The canvas I faced was smeared with thick blue paint, the dark royal shades interlocking like rippling water. I found myself leaning forward into the depths of the painting, almost like I was curious if it would swallow me.
I couldn't decide what to do next. I knew I wanted something or someone to be floating in the water, but I hadn't yet thought of the right item to paint. I bit my lip, setting down my wide paintbrush dripping with rich blue pigment.
"Time to go, madonna," came a voice from the hallway, and my focus broke as I turned to Raffael, leaning on the doorframe. He looked devilishly handsome in his tuxedo, a smirk on his freshly shaven face. I smiled at him, standing up and balancing on my high heels.
"I'm coming, I'll be right down," I told him, reaching down at my knees to grip the seam of my thick painting smock to pull it over my head. Underneath, my fitting blue dress hung down my figure, sewn with gold flourishes and lined with lace. I tossed the heavy smock on the stool across from the blue painting, fluffing out my long dark hair, which had grown to touch my elbows. I checked my reflection in the hallway mirror, mostly to make sure there was no paint on my face or arms, but also because I was worried the heat would interfere with the concealer covering my black eye. The olive-toned makeup was thickly smothered on purple and red bruises under and around my eyelid, courtesy of Stefano's fist. A few days prior, I had failed to stay out of the way again.
Raffael and Carrie would gathered by the front door, smiling lovingly at each other and talking quietly about something. Raffael surprised her with a sudden kiss, making her erupt in joyous laughter. Normally, I thought the two of them (still newly married) were cute, but I turned away, unable to watch. I still had heard nothing from Michael. I wondered if I had wronged him somehow, said the wrong thing in one of my letters, something to make him hate me. After Sonny told me his youngest brother had joined the Marines, I combed over the last letter he sent me, desperate to find some hint as to what I could've done. But it was just a normal letter, signed with his careful hand. At the top, My darling Luisa, adorned the letter, so it didn't seem like I had done anything wrong. I couldn't fathom how he could stop writing to me so abruptly and leave me to wonder what happened after everything we had. I wished that I had had the courage to tell him I loved him on that hot June afternoon five years ago.
I shook away the thoughts, knowing they would just make me sad. I didn't want to be sad at the wedding; I was happy for Connie and Carlo, they seemed to be in love. I was also happy to have an excuse to visit Sonny and my godfather. Given that I spent most of my days at the gallery, I hadn't had a chance to visit the Corleone estate in a couple months.
Raffael noticed me and beckoned me out the door, where Bernardo, Giuseppe, and Stefano and his two caporegimes were waiting. Theresa, in her elegant pink satin dress, was talking quietly to Stefano, their three kids circling their legs. Like Raffael and Carrie, Bernardo and his girlfriend, Sicilian beauty Dalia Rizzi, were closely embracing and talking gently to each other in a way that made me sick. Love surrounded me and I hated it.
My younger brothers climbed into a car driven by our family consigliere, Augustu, and Raffael, Carrie, and my other sister in law and her kids got in Theresa's car. I headed towards Augustu's car, where Bernardo was beckoning me and offering me the front seat.
"Luisa," came Stefano's cold voice, making me stop in my tracks. He was holding the back door of a sleek, black SUV open, his two capos in the front. My breath caught in my throat.
"Sali in macchina," he said coolly, but with serious eyes. I glanced at Bernardo, who looked uneasy. I took a deep breath and squeezed my fists, walking reluctantly over to my oldest brother. Stefano looked younger than usual in his tuxedo; perhaps it reminded me of his own wedding day ten years before. He was only 21 then, four years as Don Vitale. Back then, our parents' death was still especially fresh in his mind; I wasn't permitted at the ceremony.
I climbed carefully in the cool car, squeezing my hands together to keep them from shaking. I didn't think that Stefano would attack me right before the wedding, but I didn't put it past him. God only knew what Stefano was capable of.
He got in the car on the other side, sliding easily into the seat. I swallowed, refusing to look over at him as the engine purred gently. My eyes found the three scars on my left wrist, the ones he burned into me a year prior. I was able to hide the discoloration with makeup, but the scar tissue was puffy and noticeable at close view. I waited for him to speak; the memory of him ramming his fist into my face three days before played in my head, and I could practically hear my heart pounding in my chest.
