Wanderlove (3 page)

After she was gone, I attempted to sit up again. The pain hadn’t dulled, but this time I was prepared for it. I suffered through the throbs, thinking maybe I even deserved them.

Upon hearing the news of the storm, I thought it was a great opportunity. I’d been planning to run away for a while and figured this was fate giving me the chance. I thanked my lucky stars, feeling as if the universe had aligned itself perfectly, just to create my avenue of escape. But the sense of luckiness I felt earlier seemed to be drifting away. A nagging sense of guilt was left in its wake.

My father had probably decided he hated me by now. . .I bet he also decided to disown me.

I shook the thoughts away from me, cringing. No need to dwell on it. Carefully, I stepped out onto the cool tiles of the floor. Miriam’s entire house was tiled. She insisted tiles were the best defense against the southern heat. Ironically, a bead of sweat ran down the length of my face. The fan was on full blast, but it was still dreadfully hot. I recalled that Miriam rarely used the air conditioner. Honestly, someone should point out to her that air conditioners were actually the best defense against heat.

I moved towards the wardrobe, slowly but surely and checked it to see if there were any clothes that would fit. I brought about five hundred dollars with me, saving it for this very purpose. Once I decided to abandon my troupe, I knew I would need to leave my belongings behind. Not that I had ever had that much to begin with. Those I’d been raised around were not the type of people to acquire many things.

Surprisingly enough, most of the clothes I found in the wardrobe were mine. But unfortunately, everything I found was from my childhood.

About seven years too small
, I thought ruefully.

I looked over all my old clothes, lightly touching the fabrics and reminiscing. I used to love visiting my grandparents’ house as a child. It was a shame my father decided to travel so far from the states in recent years.

I wondered why Miriam had stored these clothes for so long. There was nothing that would fit me now, of course. It seemed strange that she never threw them out.

I looked down at myself to view what I was currently wearing. It was a silky kimono-like robe. Cherry red with white and pink flowers. Stylish, I mused. Apparently Miriam had good taste in robes. Sighing, I slipped on a pair of house slippers. It was only dinner with Miriam. Who did I really need to impress? All I needed was a hot shower and I could eat dinner in my towel for all I cared.

With that decision firmly made, I found my way to the bathroom. I tried to shower quickly, but the ache in my head continued to be a nuisance, slowing me down. I could only make very small movements without feeling a sudden stabbing sensation.

Beyond the physical pain, I desperately tried to keep the recent events out of my mind. But now that I was alone and at the end of my journey, the last memories I had of my father and my troupe seemed determined to haunt me no matter what I did.

I couldn’t help the tears.

As last night’s memories became clearer, they flowed freely down my cheeks. It was strange. I could usually keep myself from getting so emotional. I couldn’t understand why it was proving so hard this time. I slowly slid down the tiles in the shower, crouching by the drain…I cried and cried as it came back to me… but since I was apparently losing it, I was at least thankful to be able to cope in private.

I wished I could force the memories out of my mind. I wasn’t sure if I felt guilty or responsible. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much at this point. . .I’d known for a while that it would all come to this. My Auntie Zetta had come to me with her visions of my father behind bars weeks ago. I hadn’t known what she was talking about at the time. Her vision appeared long before I had even begun to plan my escape. But I remembered it as if it were yesterday. . .Zetta roused me from my bed in the middle of the night. She pulled me up forcefully, shaking me awake. Her expression was grim. Something was wrong. Lines of worry were etched into her face.

Confused, I let my elderly aunt guide me to the bathroom, where she proceeded to turn the showerhead on full blast. She spoke so softly I could barely make out what she was saying.

She told me not to feel guilty, and that it was time for me to leave. She told me my father would find a way out of jail. It would be my fault, yes, but he wouldn’t be locked up for a long period of time. Zetta had yet to be proven wrong. Her visions were without fail, spot on.

