A wife for my brother

She was turned into a volcano, she could feel the lava running through her body, incandescent, leaving bubbles in its wake. Everything Leonard had said to her she had processed into anger, into rage, into the desire to scream. But her throat was tight; they had grown tired of taunting her, of using her, of lying to her, of playing her for a fool.

How had she not noticed, how had she not seen the artificial smiles, the deliberate words, the sidelong glances? She lied to his face from the day she met her for fear that a man would leave her? And not only that, she used her like a puppet crying inconsolably, begging her; she had brought her closer to Daniel and then ripped him out of her hands.

Laura, the shy and innocent, eternally in love with her sweet Harry. With her soft movements and velvet words; all her thanks had been false. “Thank you, Deanna” Thank you? Thank you for not noticing, for letting yourself be fooled so easily? She had rushed with her to the hospital when Emma was born, hadn’t she… Was her concern not for the child but for losing what tied her to Harry?

She had dressed her up and taught her a few rules of etiquette as if she were a doll, preparing her to give her to Daniel; for him to lay eyes on her and take her away from Harry. She’d chosen the dresses on purpose so that she would “show” like a piece of meat Did it all fake? The excitement on her face when she’d sung to them at the wedding?NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

Friendship? Friendship my ass!

And the other one, the beautiful, professional, elegant woman who looked a little like Emily in the distinguished bearing; who spoke with propriety and carried herself as if the world belonged to her was she getting down on her knees for a little… attention? And he was accepting her?! The same one who had been after Daniel for years, losing what little dignity she had left, for what? To marry a man who would never love her and to be able to carry her last name as if it were a master key that would open all the doors.

Distinguished? Distinguished my ass!

No, she wasn’t angry. She was enraged. “You’re dumb, Deanna, you’re the Diva! You’re not the supporting character.” There are two things in life that drive a person to act like they never would have acted before: love and anger. And she had plenty of both. And she would give them exactly what they didn’t want for the world: herself.

And to add to the whole mess, Leonard had actively acted out as well. Her father. The neat man with the tainted soul who stood by her side when she’d lost everything she loved. How could he tell her that about Daniel and Beverly, for God’s sake! He had to be crazy, he was definitely crazy. And yet he’d had the courage to go and tell her what he knew, taking the chance that Deanna wouldn’t forgive him this time. What was she supposed to do with him?

No, he wasn’t crazy, he was completely insane. He had pursued her, sought her out, sent her flowers, invitations and tried to corner her at the theater by visiting her every day she rehearsed with Marcus. And overnight he had become an attentive, caring father, who had taken her out of his cloistered hotel room to tread the boards in Rome itself.

“I have to kill him!”

And yet Philippa had told her in those late-night chats, “You have so much of him; not just the rebellious spirit and the overbearing attitude; you’re just as rude and we don’t teach you that here” Rudeness was inherited? She herself had noticed that she shared many similarities with him. Even Marcus had noticed it, “When you get angry you stand just like him, with your arms crossed and that grimace on your mouth it’s like watching Leonard in a wig!”

And Daniel? She had left him because of what supposedly happened with Beverly in the office; but it hadn’t happened… it almost hadn’t happened. But he still kissed her and touched her! As much as Leonard had assured him that she had taken advantage of his weakness to get close to him that day, that didn’t take away from the fact that he’d caved in… and with what little he’d done it! Apparently she didn’t need much now to let him do it either… God, Leonard!

Deanna looked at herself from head to toe in the mirror hanging by the door. Her hair was matted, her face red with anger or sadness, her old sweater was too big, she was barefoot; in a few hours she would have her hair, make-up and wardrobe all done up and ready to go on stage. She ran her hands over her face, as if doing so might change her expression. She took a deep breath and her shoulders slackened; the anger made her body drain completely, but she could still feel it in the middle of her chest squeezing her skin.

In her mind there were only two possibilities: she would show up that night, end the season and go back to Paris leaving everything behind forever or she would show up that night and then make a bigger mess to get back what she loved the most. The truth was that she was tired of running away, hiding and pretending things she didn’t feel. He had looked at her with intensity and she felt those expressive eyes boring into her soul; she felt the incessant tingling in her belly that had always provoked her, she had felt the same as if they had never been separated.

“You love him and he loves you, baby… He’s stupid, but he loves you.”

“Yeah, I know he’s acting like a caveman, but he’s losing his soul without you, Deanna.”

Did he still love her, God how much she wanted him to! Because she still did, so much that it hurt. What if he didn’t? What if her moving away, her supposed relationship with Leonard and Beverly’s attempts had killed the feeling? What would she do? All that anger she was feeling cleared a little and gave way to insecurity, to doubt, to the internal trembling caused by nerves. That sporadic chill of fear ran down her back. She hadn’t thought about it in the time she had been away, hadn’t thought about the possibility that he no longer loved her.

It wasn’t a matter of ego or that she thought she was “unforgettable”; she’d just been focused on her own anger and pain. She had been busy trying to forget him and had never asked herself that question. But if Deanna had anything about her father it was his impulse to lash out, a driving force that had always driven her to face difficulties head on; to argue, to stand up, to not give in or bow her head.

Once she had taken a gamble before Daniel to tell him that she wanted to be by his side and now, just like that time, full of fear and doubts, she would do the same. That’s what courage is all about, isn’t it: taking risks in spite of fear and uncertainty, and holding the reins tightly even with trembling hands.

The mirror gave her back a determined look: she would take another gamble.

The remainder of the morning and part of the afternoon was spent preparing for the premiere: Die fledermaus (The Bat), a light, comic operetta; a different kind of season opener. It used to open with much pomp with some of the more reserved and tragic classics, but Marcus could not shake off his obsession with the composer and had thought that as it was Deanna’s first time on the Ambassador stage exploiting her voice alone would not be enough. Her vibrant, upbeat energy was just right for the Rosalinde he had always imagined.

The theater began to vibrate once again, readying itself as if it had a life of its own. That night he would not only have on his stage the work of Strauss Jr. but that of Deanna herself; his lights had to shine brighter than ever, his acoustics had to be the widest and most perfect and the Ambassador knew it.