"Lighten up, piccola," he laughed coldly, leaning back in the leather seat. "We're going to a party."
I was grateful that he was in a good mood, and could feel myself relax a slight bit at that fact. Still, I had to be very careful with my words.
"Can't wait," I said unconvincingly. He narrowed his eyes at me.
"I'm sure you know that it's a little more than a party," he said soberly. He pulled out a cigarette and some matches, and it took everything in me not to be paralyzed with terror at the sound of him lighting the match.
"What do you mean?" I asked uneasily, trying to keep my voice steady, my arms tensing. I was trying to pretend I didn't know that Godfather would be conducting business during the party, but I doubt my pretending was convincing, either. He knew I was more observant than that. His eyes darkened.
"Don't let me catch you upstairs," he growled, his voice low. I tried to breathe, feeling frozen.
"Okay," I made out breathlessly, and the car came to a stop. Outside, I heard the buzz of the reception, and my eyes flickered out the window to see the Corleone estate. I hurried out of the car as fast as I could, desperate to get away from Stefano. I saw Theresa's car parked nearby and hurried over to it, Raffael stepping out of the passenger seat. He noticed me immediately and put his arm around me, looking back to see Stefano frowning with his capos.
"You alright?" Raffael asked me, and I shook off my nerves, desperate for a drink.
"Fantastic," I brooded ironically, stepping through the door to the backyard. I smiled at seeing Connie in her wedding dress in the distance, the backyard decorated elegantly for the event. With Raffael's arm around me, I looked around the crowd, before spotting a familiar tustle of brown hair, those dark, deep set eyes--
"Is that Michael?" I gasped, stopping in my tracks. My heart pounded furiously as I stared at the man in the distance, his military uniform crisp and well-fitting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Raffael spot Michael by following my gaze.
"I guess it is," he said, more calmly than I expected, looking over to me with concerned eyes. "You didn't know he was back?"
"You did?!" I exclaimed, turning to him and detaching my eyes from my former boyfriend.
"Sonny told me," Raffael confessed, "he's here for the wedding. I thought you knew. Sorry, I should have told you."
"Why does no one tell my anything?" I exasperated, sighing gruffly.
"Who is she?" I asked, with more disgust in my voice than I intended. Next to Michael, a tall, skinny blond in a red dress was sipping lemonade, timidly talking to him. Raffael shrugged.
"I don't know," he admitted, furrowing his brows with annoyance. "What a prick, bringing a date, knowing you'd be here."
"Fuck!" I seethed, wanting to scream. Michael really was a prick, walking out of my life with no warning for five years and showing up again with someone else like we had never been together. Didn't he know that I never got a goodbye? Didn't he assume that I would wonder what happened? Didn't he understand that he broke my heart?
"Want me and Nardo to kick his ass?"
"No," I huffed, wanting to kick his ass myself. "Maybe later."
Nearby, a waiter walked around handing out champagne glasses, and when he got to us I grabbed two greedily. I downed the first as fast as I could, desperate to stop feeling so fucking bothered by Michael. The alcohol was ice-cold and very bitter, and I felt its effects immediately.
I turned away from Michael, deciding to deal with the pain and confusion of seeing him later tonight. I greeted an exuberant Connie and her parents, who were lovingly happy that I could make it to the wedding. I gave Connie and Carlo my gift of cash, which they were more than happy to accept over some other cliche wedding gift.
I grabbed a new flute of sparkling wine, starting to feel light-headed from all the champagne. Soft music began to play, a song I recognized from my childhood. It was an Italian ballad, Tango delle Capinere. I recognized the soft melody, the violins springing to life, and the gentle voice of a Corleone family member filled the backyard.
"Luisa," came a smooth, low voice behind me, and I almost choked on my champagne. My heart started to pound as I took a shaky breath and turned.
Up close, he was even more beautiful that I remembered. His dark olive Marines uniform fit his tall, slim frame perfectly, the material as clean and polished as possible. His dark hair was combed down in military fashion. His soft, boyish features had hardened and smoothed out over the years, but his eyes were still exactly how I remembered them. Dark like the earth, like the night; and once again, their heavy gaze rested on me.