Maybe I felt like if I hadn’t taken the chance to escape, then my father wouldn’t have ended up in jail that night. But it didn’t matter. His men would figure out a way to break him out. They’d done it before and I was positive they could easily do it again. Maybe what was really bothering me was the most freeing sense of relief I’d felt after finding out he would be imprisoned. After all, his arrest was the most likely reason I had enough time to get away.

I probably shouldn’t be so pleased with myself while my father was trapped in a jail cell somewhere. It was the most horrible of all punishments for a gypsy to be incarcerated.

To not have the freedom to roam-it was considered torture.

I deserved to get trapped on that road in the midst of the raging storm. I probably deserved to die, too. So why was I alive? How did the angel find me? There were so many unanswered questions. . .

It took a long while, but eventually, I dragged myself from the shower. Then I had to face my reflection in the mirror.

Who are you?
I silently asked the person staring back at me.

Jet black hair. Bright, sapphire eyes. Full, pink lips. My image appeared much more innocent than my black heart truly was. Perhaps, not my body though. My body was lithe, yet curvy. Too curvy-I hated it. When I tried to lose weight, it never worked. I love food too much. And when I tried to gain weight, I would never gain it in the places that would dull my buxomness. Instead, I became bustier and my hips became rounder, which made my waist appear tinier. I suppose under normal circumstances I would feel lucky. Confident, even. But my appearance never served me.

It started with Luca, my father’s favorite lackey. Because my father favored Luca, I’d been engaged to him from the age of fourteen, though I felt nothing more for him than the type of love one feels for their brother.

It didn’t matter, anyway. My engagement to Luca was broken when my father realized he could profit from me. Apparently, I’d been seen by one of the Royals during one of Lina’s performances in Istanbul. My father was offered an obscene amount of money in exchange for me. And of course, being the greedy swine that he is, my father happily decided to hand me over and to terminate his arrangement with Luca.

Even in modern times, betrothals were a common practice amongst gypsy tribes. But as I later found out, it wasn’t marriage that the Royal wanted. In fact, it wasn’t even the Royal who offered my father the money.

Instead, it was a woman. A woman who decided she recognized beauty in me that would make a lot of money within the members her social groups. I learned through my aunt that she was a madam. A very wealthy and renowned madam.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Royals tended to only marry each other, or at least within their own ranks. But I
had
been surprised. In fact, I had been completely shocked and hurt at the time. I was expected to become a modern day gypsy courtesan. It began to sink in that my father was willingly trying to turn me into a whore.

“You will have the dream life,” my father advised me excitedly. He attempted to spin his plans for me into some kind of fantasy. “You’ll travel amongst the Royals and rich jetsetters. You can attend college if you want. They’ll even pay your tuition. Your every wish and desire will be yours to have. Staying with me and marrying Luca would never give you the same opportunities. This way, you will have the right to choose your own man. How many gypsy women can say the same, eh?”

I hated him in that moment. And at the same time, I fiercely loved him. Though he was clearly insane, the man truly believed he was doing me a favor.

I was supposed to leave for Romania on my eighteenth birthday. Only a few months away, my birthday had been looming over my head for a while now. It had been hard enough to accept a marriage between Luca and me. But life as a call girl? I shuddered, just thinking about it. I’d been dreading my birthday’s arrival with each passing day.

So I ran away.

I should have been a good, little daughter and willingly obeyed my father’s bidding. I would have spent the remainder of my life in the lap of luxury. If I had caught the attention of a Royal, I would have never had to want for anything. And truthfully, as much as I hated to admit it, the kind of life I would have had with the madam might have been preferable to the one I would have shared with Luca.

That’s when I realized I needed to leave.

There was something in me, telling me I couldn’t just sit back and let either fate happen. I didn’t regret leaving. . .but I did regret how it had to be done.

Clutching my towel, I escaped the person in the mirror and headed downstairs. It was time to tell Miriam everything, whether I was prepared to or not.

As I was meandering down the stairwell, I was caught off guard when I heard the sound of several unknown voices looming nearby. I paused for a moment. I hadn’t been expecting anyone to be in the house except for my grandmother. Quietly, I peeked into the kitchen.

