by Deanna Roy
“It’s complicated,” I say. “All the shame for all those years. Being hidden away like a monster. Having my baby taken away. All for nothing. He was just some kid. His aunt must have convinced my dad he was his.”
“Obviously your dad was playing around,” Blitz says. “It had to be a credible threat.”
That is true. For the first time, I have the moral high ground over my father.
“Denham was almost two years older than me. If you add in nine months for the pregnancy, Dad would have been with that woman early in his relationship with Mom. They weren’t married yet.”
“But she could do the math,” Blitz says. “And your dad must have been pretty anxious to make his own son keep quiet in order to live there.”
“Not-son,” I correct. What a relief it is to say that.
“I guess he did do right by you in tracking you down to tell you that,” Blitz says, kissing the top of my head. “I suppose I shouldn’t have knocked him unconscious.”
“You were defending my honor,” I say. “Again.” I remember his flattening a guy on our very first date, a man who insulted me outside a Mexican restaurant.
“Is this too much? You want to cancel the dinner tonight?” Blitz asks.
“No, no,” I say. “I’ve already waited a month to meet them.”
Blitz gives me one more squeeze and stands. “We’ll get past this, Livia. That guy will be nothing more than a blip in our very long lives.”
I head back to the bathroom to get ready for dinner. I want Blitz to be right. But I knew Denham very well. And I can still hear his threat.
I’m going to find that baby.
Chapter 6
Blitz’s parents live in a modest house just outside Alamo Heights. When he pulls his red Ferrari into the drive, a middle-aged couple comes out on the porch, which is still decked with Christmas lights since they just got back in town.
I’ve never done this before, met anyone’s parents. I’ve barely met anyone at all since I was fifteen, just a few people from our tiny church and the dance instructors at Dreamcatcher Academy. I arrange the skirt of my new dress and fuss over the collar of my coat. Blitz comes around to open my door and peeks his head in.
“Remember, if they howl the cry of my pack, howl with them or they will attack you as an enemy.”
“Blitz!”
He steps back, laughing, as I get out of the car.
He pulls me into his arms once I’m out and whispers close to my ear, “Just remember, my dad is pretty rough around the edges. Hopefully Mom will make up for him.”
My fingers clutch his sweater as I try to steady my nerves. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him.
Blitz’s mother looks friendly as we approach. She wears black dress pants and a shimmery tunic. Her hair is deep black and twisted in a simple bun. She’s not flashy, just small earrings and only a bit of makeup.
His father seems to have a natural scowl, his big eyebrows turned down. He wears khaki pants and a deep blue short-sleeved button-down shirt that I know from Blitz is called a guayabera. He’s oblivious to the chill. He seems considerably older than the mom, his gray hair thin and combed over.
The house itself is simple, sandy brick with slender white columns on the porch, a single-car garage at one end.
Blitz takes my hand as we reach the steps. “Mamá, Papá, this is Livia. I think you saw her on the show a few weeks ago. Livia, this is David and Renata.”
His father snorts, but his mother holds out her arms. “What a brave young girl you are,” she says, stepping forward to pull me into an embrace. “You must have been terrified going in front of all those people! Benjamin tells me you are a ballerina.”
The father snorts again.
“Yes,” I say as she releases me. “Well, I dance ballet. I’m still a student.”
This makes the father raise his eyebrows. “Are you in high school?”
“No, Papá, I did not rob any cradle,” Blitz says. He seems annoyed by his father’s suggestion. “She is at a dance academy.”
“Let’s go inside,” his mother says. “Before this foolish old man in his short sleeves freezes right to death.”
“This cold is nothing,” his father says. “You are all just too soft.”
Wow. This is going to be interesting. I’m starting to see what Blitz is talking about with his father. I take a few deep breaths, prepared for a tough evening with him.
We head inside the house. It’s warm, and I take off my coat immediately before I break out in a sweat from the anxiety. Blitz takes it from me.
“I’ll get some tea,” Renata says and disappears down the hall.
David stretches out in a big brown chair like he’s going to act any way he wants, no matter the company. Blitz pulls me next to him on a flowered sofa.
There’s a fire burning in a small brick hearth near us. “How was Colorado?” Blitz asks.
“Snowy,” David says. “Your mother drags me there every damn year.” He picks up a large glass of iced tea from the table by his chair and takes a drink. “I live in San Antonio to stay away from all that mess.”
I have no idea what to say. I concentrate on Blitz’s hand. He’s taken mine and bends each finger one at a time as if he, too, is trying to manage his discomfort.
David has just picked up the TV remote when Renata comes back in with a silver tray of mugs.
“David, we have company!” she says.
He makes a big point of sighing and dropping the remote back on the table.
I glance over at Blitz. He is more or less relaxed, the only hint of annoyance in the tightness of his jaw. I wonder if meeting parents is always this difficult or if Blitz’s father is just a hard case. Then I imagine Blitz meeting my father, and figure, yes, it’s probably always this rough.
I take a mug from Renata and thank her for it, the first words I’ve said since we sat down.
“I saw the finale, of course,” Renata says as she settles on a tall cushioned chair. “I’m glad Blitz didn’t end up with that Giselle woman.”