"Michael," I made out, swallowing my anxieties. He seemed a little nervous too, a slight dusting of rouge dotting his cheekbones.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked me, holding out his hand. I stared at him, wondering how he could ignore the obvious. At second thought, it started to make sense: he knew I wouldn't shout at him on the dance floor during Connie's wedding, and he clearly wanted to explain himself. I glanced behind Michael's shoulder, where about twenty feet away, his tall, blonde date was looking at us. She turned away quickly when our eyes met.
"Your girlfriend is looking at us," I smirked, unable to help the smile on my face. The champagne was getting to me, to say the least.
He looked behind him, and turned back to me with a tiny glint in his eye.
"Don't worry about her," he told me, his voice soft. I kept my eyes on him as I took one more giant sip of champagne before putting down my glass and taking his hand. He led me to the center of the dance floor, gently resting his other hand on my waist. I tried to ignore the intimate sensation, my eyes finding the colorful stripes that adorned the upper left side of his jacket. I smiled, remembering that Sonny told me he had gotten a promotion.
"Do these mean you're important?" I gushed, releasing his hand to run my fingers over the thread. His mouth turned up playfully at my silliness, furrowing his thick brows.
"I'm a Captain," he told me, and I couldn't help but giggle at the thought of my Michael leading a crew of marines.
"Are you drunk?" He asked me, and I shrugged, finally meeting his eyes.
"I'm not not drunk," I told him, slipping my hand back in his.
"Are you doing alright?" Michael asked me carefully, his eyes glinting with concern. My heart sank.
"No," I said bluntly, my voice bitter. "I got my heart broken."
"I'm sorry, Lu."
"Do you know what an asshole you are?" I asked him, feeling angry but keeping my voice steady. "Going dark on me for five years, then showing up here with a date?"
"I should have written back to you," he admitted, sighing anxiously. "I know that. But bringing Kay here wasn't about you."
I nodded to myself, understanding what he meant. If it wasn't about me, it was about my godfather.
"So you're still trying to prove to your father that you want nothing to do with the family business? Is that why you joined the Marines?"
He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head with a slight smile.
"You're still so clever, Lu."
I seethed at his nonchalance, releasing his hands and stepping away from him angrily.
"How could you?" I fumed, squeezing my fists to keep my tears at bay. I was still quiet enough to not make a scene, but I was losing the battle against my tears.
"You have every right to be angry with me," he conceded, his eyes gentle again. "I was a coward." I thought of the blatant irony of the moment; this sharply-dressed captain in the United States Marines stood before me, ashamed of himself, admitting his cowardice. He could lead an army of men into battle but couldn't face his own girlfriend.
"And now?" I asked him, a hot tear slipping out of my left eye. "Now what are you?"
His guilty gaze was intense, and I could tell he didn't know what to say. His eyes flickered to my left eye, where my tear had fallen, and I noticed his eyebrows twitch. He was staring at the left side of my face.
"Luisa," he said uneasily, "your eye..."
In a panicked moment, I realized what he was looking at. I dotted my fingers on the bruised area of my eye, looking down at them. They were smudged with my wet makeup, which had been ruined by my tears. My bruised eye was out in the open.
"Fuck!" I swore under my breath, hiding my eye with my hand as I started quickly towards the house. I turned away from Michael as he said my name again, and suddenly his hand was around my wrist. I turned back at him, anxious tears pooling in my eyes as I saw him looking down at my wrist and examining it. I realized that he had seen the cigarette scars, and the fear and horror in his eyes as he understood where I got the scars nearly knocked me off of my feet.
I turned away quickly, desperate to get into the house. I knew that Connie had concealer in her bedroom and I was determined to fix my makeup immediately. I couldn't walk around with a black eye, people would know about Stefano, and I already could barely handle Michael knowing about my scars.
I heard Michael calling my name behind me, but I kept my eyes forward, not wasting any time looking back at him. My heart rammed powerfully against my ribcage and anxiety threatened to send me into a spiral of panic. I threw open the porch door, praying that nobody was looking at me.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," I whispered to myself, still seeing Michael's horrified expression. I ran up the stairs, my vision blurring, throwing open the door to Connie's room and hurrying to her vanity mirror.
