Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

words that fill the room, earning a shocked look from her mother.
“Did Kallum ruin my sweet, innocent daughter’s manners?” Carmen says,
glaring at me. “Have a seat, bambina. Show your mother some respect.”
“The way you’ve respected my marriage by spreading rumors and lying
to the tabloids about its nature?”
Frowning, Carmen says nothing for a beat, and I can practically see the
cogs churning in her brain, working out a way for her to turn the tables and
make herself out to be the victim.
She’s got that fucking glint in her eye; the one that flared to life each time
she’d show up at whatever house I was renting at the time, sobbing with
mascara smeared down her cheeks, begging me to forgive her for being weak
when it came to her husband.
It was always ‘The children need their papá,’ and ‘He’ll hunt me down
and kill me if I leave.’ Never just the truth, which was that she never intended
to leave Rafael in the first place.
She had her cake, and she wanted to eat it, too.
“I’m not sure what your sisters have told you about my reaction to your...
whirlwind wedding, but I’m sure it’s been greatly exaggerated.” Carmen
settles in an overstuffed armchair, crossing one leg over the other,
strategically rolling her ankle to make her leg appear longer through the slit
in her robe. “Perhaps if you’d answered even one of my calls or texts, Elena,
you’d have known that.”
“I have messages from you talking about how you want to rescue me,”
Elena says, pulling her phone from where it’s stuffed in the cup of her bra,
opening up a thread of texts. She scrolls through them, reading out loud every
plea and promise from Carmen.
“Are you saying I was unwarranted, all things considered? You were
uprooted from your life. Mateo was...” She drops her voice, even though no
one around is going to say anything. “Dead. I was worried for your safety.”
“I was never in danger. Papá signed off on the freaking marriage
certificate.”
Carmen’s wineglass pauses en route to her red lips, her eyebrows drawing
down. “Scusi?”
“God, did he not tell you?” Elena asks, and I suddenly feel faint for the
first time since my first hit.
Throat working as she swallows, Carmen’s eyes dart to mine, hurt
reflecting there, still trying to call out to me.