There were two young girls helping my grandmother cook dinner. The girls were very pretty; one had coppery hair and the other was an iridescent blonde. Both of them were tall and slender, modelesque in stature. The girls were laughing with Miriam over some joke that had been told. The scene was warm and loving. I suddenly felt like an intruder.

I decided to retreat, but one of the stairs creaked loudly beneath my feet, giving me away. Much to my horror, everyone’s heads turned in my direction. It was around that moment when I abruptly remembered I was covered with nothing more than a towel.

“Lola,” Miriam addressed me casually. “How nice to see you are recovering.”

A blush crept into my cheeks.

“Dakota, could you please find Lola something to wear?”

The girls resembled each other. My instincts told me they were sisters. They looked almost exactly alike, with the exception of their hair. Apart from the color, the copper-headed girl had thick, wavy hair, while the blonde’s tresses were smooth and polished. I figured the copper-headed one must be “Dakota” because she looked up when Miriam called her name.

“Of course,” she replied, and motioned me to follow her. As I did so, I found myself wondering who these sisters were. Upon closer inspection, I noticed Dakota appeared to be near my own age, the other girl maybe a few years older.

Dakota never glanced back at me as I silently followed her, but she seemed to sense my confusion. “We’re cousins,” she informed me.

“Oh. I had no idea,” I commented awkwardly.

I began to piece together my family tree. I realized she must be my Uncle Eli’s daughter. I heard he’d had children, but I’d never had the chance to meet them. In the gypsy world, family was almost always on the father’s side. One was raised with their father’s people and traveled with their father’s people. Only daughters would venture outside of their tribes, and that was only for the sake of marriage. Although a marriage outside of one’s own tribe was a rarity in itself. So I couldn’t help but speculate how these sisters ended up here with Miriam and not with their father.

“In here.” Dakota directed me to a bedroom at the end of the hall.

The bedroom was extremely messy. Well, maybe not messy, but very cramped. There was a queen-sized bed, which had been shoved up against the wall in the corner of the room, and there was a twin-sized mattress on the floor next to it. Clothes were strewn everywhere. The dresser was entirely covered in jewelry, accessories, hairpins, makeup and other female bits and pieces. Dakota dug through the bottom drawer of the dresser.

“Do you want pink or black?” The girl held up two different cotton tunics to choose from.

“Black,” I answered mindlessly. I was still looking around as she handed me the top along with a pair of lounge pants. “Do you and your sister share this room?” I asked.

“Yes. Well, for the time being.”

“I feel awful,” I said. “Did I take your room? Because I can sleep on the couch--”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. I don’t live here.” Dakota grinned at my assumption. “I’ll only be here for the rest of the weekend. I’m a student at the University of South Florida. I live in a dorm during the school year.”

“Oh, I see.”

I was slightly disappointed. I thought Dakota was younger. It would have been nice having someone close to my age around.

“Take these, too. You can borrow them until you’re able to get to a store.”

She held out a huge pile of assorted clothing for me to take.

“No-- I couldn’t.”

“I insist.” She shoved the clothes in my arms before I had a chance to protest. “I would hate to see you forced to wear anything of Miriam’s. I swear the woman has no shame. Besides,” she motioned her arms outwards in gesture to the entirety of the room. “As you can probably see, I have plenty of clothes.”

I slowly smiled. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She beamed back at me. She seemed to be genuinely kind. And up close, I noticed her face was just as pretty as her shiny, coppery hair. She had sparkling green eyes and a smile that seemed like it was permanently etched across her face.

Dakota laid her palm down across my hand, which I’d been using to clutch the stack of clothes with. I eyed her curiously. She tensed her brow as if she were thinking very hard about something.

“You were with a traveling show. How exciting. Miriam didn’t tell me you were a performer.”

I stepped back, snatching my hand away. So she could see things about people. . .I didn’t want her to see anything else.

“
I
wasn’t,” I mentioned quietly. “Well, I know how to dance, but my father never let me perform.”