Page 34 of The Butcher's Wife

“At least we have the florist settled.” She thumbs through one of the floral arrangement books, stopping for an extravagant, avant-garde display.

I roll a lock of my hair between my fingers as I look over the glossy photos of high-society dinners and sticky notes with scrawling handwriting.

My tongue is thick in my mouth. I’ve helped Serafina with her arrangements before, but I was never good at deciding what to pick or figuring out the structure of the arrangement. She always made it look so easy.

“Here.” Valeria points to a few arrangements with stone vases and structural designs. “What do you think about these? On the second deck of the yacht, there will be dozensof small, circular tables, so we’ll need something low and circular to mimic those shapes. My mom took a look at the arrangements I picked out, but she said the men wouldn’t like sitting next to something sogirly. We’ll need ‘manlier’ flower arrangements.” She rolls her eyes. “Any thoughts?”

Apparently not, as I look through these. The flowers all remind me of my sister. Calla lilies, tulips, roses. I can almost smell them and see her touching them.

“I—” My throat closes up.

Valeria glances toward me with a touch of panic. “This is too much, isn’t it? I told Mom…”

With a supreme force of will, I drag myself out of the river of grief threatening to tow me under. “It’s not too much. I can handle it.” I sip from my tea. “What about moss? You could do something more forest-y?”

She stares at me a little longer before she finally nods. “I’ll find some reference photos.”

I sit up straight. “I can do that.” Finally, something to do that isn’t waiting around all day for Dom to come home and tell me he won’t fuck me. “We have the theme figured out. I can mock up some invitations and send them over to you.”

“No, I wouldn’t impose?—”

“You have exams coming up, right?

She drums her fingers against the counter, then meets my eye like accepting my offer of help is a bomb she’s about to snip the red wire on. “Yeah. Alright, that would be great. Thank you.”

I stand and busy myself with our glasses and cups to hide my smile. “So, same time next week?”

We tidy up in a comfortable silence. When she’s done, she hovers at the kitchen island, tapping the marble again.

I eye her across the sink. “What?”

“Do you…” She firms her mouth and stands tall. “Do you want help? Getting out of here?”

I blink a few times.

She wants to rescue me?

She doesn’t miss a beat. “I have a little money saved up. Eight thousand.”

I look into her dispassionate face and think that I might’ve misjudged this woman.

“You can have it. I can get it to you tonight, and you can take my car.”

Is she offeringme—a near stranger—everything she owns?

Staring blankly at her, I lower my soapy hands into the sink. “Where would I go?”

“Get a plane ticket. Go to Europe.”

The thought is at once infinite and crushing. Europe? I could see the world. I’d be free to reinvent myself. I could ask Rafa, too. He drove me in complete secrecy to get my IUD weeks before my marriage to Frederico. He would give me cash if I asked for it, too, and he wouldn’t tell a soul.

My family would be safe, wouldn’t they? If I left. Dom would be happier for it. He never asked for a wife.

My chest squeezes.

I don’twantto leave.

Valeria watches me with something like compassion. “If he’s hurting you…”