and says in French, “Teach her all the ways to pleasure a man. No need to keep this one innocent.”
“Oui.” I nod tightly and try not to look relieved.
“You may take the BMW.” Father tosses me the keys, smiling devilishly at Marissa, his mind otherwise occupied.
I look to Iva and jerk my head toward the door. The girl is quick to follow.
Aside from the young girl last year, I’ve never left a niece untrained before. This is the first time I’ve even considered it. I start the car and catch sight of the date on the dash. Valentine’s Day. How apropos.
I drive in silence, tapping the wheel in nervous thought as the girl sits there with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her threadbare sweater is no match for the winter air. I crank the heat up.
When we’re well out of the five-mile zone I take a deep breath and huff it back out.
“You speak English?”
“Yes,” she replies in a heavily accented voice.
“Do you know why you’ve been brought to America?”
“Oh, yes. My brother tells me. I am to be married to handsome, wealthy man who will care for me.”
I swallow. I usually have my guard up with the nieces. I keep myself numb and don’t allow any thoughts in. But it’s been too long, and my mind’s been infected. I cannot ignore this girl’s words. They seep into me.
Iva asks timidly, “Are you to be my husband?”
I shoot a glance in her direction and find her scanning my face with hope. I look back at the road and stare straight ahead as I speak the words that will shatter that hope into a million cutting shards. For once, I will tell one of Marissa’s nieces the full truth without trying to sugarcoat it, downplay it, or glorify it in any way.
“Iva . . . I’m very sorry, but there is no husband. Your brother lied to you. He sold you. You’re a slave now, and Madame Marissa is your master.”
“I . . . What do you say?” Her voice shakes. I’m willing to bet she came from an extremely poor family. If her brother was the head of her household, her parents most likely died from illnesses because they didn’t have the money for treatment. I’d seen this before, with too many nieces. Her brother probably squandered their small pittance of funds on drugs or alcohol. She’s begun to tremble next to me.
I drive us to a state park, away from prying eyes and ears, surrounded by trees.
Iva’s chest heaves with quick, frantic breaths. This is not uncommon. I need to calm her. I stop the car and turn in my seat.
“Please, sir,” she says. “I don’t understand!”
I’m filled with dread as I explain Iva’s new world to her. I tell her what she will be expected to do, and what will happen if she doesn’t. I make it clear that if she utters a single word of what I’ve told her, I will be killed.
“Why do you tell me this?” she asks, hugging herself around the middle.
I shake my head, staring off. “I want you to know the truth. I’m very sorry.”
“You work for them, yes?”
“Not by choice. I’m kind of like you, Iva. I do as I’m told or I die.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever thought to make the comparison.
It’s an excruciating afternoon in the car with the girl—me speaking calmly, her near hysterics. I answer all of her questions. I make it clear what is at stake for both of us.
“Are you a virgin?” I ask. Her eyes dart to the floor and she hangs her head—that’s a no. “You don’t need to be ashamed. I’m trying to see how much you know. I’m not going to do anything to you, but if you have questions . . . about men . . .”
She shakes her head frantically.
“We both have to pretend I’ve shown you what to do with these men, Iva. Do you understand that? We will both be punished if they find out we did nothing but talk today.”
She jerks her chin up and down as tears stream from her eyes. “I know what to do,” she says in a thick voice. “I don’t want to go to that woman’s house! Don’t make me go. Please!”
She grasps my shirt in her thin hands and cries out. Nieces and conquests have cried in my presence more times than I can count, and I never reached out to comfort them. Never. Nieces must learn