STOLEN SMILE

CATERINA

"Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust."

-John Webster

†******†

IT WAS SILVER, TINY, AND reflective. I could almost see my face in it.

Grace's dress, of course. Long feather earrings, green heels, with her hair piled on the top of her head and no makeup but red lipstick made up her ensemble tonight.

"......you're going to do it, do it with a male stripper. Trust me on this one." She was talking to my fifteen-year-old cousin Emma, who sat at the kitchen island sipping punch through a straw while looking bored.

All my aunts conversed about Audrey's bachelorette party as I sat off to the side and across from Nonna at the table, with a cup of coffee in front of her. We'd only heard that tiny bit of Grace's conversation before my family's noise drowned out the rest.

I shook my head, slightly amused, but more unsettled. The words Oscar Perez had whispered in my ear earlier sank to the pit of my stomach. He'd pulled me aside once more to tell me to smile, that it would complement my belleza-whatever that meant. I didn't speak Spanish and I never wanted to. The beautiful language sounded harsh and invasive from his lips. I hated when someone told me to smile, as if a smile of mine belonged to them and not me.

He never had clarified why he'd be upset that I ran away and slept with a woman, but there was only one reason I could ascertain:

He thought he was going to marry me. It was hard to imagine Papà would agree to it considering Oscar wasn't even Italian, but why else would I have sat next to him at dinner when I never had to before?

"You are unhappy."

My gaze coasted from the scratches in the wooden table to Nonna's brown eyes. I shook my head. "No, I'm not." I would never let a man like Oscar Perez steal my happiness.

"You are not a good liar, cara mia."

I didn't respond, uncertain of what to say.

"The littlest problems seem so great to those who are young."

she lamented. "I used to worry like you, you know. Do you know what it got me? Not a thing. Do not waste your time on things you cannot change." She stood up, bracing a hand on the table. "I'm going to bed.'

"Goodnight, Nonna."

She stopped, turning to me. "Do you know what you need to do when you are unhappy?"

I didn't want to argue with her that I was not unhappy, so I raised a brow. "What?"

"Something exciting."

"Like?"

"I don't know. Maybe smoking cigarettes with beautiful young women."

Ugh. A smile pulled on my lips. Only she would think of Jennifer as a young woman.

"Goodnight, tesoro." Nonna winked.

†****†

The candle's flame danced, a bleak reminder of false smiles in the orange, mesmerizing light. Sheer curtains blew in the light summer breeze, and a lamp cast a soft glow against the wall of shelved books. Frank Sinatra leaked under the library door so quietly it could be a distant memory of a similar night half a century ago.

I sat with my legs folded against my side in a seat by the fireplace, a book lying on the arm. I hadn't read more than two pages until I'd given up and rested my head against the chair and stared at the candle filling the room with the smell of lavender. My heels lay forgotten on the floor, the white bows unraveled across the red oriental rug.