The Truth In The Lie

It should have been the best day of your life, but you couldn’t have been more miserable if you tried.

A drink, or four, would’ve been the easiest and quickest way to deal withyour problem. Everyone else seemed to think it was a great idea, if the rise in noise, heat and general claustrophobia in the banquet hall was anyindication. Clearly your guests were appreciative of the open bar theFalcones had so generously provided.

But try as you might, you hadn’t been able to take more than a sip or two of your champange since Carmine had made his first toast.

Even the little you’d had had made your stomach turn, though it was hard to say if that wasbecause the drink didn’t agree with you…or because you were finally comingto terms with being married off to one of the most notrious crime familes in Gotham.

“Y’alright, sweetheart?”

The sound of Oz’s voice, rough after years of shouting and a penchant for cigars, shook you from your gloom.

“I’m okay,” you said, only just loud enough to be heard over the loud jazz music filling the room “I just…”

“Not enjoying your Baccala?”

You glanced at the plate in front of you, where you’d been cutting up and pushing around pieces of fish fillet for the better part of half an hour. Normally you couldn’t get enough of traditional Italian cuisine, but you were struggling to see what was so wonderful about chopped anchovies and dried codfish.

“Yeah,” you replied, a little sheepishly “I mean, it’s nice but not really something I’m used to, y’know?”

This got a laugh from Oz, who shook his head and shifted his hand fromwhere it had been resting on your knee to gently wrap his fingers aroundyours. His rings were cold against your heated skin, the newly added wedding band bumping against the one that now adorned your own ring finger.

“Ah, no need to be so polite, doll. Honestly, between you and me, whoever made this cheaped out on the parmensean, and the shit wine pairing they got isn’t doing it any favours. I mean, what kind of moron picks red to go with fish?”

You nodded, choosing to the safety of silent ambiguity rather than risk an outright lie and get caught. The only times in recent memory you hadn’t been eating a near constant diet of Top Ramen and PB&Js had been whenyou’d attended business dinners with Falcone’s people.

Even then, the men at those events had been far less interested in discussing wine ettiquette with you and much more focused on trying to peer down the front of your dress.

“They should be bringing the main course around any minute, though if you aren’t big on veal there’s always dessert. You got a sweet tooth, honey?”

The way Oz was looking at you, brown eyes wide and sincere, his head tilted to the side like he actually cared about what you had to say, was enough to make something long dead inside your chest stutter to life. He hadn’t said anything particularily scandolous, but every time he spoke to you, your cheeks grew uncomfortably warm.

“Yeah, I do, every since I was a kid.”

Oz’s whole face lit up, his gold teeth flashing cheerfully in his wide grin. You felt him squeeze your hand under the table, his palm warm and calloused.

“Hey, that’s great! I don’t mean to brag or nothing, but between you and me I’m not too bad of a cook. Italian’s my speciality, though if you tell me some of your favourites I’ll try to learn them all when you move in, eh?”

You tried to give Oz a faint smile in return, the motion as alien and uncomfortable to you as an ill-fitting mask. There hadn’t been much worth smiling about in your life for a good, long while, though it seemed like Oz was doing what he could to change that.

“I like crepes.” You offered, “With lots of strawberries and whipped cream. And zuppa. My Mom would make that for us on our birthdays, when she was still alive. And carbonara. She’d make that on Sundays. Stracciatella too sometimes, though that might be kind of plain compared to what you usually have.”

“Nah, there’s nothing wrong with the classics. You have good taste, sweetheart. God, you’re gonna love Rome. I haven’t been for a coupla years, but last time I went I found this little hole in the wall kind of place that serves a carbonara so good it’ll knock you clean into next week.”

Rome. You tried to imagine it. Descending the steps of a private jet, Oswald’s arm wrapped around your waist, the two of you bathed in rich, Mediterranian sunshine. Worlds away from Gotham, from the misery that had seeped into every corner of your pathetic little life.

Could it really happen? Could it really happen…to someone like you? Far more likely, you’d take two steps onto the runway, manage to find the only crack in the pavement around for miles and break the heel off the thousand dollar shoes Oz had so graciously bought you before falling flat on your face.

You opened your mouth to try and steer the conversation back to more comfortable territory, when a voice from behind cut you off short.

“Sorry, Mr. Cobblepot, can I borrow this one for a minute? It’s my last night to dance with my baby sister before you steal her away, and I don’t wanna miss that chance.”

To an outsider, you knew how this would seem. Antonio, doting brother, stepping in to give his little sister some relief from the big, bad criminal she was sold off to. Taking what little opportunity he could to be close to her one more time, before their respective worlds shattered.

But someone paying closer attention would’ve noticed the way Antonio’s thumb pressed against the base of your neck as he clutched your shoulder, how the pressure of it had your breath coming in frantic little gasps and how you were twisting and shrinking into your seat to try and get away.

Thankfully, Oz was paying attention.

“I don’t know pal, it doesn’t seem like the Missus is feeling too well, y’know? I think I’ve been letting her indulge a little too much, maybe you should let her sober up a bit, eh?”

As if to help punctuate his point, Oz reached out and gently took hold of your wrist before guiding your arm out from under the table. He then gave you a playful tap across the back of the hand he was holding, as though you were being scolded. The movement was so light, so quick, it was more like a kissthan a real admonishment.

You watched the whole show with guarded eyes, your confusion about your new husband’s motives tangling up with the terror your brother inspired.

“Bad girl,” Oz said, giving your brother a wide grin as he let your hand drop “You never told me your sister was such a wild one, Antonio. She’ll keep me on my toes.”

Laughter, as dry and crackling as flames over dead leaves, echoed by your ear. You had to physically fight back the urge to flinch at the sound, opting instead to bite the inside of your cheek so hard that white starbursts danced in front of your eyes while blood poured across your tounge.

“If you’ll excuse me saying so, sir, ” Antonio shot back “I raised her better than that. Course, even with all my teaching she often forgets herself. Forgets her place. I figured I’d do you a favour and remind her one last time before the night’s over. To honour and obey, right tesoro?”

You turned your gaze to Oz’s face, knowing if you so much as caught a glimpse of your brother, you’d burst into tears. The other man’s expression was unchanged, still grinning at the two of you like everyone was in on the joke.

In spite of his smile, something flashed in the depths of his dark irses, turning them from the warm brown of cocoa to the hard, unfeeling blackness of ashpalt. Under the table, you could feel his hand move from your knee to slightly further up your thigh, stopping to give you a soft squeeze over the fabric of your dress.

You nipped at your bottom lip, and stared down at your untouched plate in front of you, as though your neglected appetizer had all the answers. The thumb at your neck pressed down even harder, making your head swim with more than just hesitant thoughts.

“Please,” you said, the word coming out choked and desparate “Please, sir. He’s my brother. He’s…all I have left. Can’t I at least have a few minutes?”

Oz’s eyes narrowed as he considered your plea, the only outward sign that he knew he was being pissed on by someone who was trying to tell him it was raining. However, instead of calling out your lie, he took a long drag on his cigar, slowly exhaling smoke before reaching up to stroke your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand.