Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  “Santi, please don’t do this!”

  “Go,” Judge tells me. “Leave, Santiago. I will handle this.”

  I look at him and then at my sister. Our eyes connect for one last fleeting glance. In mine, she can see the anguish I tried to avoid, and even now, after everything, she tries to exploit it.

  “You won’t do this to me. I know you won’t.”

  “It’s already done.”

  My stomach sinks, and I walk out the door.

  28

  Ivy

  I clean up in the bathroom attached to the study, then return to the now empty room and look around. I’m pretty sure that was Marco on the line, and I know I heard Mercedes’s name. It must be big given the urgency with which Santiago ran out of here.

  It feels strange being in here without him. Feels like I’m not supposed to be here. And I guess I’m not. He did tell me to go to bed. And I will in a few minutes.

  I close the door he’d left open and turn back to the large, ornate desk and the chair he’d been sitting in when I came in here. I think about how he looked, and again, there’s that feeling inside my chest. That tightness. A constriction.

  I put a hand to my stomach.

  Is it true that I could be pregnant? That I could get pregnant now? I look for a calendar on his desk. I don’t even know what day it is. Have I really been here for three months?

  Taking a seat in his plush leather chair, I roll myself closer to the desk. I don’t see a calendar, and it feels wrong to open his drawers to search for one. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but now, it doesn’t feel right.

  The bottle of scotch is still somehow on top of the desk after our lovemaking. I cork it, and I notice the book we knocked off the desk. I bend to pick it up and set it on the desk, the pencil marking his place still inside.

  I glance at the door and bite my lip as I consider. It’s not an invasion of privacy really. Not if I let it fall open to the page he’d been looking at. The pencil is right there.

  I’m not sure what I expect to find, but it’s not this.

  On the page is an unfinished sketch, the lead of the pencil worn down. It’s his book. His sketches. I hadn’t realized it when I’d seen it briefly that night so long ago that it feels like another lifetime. On the page are two lovers in profile, and although they’re not close to finished, I know it’s us. I know it from the skull side of the face that I see.

  My face is less clear. Mostly lines and shadows and the fingers of my hand are just grazing his cheek. There’s something hopeless about this image, and it matches what I saw on his face when I first walked in here. Something sad and too broken.

  And I know this is an invasion. I know I should close the book and leave his private thoughts private. But I can’t.

  I turn the page instead and work backward and what I see is pain. His pain. Poured into this book. Sketches of his sister. Sketches of the woman I’d seen the last time. On one page, there’s a photo stuck inside, and it’s Santiago, Mercedes, and another boy. They must be in their teens. Santiago wears the expression I’ve come to know even then on his young face. He’s too young to look like that. But the other boy is smiling wide, and he has one arm around Santiago and the other around a pre-teen Mercedes. She’s smiling too, and you can already see the beauty she will become.

  The two of them are wearing swimsuits, but Santiago is fully dressed in a school uniform. His hair falls into his eyes, and it’s strange to see him like this, without the ink that is so much a part of him. That is the only way I really know him.

  He’s sketched the photo, but he’s changed just one thing. He’s smudged out half of his face. I touch the shadow there, smear the pencil, and something catches in my throat. What must it be like for him? What must it have been to survive the fire only to find yourself not yourself? To feel you're better served to wear a skull for a face.

  I take a deep breath in and force my gaze away from his. The other boy must be Leandro, his brother. I wonder if they were close. Strange that we’ve been married for three months, and there’s still so much I don’t know about my husband.

  I take a breath in and close the book. It’s late, and I need to get some sleep, but I want to ask him about the book, so I take it with me up to his bedroom, not mine, and I lie down in his bed and put the book on the pillow beside me. I want him to know I’m not hiding it. And when I close my eyes, I sleep.

  * * *

  “Ivy,” a voice calls. Someone gives me a shake.

  I groan, rolling away.

  “Ivy, dear, Mrs. Van Der Smit will be expecting you soon. It’s almost two o’clock.”

  I blink, rub my eyes and turn to find Antonia standing over me. “What?” I look over at the other side of the bed. It’s empty. The book right where I left it.

  He never came home.

  “The driver will take you to Mrs. Van Der Smit’s house in less than half an hour.”

  “Oh.” I sit up and run a hand through my hair. “Where’s Santiago?”

  “He called earlier to ask me to arrange a driver for you.”

  “He didn’t come home?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “I’m sorry, dear.” She looks at her watch. “Why don’t you go get dressed? I’ll make the bed up.”

  “Um, okay. Do you think I could call him?”

  “He said he’d be offline for the rest of the day and possibly tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’ll ask him to talk to you if he calls in again, all right?”

  I nod and push the blanket off to get ready to go. At least he remembered to arrange for me to go to Colette. But where is he?

  * * *

  At Antonia’s insistence, I eat a quick piece of toast in the kitchen once I’m dressed before a driver I don’t know takes me to Colette’s house. It’s a beautiful, cold but sunny day, and I’m grateful to be out of the house. And visiting a friend feels like a normal thing to do.