"Lu, I'm... I'm sorry," came Michael's voice, and I looked into the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. I figured that he meant he was sorry Stefano was abusing me, but I wondered if he meant that he was sorry he hadn't been around to stop it. Either way, his apologies were worth nothing to me. My eye throbbed.
With shaky fingers, I turned on Connie's lamp, trying to breathe deeply to calm my heart. I searched her trinkets, finding powder and concealer for my face.
"Why don't you leave?" Michael asked me, shutting the door and leaning on it. I scoffed, rolling my eyes.
"And go where?"
He shrugged. "Anywhere. Your own place."
"I'm unmarried, Michael," I reminded him, my tone biting. "I can't just move out. My brothers would never let me live by myself."
"So get married," he suggested. I felt fury flower in my chest, remembering the promise we had made to each other when we were 17.
"I was planning on it," I scowled, starting to apply the makeup to my face. He looked away shamefully.
"You haven't been with anyone else?" he asked me, his voice low. I let out a shaky breath, squeezing my fists and glaring at him.
"You're such a fool, Michael," I told him, my heart hurting. He was so tactless.
"Luisa, I'm sorry," he insisted, and before he could say any more, the door lurched open again and daylight flooded the room. Raffael's face came into the light, his eyes finding mine quickly before noticing Michael. My brother cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly aware that he had interrupted something.
"Sorry," he said uneasily, before turning to me. "The don is looking for you."
Ice ran through my veins. I swallowed nervously, looking back at my reflection to quickly finish applying makeup to my eye. I set down Connie's concealer and stood, fear seeming to weigh me down. I turned around to face Michael, who looked uneasily at me. His eyes pleaded me to stay with him.
I sighed, shaking my head. He swallowed, looking down, and I wished that I could stay. I silently walked out of the room with Raffael.
"What does he want?" I asked him, and Raffael shook his head and we climbed down the stairs.
"I don't know, but be careful. He's in a sour mood," he warned me, making me sigh with annoyance.
"Lucky for me," I said morbidly. We walked to the foyer, my heels clicking on the hardwood. In the foyer, my oldest brother leaned against the window, looking out at the party and smoking a cigarette. His capos stood quietly near the door, with solemn expressions, like Stefano had just chewed them out.
At our entrance, without turning around, Stefano said, "Esci," in a low voice. The capos left immediately, shuffling past me and my brother.
I swallowed nervously, looking at Raffael. Stefano turned, a brooding frown on his face. He glared at Raffael.
"Esci," the don repeated, ordering his younger brother out. "I wish to speak to my sister alone."
Raffael looked at me nervously. I inhaled shakily, touching his arm gently.
"It's okay," I whispered, and he glanced back at Stefano before turning, shutting the door softly behind him. My skin started to crawl as soon as I was alone with Stefano; I could feel my heartbeat picking up. From the window, Stefano's eyes bore into mine.
"It's time you got married," he told me resolutely. My heart dropped in my chest; I couldn't believe what he was saying.
"What?" I asked instinctively, gasping. "Why?" His frown deepened.
"What would you do instead? Paint pictures?" A cold smile spread across his face as he said the words. More tears threatened to fall.
"I have a business," I insisted, in effort to legitimize my work to him. "It's important to me." I should have known it wasn't the right thing to say.
"I have a business too," he reminded me, his eyes darkening, "and I'm sick of you interfering with it. I'm being generous here, Luisa. You should be grateful I'm not shipping you away again instead."
Grateful?! I wanted to scream. I felt like my life was flying out of control and I could do little to stop it.
"I don't want to get married," I tried, hearing my voice waver with desperation. "There isn't anyone I even want to marry!"
"I have no problem choosing someone for you," he seethed, stepping closer to me. I stared at the cigarette in his hand in awful terror, feeling my hands starting to shake.
"I don't want to get married, Stefano," I insisted, and with sudden violence he gripped my left arm in his hand tightly. His iron grip bruised my skin easily.
"You are such a brat," he spat, shaking me suddenly and raising his voice. "Why can't you just do what you're told?!" His fingers were increasingly painful as they dug into my arm, and I felt humiliated and belittled as I was unable to fight back. I heard myself whimpering from the pain, tears blurring my vision, the pain growing and growing and growing.