“I liked her,” David says. “That girl had spunk.”
I grip my mug with tense fingers.
“Of course you liked her,” Blitz says. “She was a tramp.”
“Benjamin!” his mother says. “Be respectful of ladies.”
“That tramp was no lady,” his father says.
My head is spinning. The family banter tells me a lot about who influenced Blitz the most. I think he was right when he said every nasty thing that got him in trouble on the show came from his father.
“Tell me how you two met,” Renata says. “Was it at your dance school?”
Blitz nudges me. “You tell it, Livia.”
My hands are shaking around the mug, so I set it down. “Well, I was dancing and there aren’t a lot of male instructors there.”
David harrumphs. “See, I told you real men don’t go to dance school.”
“David,” Renata admonishes.
I lace my fingers together, remembering I had enough courage to walk on a live television broadcast, so I could surely tell a grumpy father a story.
“So I was surprised to see Blitz, of course,” I say. “I didn’t know who he was.”
“Really?” Renata asks. “I thought everybody knew Blitz.”
“I don’t watch a lot of television,” I say. “I’d never seen the show.”
“Interesting,” Renata says. “Are you more of a reader?”
“I spent most of my time studying for the SAT,” I say.
“Are you going to college?” she asks.
“Soon. I still have to take the essay portion.” I’m not sure if I should keep talking about this or go back to the story. I hesitate, looking over at Blitz.
“Tell her how you taught me to arabesque,” Blitz says.
“Blitz doesn’t know a lot of ballet,” I say. “So I taught him a few things. The arabesque. Grand jeté.”
“And the five ballet positions,” Blitz adds.
&n
bsp; “So you got to know each other during these lessons?” Renata asks. “How romantic.” She takes a sip from her mug. “So how did Livia end up as a surprise guest on your show?”
“The man who built the academy where I attend took me on a plane to California,” I say. I’m not sure how much to say. I can’t tell her Blitz was planning to sabotage himself. “He is a producer on the show and felt it would make for really good ratings.”
Blitz draws me closer to him. “She’s being nice. I was about to screw up everything and she saved me.”
Renata looks at him curiously, and is about to ask more when a timer goes off in another room. “That’s the casserole!” she says, hopping up. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
She’s going to leave us alone with Blitz’s father again. David already has his eyes back on the TV remote.
I make a move, jumping to my feet. “I’d like to help,” I say.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Renata says.
“I’d love to learn from you,” I say.
She hesitates. “Well, okay.”
“Good,” David says. “Let the women get the meal.” He clicks on the television.
I glance back at Blitz as his mother and I head down the hall. He’s shaking his head and gives me a wink.
Chapter 7
Renata’s kitchen is warm, organized, and bright, all cream with red accents. Piles of chopped tomatoes, yellow peppers, and jalapeños sit brightly on a counter.
“It smells wonderful in here,” I say.
Renata opens the oven and peers inside. “Do you cook much?”
“Yes,” I say. “But not Mexican food.” I glance over at the tortilla warmer and a pair of uncut jalapeños. “My dad is very much a meat and potatoes man.”
Renata laughs. “I’ll teach you to make carne guisada and papas pablanos. That will make any man happy with his meat and potatoes.”
“I’d like that,” I say. “What was Blitz’s — Benjamin’s favorite food as a kid?”
“Macaroni and cheese!” Renata says. She slides on a pot holder and pulls the steaming casserole from the oven. “From the box! I swear every time he went to a friend’s house he came back with worse ideas for food.”
“But you made it for him?”
She sets the casserole on a wide iron trivet on the counter. “I did. He and his brother Dante wanted to eat like their friends’ families.” Renata waves her arms toward the window and the street out front. “It’s where we chose to live.”
“But it’s San Antonio,” I say. “Lots of Hispanic families live here.”
“Yes,” she says. “But the neighborhoods are all different. I probably would have chosen something else, but David insisted. Of course, all the things Benjamin was exposed to here were what led him to be a dancer. So, it was good in the end.”
Renata scoops up the piles of cut vegetables and peppers and drops them into a large wooden bowl. “Are you from San Antonio?”
“Houston, actually,” I say. “We moved here when I was fifteen.”
“How long ago was that?” She gives me a side eye as she mixes lettuce into the bowl and slowly adds dressing.
She’s trying to figure out my age. “Four years ago,” I say. “Coming up on five.”
She nods. “Have you met Dante yet?”
“No,” I say. I knew Blitz has a younger brother because he called him Christmas Day, but he hasn’t made any sort of appearance.
“Ah, soon I will get both my boys together. Dante is like Benjamin, eager to be out and live wild.” She smiles at me. “But maybe you tamed the beast.”
She passes me the bowl. “Take this to the dining table, if you don’t mind. Out that way.” She gestures to a second door.
I head there. I’m surprised to see Blitz and his father sitting already. David is in the process of opening several bottles of beer.
“We moved on to the aperitif,” Blitz says, picking up the bottle. He holds one out to me.
I set down the salad bowl and take the beer. I’m still underage, but I’ve gotten used to drinking lightly when it fits the situation. In the past month, Blitz has had meetings at restaurants and sometimes at bars, and I prefer to blend in.