  When we pull up to the beautiful mansion in the Garden District, the front door opens, and Colette comes outside, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders and waving happily. It puts a smile on my own face to see her. To feel so welcome.

  “Ivy!” she calls out when I step out of the car, and we hug halfway up the path to her porch. “I’m so glad you came!”

  “Me too. It’s good to see you.” She draws back, and I look down at the huge belly between us. “How is it going?”

  “Still pregnant.” She turns, takes my hand, and we walk back toward the house like we’ve known each other forever. “I’m a few days late. This little guy doesn’t want to leave. I’m evicting him if he’s not out by Saturday,” she says, rubbing her belly affectionately.

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “They’ll induce if I don’t go into labor naturally by then.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it will be fine either way.”

  “Yes, it will. I just wish he’d come already. I’m anxious to meet him.”

  “Do you have a name picked out?”

  She smiles. “Well, Jackson thinks we’ll name him Jackson of course.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Of course.”

  “But I have my heart set on Benjamin. That’s my grandpa. Or was. He’s gone now, and he was always so wonderful to me,” she says, her face falling a little. “It will be a remembrance.”

  “I’m sorry he’s gone.”

  “It’s okay. It’s been five years, and he had a good long life.”’

  “Well, I say since you do most of the work, you get to pick the name.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling Jackson,” she says as we enter a casual sitting room. “I hope you don’t mind if we sit in here. Jackson’s got someone in his office, and I don’t want to see him if I can help it.”

  “No, this is great. And your house is so beautiful.” I go to the window and look out over the vast garden. It’s a very different house than Manor De La
Rosa. Much more lived in, more colorful.

  “It’s my favorite one.”

  “Favorite?”

  “Jackson’s family has several, but they’re a little too stiff for my taste.”

  “His family or the houses?”

  She laughs. “You caught that.” The door opens then, and a woman walks in carrying a tray of tea, coffee, and cookies. “Thanks, Lindy,” Colette says with a warm smile.

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Van... Colette.”

  “See, it’s not so bad,” Colette teases, and the older woman smiles and leaves us alone. “Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee, please. I just woke up and haven’t had a cup yet.”

  “Just woke up? It’s the afternoon.” She hands me the coffee, and I take it.

  “Oh, we had a late night.”

  “Did you?” She waggles her eyebrows. “I bet.”

  I feel my cheeks flush.

  “How did it go at The Tribunal? Jackson said they were dismissing the charges.”

  “They did, but it was still nerve-wracking.”

  “I can imagine. I’ve only been there as a witness for you, but that was scary even with Jackson beside me.”

  “Thank you so much for what you did. To you and Jackson.”

  “Of course, Ivy. I knew you couldn’t have done what they accused you of. Have they found the woman?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, they will. The Society always does in the end.”

  I think about the comment The Councilor had made about the second attempt on Santiago’s life. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” She takes a bite of a cookie.

  “The fire a few years ago where a lot of members died, was that a gas leak?”

  “That’s what they say but…” She shrugs a shoulder. “Who knows. I’ve asked Jackson, but he’s pretty tight-lipped. So many rules.”

  “Tell me about it. How long have you been married?”

  “Just over a year.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so recent.”

  “No? Hasn’t Mercedes filled you in?” she asks, saying Mercedes’s name with a tone that doesn’t hide how she feels.

  “Mercedes and I aren’t exactly friends. She hates me, in fact.”

  “Well, that makes two of us then! We’ll have to toast on that once Benjamin has vacated the premises.”

  “Why doesn’t she like you?”

  She glances at the door, then back at me. “Are you up for a walk?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She puts her tea down. I finish my coffee and do the same. We get our coats on and step out into the garden arm in arm. She glances toward one of the back windows and waves.

  I turn to find Jackson standing there looking out. He raises his hand in a less enthusiastic wave.

  “It’s Holton. That man always puts Jackson in a bad mood.”

  “Holton?”

  “Cornelius Holton,” she says in a haughty accent. “I can’t stand him, honestly. Gives me the creeps.”

  “Me too.”

  “You know him?”

  “I wish I didn’t. Tell me about Mercedes.”

  “You really don’t know any of this?”

  I shake my head.

  “You had to have felt the tension when Jackson and I came to your house the other day. Between Santiago and Jackson?”

  “You’d have to be dead not to feel that. What’s the story?”

  “Mercedes had her eye on Jackson. They dated a long time ago even though that’s not technically allowed. I think they had some make-out sessions is about the extent of it.”

  “Mercedes and Jackson?” I’m shocked.

  “I know. She’s an ice queen.”

  “You’re being nice.”

  “Well, my family only moved to New Orleans less than two years ago. We’re from Atlanta originally. I guess by then Mercedes and Jackson, although not engaged, were officially courting right up until the night he saw me.”

  “What?”

  “It was my family’s first event at IVI in New Orleans.”

  “Love at first sight?”

