She’d scoured every inch of the house and been unable to find any type of listening device or video camera, so he must have hired someone to watch her. Which made Juanita absolutely integral to her plan.
Dominick went back to drawing, and Vanessa moved to the sink to stare out the kitchen window at the perfect summer day, wondering for the millionth time who was out there.
“Why didn’t you pick up?” Manuel pressed, unwilling to let the subject go.
“I was—” she swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat “—in the bathroom.”
“I had a phone installed there, remember? For your convenience.”
Not for her convenience. So she wouldn’t have even the bathroom as an escape from him. “I refuse to answer the phone while I’m in the bathroom,” she said. “I haven’t used that extension since you put it in. You know that.”
He chuckled softly. “Querida, you can be so stubborn.”
Manuel had no idea. But he was about to find out—if only Juanita would arrive as promised.
“What do you need?” she asked.
“I’m calling to check on you.”
Check on her? Not in a loving way. Vanessa could hardly tolerate the sound of Manuel’s voice or the pretense of his caring. When she’d first met him, at twenty-two, she’d just graduated with a teaching degree. He’d been older, twenty-five, and had seemed energetic and ambitious—but loving and kind, too. He’d changed so fast….
Maybe she’d never really known him. Maybe the man he used to be was simply a persona he adopted when it suited him. In any case, she barely recognized him anymore. His dark eyes, once the color of melted chocolate to her, watched her too carefully, frightening in their obsessive intensity. And the thick black hair she used to love, especially when it fell across his brow, he now slicked back in a dramatic style that added to the impression he gave of being as hyperaware as he was hypercritical.
She brought a hand to her chest, preparing herself for the answer to her next question. “Aren’t you going to Mexico today?”
“The trip’s been postponed.”
Her muscles tightened. No! Not when I’m so close. “Until when?” The knocking of her heart against her ribs made it difficult to speak.
“Come on, mi amor. You know better than to bother your pretty head with business.”
A dodge. Typical of him. As was the condescension in his voice. He didn’t like her knowing his schedule. Except for the odd occasion, he typically sprang news of an impending trip only the night before.
But Juanita still wasn’t here, and Manuel hadn’t said why his trip had been postponed. Did he realize she was planning to leave him?
“Will you be home for dinner, then?” she asked.
“Of course. I always spend my evenings with you, if I’m available.”
Bile rose in Vanessa’s throat at the thought of postponing her escape until Manuel’s next trip to Mexico. Holding out until he was far from home would be the wisest course. She and Dominick needed the lead time. But everything was already arranged. And staying meant she’d have to suffer through more nights in Manuel’s company, nights that always ended, at some point, with her lying beneath him. Manuel had an insatiable sexual appetite and demanded she perform some kind of sex act for him daily, often two or more.
“Maybe you could mention to Juanita that I’m in the mood for meñudo,” he said.
Even the prospect of sharing another interminable dinner with Manuel made Vanessa ill.
She frowned at the cigarette burn her husband had inflicted on the inside of her wrist four days ago. Manuel loved to deal out little reprisals for anything that displeased him—
Dominick rounded the kitchen island. Quickly hiding the injury, she rubbed her son’s back as he came over to hug her leg.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Worry clouded his innocent eyes.
She held a finger to her lips to indicate silence. She didn’t want Manuel to overhear.
“I’ll tell her to make it for dinner,” she said into the phone.
“And I’m going to need those suits I had you take to the cleaners,” he added. “Can you pick them up for me while you’re out?”
Her life was closing in on her again. “Of course.”
“Thank you. You’re such a wonderful wife.”
“I’m not your wife,” she said.
“As far as I’m concerned, you are. Every man should be so lucky.”
Vanessa’s nails curled into her palm at his assumption and false praise. He threw her a few compliments from time to time—figuring that would keep her happy. But he’d never trusted her or loved her enough to let her be truly happy. Or to stand against his family and marry her, as she’d once wanted. Or to treat her as an equal instead of chattel.
“How do you want me to pay for it?” she asked because she knew he’d expect this question. Their gated, ten-thousand-square-foot mansion provided proof of his wealth. But he kept such a tight rein on their money that it had taken her nearly two years to save the funds she’d given Carlos for the car. She’d only managed to accumulate that much by returning small items she hoped Manuel wouldn’t miss—even groceries—and hiding the money between the insulation and the wall in the attic.
“I’ll call the bank and add an extra hundred to your account,” he said.
“Fine.” She grimaced at his stinginess. He allowed her no standing balance. He waited until she had a specific need, one he could easily verify. Then he called and transferred enough to cover the expense. One hundred bucks would barely pay his dry-cleaning bill; Manuel clothed his lean, sinewy body almost exclusively in the finest hand-tailored suits.
“Thank you, querida,” he said. “What else do you have planned for the day? What is my hijito doing?”
She glanced at their son. Dominick was so unlike his father, so much more similar to her side of the family—especially the younger brother she’d lost the year she and Dominick had moved in with Manuel. Large for his age, Dominick had sandy-blond hair, eyes that were an unusual shade of green, and golden skin that still retained the softness of a baby’s. “He’s standing here, waiting to go to the store.”
“He should be reading, Vanessa. You know I want him to read.”
“We’ll read when we get back.”
“Let me transfer the money to the credit card I’ve given Juanita. She can do your shopping and pick up my dry cleaning. I don’t know why you like doing such menial tasks.”
Maybe it was because she had nothing else to do. Manuel insisted that Dominick needed one hundred percent of her attention, but she believed there should be more to life than following her son around, watching over his every move, correcting all his mistakes, stealing the same privacy and independence
