

He'd been rougher that time, taking me harder and faster, sending me into a blinding orgasm that robbed me of sight and speech. Not that I could see much to begin with in that dark room at the back of the shady club.

After he'd gotten his pleasure, he'd asked me if I still had doubts that I was no longer a virgin. I had told him no, that despite the soreness between my thighs, it had felt good. He’d laughed and kissed me for the last time.

I heard his movements as he pulled back his clothes, and just like that, he was gone.

As I sat there completely naked in the backroom of a shady club, my body sore and swollen from two rounds of hard sex with a stranger, I reminded myself why I had done it-because I believed it was what I needed to survive, even as fear gnawed at me inside at the thought of being banished.

My stomach flutters at the thought of the stranger, but I quickly shake away the thought. Honestly, I can't even remember him all that much, except for his blonde hair and his British-accented voice.

It was that same crippling fear that had me in its grip as the time I had been dreading finally came. Papa was dressed in a dark gray tuxedo, his thick, graying hair slicked back. He had that familiar smile forever etched in my mind on his face.

His eyes were dark brown, like my brother Sergio’s. At seventeen, Sergio was already a made man.

“You look beautiful, Sancia,” my brother said in his newly manly voice. It still startled me at times.

Sergio kissed my cheeks and then stepped back; he was so tall and broad, you would think he was older than me. He and I were close growing up, and sometimes I still see the boy he was in his eyes.

Sergio's face was hard; I know he never approved of this marriage.

I blinked as Papa moved closer.

“La mia bellissima figlia,” Papa said, kissing my cheeks lightly, his eyes gleaming with adoration.

“It is time,” he said, as though I needed a reminder. He took my hand and placed it on his elbow as we started down the stairs to the hall where I would take my marriage vows with Lorenzo.