  “It’s what Jackson says.” Her eyes get shiny, and I feel goose bumps rise on my arms. “For me too, though.” She doesn’t say it in a gloating way. I think she’s just in love with her husband.

  “Anyway, we met that night briefly, and by the next week, he’d broken it off with Mercedes. He told me he’d been wanting to for a while, but she wouldn’t accept it. She wasn’t happy about the break, obviously. And again, I don’t blame her, but it’s not like something like that can be helped. And she’s been pretty awful since.”

  “Awful to you?”

  Colette nods. “I don’t exactly have an abundance of friends at The Society, at least not among the women.”

  “Well, I like you.”

  She smiles, shrugging a shoulder. “Mercedes has done everything she can to freeze me out, and her family ranks higher than Jackson’s, so you know, the sheep go along.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Those women are too snooty for me anyway. Anyhow, the week we met, Jackson was at my door asking my father’s permission to court me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You know how things work with IVI. It’s so old-fashioned. I hope you don’t think—”

  “What would I think? My brother told me I’d be marrying a perfect stranger days before our wedding.”

  “You didn’t know Santiago at all?”

  “Well, he worked with my father. He was close with him when I was younger so I’d seen him around. We’d barely had a conversation though. But I want to hear about you and Jackson. I have to admit, the night of the gala, I’d assumed he was some ogre for making you wear those shoes and be out late when you’re so…so pregnant.”

  “Jackson?” She giggles. “Nah, that’s his Society face.” She makes a face herself at that. “He’s just a big teddy bear behind closed doors.”

  “He sounds great, actually. You seem very happy.”

  “I am. I love him. I’m in love with him. But aren’t you? With Santiago, I mean?”

  “Um…” I look away as we walk, and I think about how to answer. “Our relationship is a little different. I mean, we didn’t start like you and Jackson.”

  “No, I guess not. But you’re happy, right? I mean, love is hard in these arranged marriages. At least right at first. But you care about him, right?”

  I nod. It’s true. I do.

  She tugs me closer and smiles wide as we pick up the pace. “I think it’s more than that, Ivy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have eyes in my head. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

  “How he looks at me?”

  She nods.

  “Well, Santiago is…complicated.”

  “That he is.”

  “Do you know the history between my family and Santiago’s?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Just…” I turn to her. “I guess I don’t know why he chose me. He can have anyone. Even with…what happened.” The scars. The skull face tattoo. “I’m certainly not elevating him within The Society.”

  “He was close with your dad. And now that he’s taken over his care, maybe he felt—”

  I stop. “What did you say?”

  She stops too and looks at me, forehead wrinkling.

  “He took over my dad’s care?” I ask.

  “Didn’t you know?”

  I shake my head.

  She glances nervously at the office window then back. “I probably wasn’t supposed to say anything. I’m sorry.”

  “I won’t tell. Just please tell me. I feel so lost. I don’t know what’s going on. I feel like there are moments I’m so close to him, but then, I’m so completely in the dark. I don’t understand…I guess it just doesn’t make sense he’d choose me without some motive, and at least in the beginning he hated me, Colette. I t
hink he married me to torment me, and…” I shake my head and Colette pulls me in for a hug.

  “It’s okay, Ivy. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just had overheard Jackson say something to someone the other day. I thought you knew. Please don’t say anything. I don’t want Jackson to know I know.”

  I draw back. “Of course not. Is he okay at least? My dad?”

  “I think so. Nothing bad happened or anything. Haven’t you been to see him?”

  I shake my head, my mind elsewhere now. My chest feeling constricted. The memory of last night in his office, him inside me, the things I felt and the knowledge that it wasn’t enough and that it wouldn’t be enough. And that it would break me.

  Santiago isn’t the man I make him out to be. The man I want him to be. He’s had an agenda since the first day, and he hasn’t made a secret of it. If my heart breaks, it’s my own fault.

  29

  Ivy

  Santiago doesn’t return home that night or the next, and he doesn’t call either. Or if he does, it’s not to talk to me.

  And all the while, all I can do is make up scenarios to try to understand why he would take over my father’s care. What it means. And why he hasn’t told me. I feel isolated and alone, and when I ask if I can at least call my sister, Antonia only gives me a pitying look and tells me I must ask Santiago.

  It’s an infuriating circle because I can’t ask him if I don’t have any way to talk to him.

  I want to trust him. I know it will take time for us to trust each other, but what Colette told me and then this, his absence, combined with my isolation from my family, from anyone outside these walls, it makes it hard.

  By the third night, I’m worked up and feeling more angry than anything else. At least anger is better. Anger means I’ll fight, not roll over and let him plow over me.

  When the staff have all gone to bed, I make my way down to his office. It’s locked again. I guess Antonia has a key. But I know another way in, and I go through the library to that secret entrance. I’m not even really hiding anymore. Or at least I tell myself that. I need to know what’s going on with my dad. How could Abel have approved Santiago taking over his care? And why hasn’t Santiago told me? Why hide it from me?