Page 53 of The Killer Cupcake
Carmelo stood swaying in the hallway of their suite, one hand pressed against the damask wallpaper for support. Without even a crutch to steady his battered frame, he looked like a wounded gladiator refusing to yield. The afternoon light through the tall windows revealed the full extent of his injuries—purple bruises blooming across his ribs like dark flowers, his left eye still swollen despite a week of healing.
If she'd been delayed any longer with Janey, she feared he would have attempted the stairs alone.
"I mean it, Melo!" She pointed at him with fierce authority.
"I'm fine, dammit. I smell like shit, and it's hot as Hades in that room," he huffed, though perspiration beaded his forehead from the simple effort of standing. "Where were you? You've been gone for over an hour."
She hurried to slip her arm around his waist, feeling him lean gratefully into her warmth as she guided him back toward their sanctuary. Their upgraded accommodations were a world apart from their previous lodgings since leaving Aunt Janey’s house. This place had high ceilings adorned with ornate plasterwork, burgundy velvet drapes framing tall French doorsthat opened onto a wrought-iron balcony, and elegant chaise lounges upholstered in cream silk. The pièce de résistance was the adjoining bathing chamber with its magnificent clawfoot tub—a luxury that proclaimed him New Orleans' newest champion.
Carmelo was a hero for defeating the Klan.
She helped him settle on the edge of their four-poster bed, the fine linen sheets still rumpled from his restless sleep. "I can prepare the tub and bathe you properly," she said, kneeling gracefully to remove his worn leather shoes. "I'd already planned to do so."
"Where were you?" he insisted, his voice carrying an unfamiliar edge.
She looked up from unlacing his boots, noting the tension in his jaw. "I told you—I had to see Janey. She's agreed to escort me to the train station tomorrow morning."
"And I told you Caesar and I would take you!" The words erupted with startling vehemence, causing her to freeze.
She studied his face properly for the first time since returning, seeing past the physical pain to something far deeper. Raw anguish swam in his dark eyes, and tears threatened to spill over his bruised cheeks. Understanding dawned like sunrise breaking through storm clouds.
"What is it,Melo? What's truly the problem?”
Carmelo wiped roughly at a tear sliding down his battered face, turning toward the window where golden afternoon light painted squares on the room. "I'm not angry with you—I'm furious with myself. I hate myself. Hate myself!”
Kathy stood to settle beside him on the bed, placing a gentle hand on his muscled thigh. “No, you don’t. No! Stop saying that.”
"I nearly died. For what? For their entertainment? For money that goes to my father, not us? I can't share anything with you.” His voice fractured like breaking glass. "What about what Iwant? What about what I need? I needyou, Kathy. We are here and we are husband and wife, then… I go… and… I’m not… I’m sorry.”
She put her hand over his and dropped her head on his shoulder. "We have our plan, remember? We discussed this. In a few more years, when?—"
"Fuck the plan!" The words tore from his throat with devastating finality. "Fuck all of it! I made the money now. Let's take it. I know where the men are keeping the money bags. Let’s take it and run, Kat. Tonight. Let's disappear and never stop. Just go!!” His hands clenched into fists. "I can't keep riding this carousel—happiness, then loneliness, then despair, then hope, then none. This endless waiting is destroying us and me. They are killing me!”
Kathy stood and gathered his head against her stomach, feeling his powerful arms circle her hips as he buried his face in the soft fabric of her dress. She stroked his dark hair, still damp with anguish.
Everyone told her to run—Janey, Debbie, and now Carmelo. What truly held her back? She closed her eyes, searching her soul, and the answer crystallized with painful clarity. She loved him beyond reason, but she could never abandon her parents. Her future with Carmelo had to include them, or there could be no future at all.
The truth formed on her lips, but she swallowed it. Some confessions were too cruel to voice.
"Can I please take care of you?" she asked instead, lifting his face in her palms until his wounded eyes met hers. "Let me love you the way you deserve. Okay. Let’s not waste this time.”
“But—the money…”
She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips to silence him.
“That money will come at a price. They won’t let us get far with it. They’ll kill us, Melo.”
He nodded, the gesture heavy with surrender and trust. She kissed his forehead tenderly, then moved toward the bathing chamber. Their suite boasted modern amenities—hot and cold running water. As she turned the brass taps, she could hear the familiar sounds from the cobblestone street below: children calling up to their window, "Champ! Hey, Champ!"
Carmelo would shuffle to the balcony despite his injuries, tossing coins to his young admirers. The gesture never failed to make her heart swell with pride, but ache with longing to share this life with him longer.
She filled the magnificent tub with water cool enough to soothe his battered muscles, adding drops of salts and oil she'd purchased from a French healer on Royal Street.
When she returned, he sat exactly where she'd left him, staring at his hands. "Come," she said softly, helping him stand. "Let me wash away the pain."
She guided him slowly to the clawfoot tub, where late afternoon light filtered through frosted glass, casting everything in a dreamy, golden haze. With infinite care, she helped him out of his remaining clothes, her fingers gentle over his wounded skin.
The hot water embraced him like a lover's caress as she eased him into the tub; his groan of relief was an echo off the tiled walls. She knelt beside the porcelain edge, rolling up the sleeves of her cotton dress, and began the tender ritual.