I know that the comment about the aperitif is meant to be a slight against his father, as I’ve only heard that word at fancy restaurants and brown bottles of beer wouldn’t qualify. The tension between them is pretty intense.
David takes a slug from the bottle and watches for me to sip from mine. We don’t drink beer often so I’m not used to it. It’s dark and bitter and fills my mouth with an overwhelming amount of flavor.
I try to control my expression, but David lets out a sharp laugh. “You brought home a real young one,” he says. “I guess you can teach her to be anything you want.”
Blitz brings the bottle down on the table with a thunk. “Be nice to her, Papá,” Blitz says. “I didn’t bring her here to be abused.”
“Bah,” David says. “You obviously fancy this one. She’s all right. But she’s such a skinny mite. How is she going to give birth to my grandchildren with those tiny hips?”
This makes my face flame. I’ve already had a baby, I want to tell him. But of course I can’t say that. I set my own bottle down, poorly, and it almost topples. I catch it, my hands shaking again.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask.
Blitz looks ready to explode, his face red. But he realizes my tactical retreat is better than a standoff. “I’ll show you,” he says, abandoning the beer and his father.
Blitz wraps his arm around my waist to walk me out of the room. I feel better, having him stand by me. I want to be strong, to yell back at this boorish man. But he’s part of Blitz’s family. My father would be no better. It’s what we endure.
We go down a carpeted hall and Blitz turns me into a door.
The bathroom is long and narrow with a curtained shower at the end.
Blitz comes in with me and closes the door. He draws me into his arms. “I’m sorry, Livia,” he says. “He’s being worse than I imagined. Or maybe I just forgot.”
I rest my cheek on his chest. “I’m okay,” I say. “I just needed a moment after the baby comment.”
“I know. But he doesn’t know. He won’t ever know about that.”
Is that true? Denham knows now. And he’s someone we can’t control. He could tell anyone, sell his story to the tabloids, even.
God.
“I have to face my past,” I say. “Others know now.”
“I’m so sorry I said anything about it in front of that guy,” Blitz says. “I should have been more careful. It’s my fault.”
I shake my head. “It’s my history. It happened.”
“But he didn’t know,” Blitz says. “If it wasn’t for me, he never would have.”
I embrace Blitz, my arms around his sturdy body. “I don’t blame you,” I say. “We didn’t expect him.”
“I just saw him, and how he affected you,” Blitz says. “I lost my head.”
I look up at him. “What do you mean, how he affected me?”
“You were so upset. He was so in love with you. It was so obvious. It caught me off guard.” He runs his finger down my cheek. “You loved him a lot too, I’m sure.”
I can’t deny that. Denham had been my everything for a while. But I wasn’t going to think about that. Blitz was here. And he is what I want. I’ve shown the whole world that by walking onto his show.
“I think you have an edge on him on a thing or two,” I say. I meet his gaze and press tightly against him.
“Do I?” Blitz says, the lazy smile I love coming across his beautiful mouth.
“You do,” I confirm, and press my hand against the back of his head so that he will kiss me.
This is what we need. To regroup, recenter, reconnect. It doesn’t matter who is against us. His dad. My parents. The show. Denham. We are strong. We fought to be here.
His lips are tender and calming. The kiss is easy, gentle, and reaffirming. I lo
ve this man. He loves me. We’ll get through this evening together. And whatever Denham will try in the coming days.
Blitz increases his pressure, becoming more demanding and urgent. He explores my mouth, his tongue engaging with mine.
After a moment, he breaks away. “I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you if we go on like this,” he says.
I reach for his fingers and slip them under my skirt. “Who says you have to?”
That’s enough for him. His mouth lands on mine again, pressing in, devouring me. He lifts me onto the bathroom counter. The fake marble is cold on my thighs, but I don’t flinch. I want this. The connection. In his home. With his parents waiting by the beer and casserole.
He reaches for my panties and jerks them down. His fingers slip into me and I moan against his mouth. My hips slide down to give him better access.
He grabs one ankle and shifts my foot up onto the counter. Now he can slip more deeply inside. I lean back, reveling in his expert work inside my body. The tension is gathering around his fingers and I focus on him, the pleasure radiating out from his touch.
He bends down, his mouth there now as well, and this sends me into a frenzy. I hold on to his head, mussing his perfect hair, until I feel my muscles contracting around him.
I cover my face to avoid making noise as the orgasm splinters through me. Blitz doesn’t ease up the pressure until I’ve come all the way down, then he rapidly unbuckles his jeans.
“Come here,” he softly growls, his hands moving beneath me to move him close.
“Don’t forget,” I remind him. I’ve started the pill but it’s still a week before we can be careless.
He nods and drags out his wallet to extract a condom.
When he’s taken care of that, I lead him inside, then he’s got me, burying himself deeply, lifting me to straddle him. I imagine a dance routine that includes this, and figure it’s certainly been done. I wonder if Blitz has ever seen such a dance show, but I’m not going to ask him now, as everything is intense. I feel lightheaded as he lifts me away and drives me down, plunging with an intensity of need that permeates most of our encounters.