The door opened quickly and I sighed with relief, hearing Sonny's furious breaths.
"Get your hands off her," I heard Sonny growling. Stefano stopped shaking me and I was able to look at Michael's oldest brother, his face pinking with anger. At the side of his tuxedo, his fists were tightly clenched.
"You're interrupting," Stefano seethed, his grip still tight and painful.
"Don't make me ruin my sister's wedding day, Stefo," Sonny fumed, his voice tight. In a rare moment of concession, my brother released me, flinging me towards Sonny with a huff. I lost my balance but Sonny caught me expertly, holding me up with a hand on my back. Without another word, Sonny led me out of the room and out into the backyard through a less noticeable side door. On a far side of the backyard but still close to the party, Sonny helped me sit down at a secluded table under shaded trees. My upper arm throbbed; I found the courage to look at the damage. Just after the short sleeves of my dress ended, deep, dark purple bruises littered my left arm, the size and shape of fingerprints.
"You alright?" he asked me uneasily, sitting across from me. I tried to catch my breath, let my thoughts settle enough to speak, but I was unable to respond. He asked me if I wanted a drink, and I nodded my head, holding back my tears. In the distance, I heard elegant singing along with joyous shrieking. I turned to see Johnny Fontane at the stage of the party, singing intimately to Connie while surrounded by fangirls. I watched with disdain, Stefano's dark, angry eyes flashing through my vision.
My head pounded. Sonny returned with two full glasses of brandy, setting one gently in front of me. I grabbed it immediately with my right hand, drinking it as fast as I could. I was desperate to escape that reality, especially when I spotted Michael and Kay talking in the distance.
"Is your arm okay?" Sonny asked me gently, making me sigh bitterly.
"It hurts," I said bluntly, tears dropping from my eyes. My body seemed too tired to sob, but not tired enough to cry.
"He's a mean fucking bastard," Sonny said angrily. "I don't know where he gets it."
"He hates me," I whispered, staring at my empty brandy glass. I wondered what injuries I would have gotten from Stefano if Sonny hadn't gotten me out.
"What was today about?" he asked me timidly, and I sighed heavily.
"He wants me to get married," I said, my voice flat, "so I'll stay out of the way. I've been on thin ice lately. He found out I took some papers from his office. I got a black eye for it."
"Ugh, Luisa," he sighed, looking at me sadly. "Why'd you have to go and do that?"
"They were just client lists," I defended myself, "contact information, nothing crazy. I was just going to use it for the gallery. He overreacted."
"Overreacting is his thing, Luisa. You can't do shit like that," he scoffed, rolling his eyes at my foolishness. Anger gave me a new spurt of energy.
"So what, you think I should just stay out of the way too?"
"You're putting yourself in danger," he scolded me, "and you do it all the time, even though he always overreacts and hurts you. And then your pussy brothers call me up and I have to come get you out before he kills you."
Furious tears pooled in my eyes. I glared at him angrily, livid at his insinuation that I was ultimately to blame for Stefano's outbursts.
"Well, I'm so sorry that my safety has been such a burden to you," I seethed, hot tears rolling down my face. "Next time they call you and interrupt your day, don't come help me, just let me die instead."
His eyes softened with guilt, but before he could say anything, I stood furiously and stormed away. My view of the backyard blurred as I hurried away, towards the parked cars outside the house. I wiped my face as I weaved in and out of the vehicles, desperate to get home and away from the party. I walked all the way home, my mind clouded with my fights with Stefano and Sonny, the anguished looks from Michael. My heart still pounding, I opened the door to my house, going up to my room and tearing off my shoes. I slammed my bedroom door closed, throwing my heels in the corner of the room.
I kept my eyes glued to my blue canvas as I threw my painting smock on over my dress carelessly. I sat on the stool, taking a deep breath and staring deeply into the blue pigment. I knew what to do.
I dipped my thin brush into my ivory paint, touching the tip of it to the blue and making soft strokes against the canvas. As I intended, the image of a drowned wedding dress floated aimlessly through the water; forgotten, discarded, never to be actualized.