Secrets

Secrets
Dominic's house is on the outskirts of town, near the harbor.

He gives me worried glances during the drive whenever a stubborn tear escapes.

"There are tissues in the glove compartment," he informs me as we leave the main avenue.

I take a tissue and thank him.

"Your parents won't mind if I stay at your house?" I ask, only now thinking about it.

"My father is traveling and my mother knows I'm taking you there," he informs me calmly.

"I'm sorry for being rude to you earlier," I say, looking at my hands.

The car stops at the entrance gate and he looks at me before entering the access code.

"I told you about your family and you didn't know what they were doing," he says calmly, lifting my chin. "I'll always be by your side."

My face flushes at his confession.

He smiled, aware of my embarrassment, and then turned toward the gate.

We entered the property and I saw a house with enormous glass windows and a stone structure.

The place was bright and beautiful.

“Welcome,” he said, opening the door for me. “Did you like it?”

His hand took mine and I stumbled on a step I hadn't noticed.

Dominic held me and his mouth was close to my ear, so close I could feel his breath.

“This is where we'll live after I marry you,” he whispered, and I pulled away, embarrassed.

“What?” I whispered, looking at him, who pretended not to have said anything.

“Let's go inside, my mother is waiting,” he pulled me along, and I followed him, my cheeks still warm.

The house inside was modern, with contemporary artwork on the walls and flowerpots scattered around.

The place was vibrant and inviting. “My mother loves decorating; she coordinated the house design, as well as everything else,” he said with a smile. “And I loved every second of it,” a female voice makes me turn my head in surprise. “You must be the famous Elena.”

Famous?

“I’m Lizandra, Dominic’s mother,” says a woman with dark hair and light brown eyes, just like Dominic’s.

She’s a little shorter than her son, but has the body of a magazine cover model.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” I say, extending my hand.

“No formalities, you can call me Lizandra,” she says with a warm smile.

I feel my cheeks flush with the attention.

“I’ll show you Elena’s room,” Dominic says, saving me.

I follow him, grateful for it, and he laughs at me.

“She’s beautiful,” I comment as we climb a staircase next to the entrance.

“So, where do you think I inherited all that beauty from?” he jokes, and I roll my eyes.

We stop in front of a white door with gold carvings. “This is your room, take a bath and rest,” he says, adopting a serious tone. “You can stay as long as you need.”

I give him a grateful smile and kiss his lips.

He’s as surprised as I am.

“Thank you for everything,” I say before entering the room and closing the door behind me.



I leave the room the next morning feeling depressed.

Part of me wants to hate my family for what they did, another part understands their motives and would forgive them.

I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to think or act.

I enter Dominic’s kitchen and find him and his mother already seated at the table.

“Good morning,” I say as I join them.

Dominic looks at me seriously; he can read my thoughts before I even say anything.

“How was your night, dear?” his mother asks with a gentle smile.

“Very good, thank you again for the stay,” I reply, gratefully.

She smiles sadly before answering me.

“I know what you’re going through isn’t easy, but remember that one bad thing doesn’t erase the good,” she says calmly. “Everyone tries to do things their own way; what defines who we are is what we do when we make mistakes.”

I look at Lizandra, who says these words as if she’s already been through similar situations.

“Think calmly and decide without haste what you need,” she says, this time with affection. “You are very welcome here.”

I smile with a warm feeling in my chest.

Is this what it’s like to have a mother?

“Thank you,” I say, my eyes welling up with tears.

I lower my head and focus on the food in front of me. I can't cry because I'm too sentimental.

Dominic's hand in mine makes me look up again.

"Eat, I want to show you a place later," he says with a gentle smile.

After breakfast, Dominic guides me to the back of the house.

I squeeze his hand tightly, the feeling of my hand in his. It's true, it makes me feel safe.

Maybe I'm being pathetic, but feeling good around someone who isn't family is important.

His house is surrounded by bushes outside, with flowers of all colors.

We pass through a wooden gate and my eyes light up just seeing several bunches of grapes.

"This is incredible," I say, marveling.

"It was one of my mother's requirements for me to move here," he tells me, pulling me inside.

The smell is wonderful, he encourages me to pick a bunch and pulls a bottle of water from somewhere. "The taste is as good as the smell, they're sweet and seedless.
"You must love this" I say, smiling.

— I'm not complaining, but my mother takes care of them like they're a second child — he says, wiping the corner of my mouth.

— Thank you — I say with a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

He watches me and then lifts my chin so I look into his eyes.

— I know you'll do it. — Right — he says, and I laugh, incredulous.

— But what is right? They're my family and they did something I detest — I say, my voice choked with hurt.

— They're sorry; I heard Lorenzo has already released his family — he says, referring to Edgar.

— Only after I argued with them — I say, exasperated. — What else could they do without consulting me? — They knew this would hurt me.

My anger explodes again. “I can’t trust them, not after they crossed that line, not after they became what I fear most,” I say, frustrated.

Dominic runs his hand across my face and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“You’re angry now,” he says affectionately. “It’ll pass soon, you’ll understand they were scared, after all, we’re all human and they just wanted to protect their family.”

I pull away and look at him seriously.

“Not like that, there were other ways out,” I say angrily.

I know he’s right when he says I’m not thinking clearly, but I need to feel this anger.

“Lorenzo called me,” he says, and I look at him with raised eyebrows.

“What did he say?” I ask, running a hand through my hair.

“He wanted to know how upset you are,” he says calmly.

“Send them all to hell!” I shout wearily. “I want to stay away from them.”