IAGO, mad with rage, strikes EMILIA in the face several times, driving her back to the bed where DESDEMONA lies dead. He then draws a dagger from his belt and stabs her. EMILIA collapses across the body of

DESDEMONA, grievously injured. IAGO turns and exits, running

They worked through the dialogue, with Alex helping her with pronunciation, pointing out the words to emphasize. Maria was a quick study, and in only a few minutes they were rehearsing the scene.

But it did not go any better with Maria than it did the three dozen times he had done it earlier in the day with Claire. He forced her across the room with mock slaps and punches, until he pulled a pretend dagger and lunged at her chest. Even as he said the words he could sense the awkwardness, knew the non-existent audience was not buying his performance.

"I wonder," said Maria, after the fourth futile run-through. She scanned the script.

“This says Iago is angry, yes?" Alex nodded.

“Why is he angry? He should know his wife wouldn't betray Desdemona by lying for him, or he would have brought her into the plot. He isn't angry.

He's afraid."

Alex's mind opened up, the inner truth of the scene unfolding seamlessly. "Of course," he breathed. His face broke into a broad smile.

“He's terrified. He's standing there, just inches away from succeeding. Desdemona is dead, Othello disgraced, and no one knows he was behind it all. Then his wife has to open her big stupid mouth and ruin everything.

“Let's do it again."

This time, it went right. He drove Maria across the room, screaming in incoherent fear and rage. His vicious punches whistled by her face, missing her by the barest of margins. He shoved her onto the bed, where she landed on her back, gasping with wide-eyed fear. He loomed over her, his face drawn up in an angry mask, his left hand shoving her sadistically down. His clutching right hand pulled the fictional dagger from his belt, reached high, then stabbed with brutal force into her heaving chest, which she arched up towards him in a futile effort to escape. With a shuddering wail, she collapsed beneath him, moaning piteously.

He grinned down at her. "That was it! Damn! Finally! I've been fighting that scene for days. Thank you, Maria," he said.

“You've got no idea how much that helped me."

“You're welcome," she said. She smiled up at him, her lips curling lazily, and suddenly he was intensely aware of her body beneath his.

“It was no trouble at all, mi Lindo." Her eyes were wide but warm, and he could smell her scent, a subtle blend of vanilla and citrus and the food she had been cooking. One leg raised up, rubbing on his hip, the cloth of her skirt falling away to reveal a length of brown thigh, the color of fresh-baked bread.

Their eyes locked, and for the first time in his life, Alex was aware of a woman as a complete person. He felt as if he were standing outside himself, and he could see the secret history of Maria's soul. The grinding poverty of her childhood on the south side of Chicago, growing up in an apartment which was little better than a slum. The way the public school system chewed her up and spat her out, without recognizing the bright, hungry intelligence of her mind. The years of work, cleaning up the messes the carelessly wealthy left behind. The bitter resentment of those, no better than she, who had been privileged to be born to a Life of power and Luxury. The fondness she held for his mother, and for his entire family, because of how they had always treated her as a person, not a mindless automaton. The sweet purity of her soul, which more than matched her outer beauty.

And, most terrifying of all, her desire for him, and her need to be dominated.

Her shining eyes met his. "Master," she breathed. "Please. Tell me how to serve you."

For a moment he teetered, balanced on a knife-edge. Somehow he knew that as he knew her, she also knew him. Was able to see into the corners of his soul, laid bare before her gaze. Knew his love for his family, despite the resentment he had as his mother controlled his life. Knew his burning desire to prove his skills as an actor. Knew the gnawing self-doubt that kept him from approaching her, despite the attraction between them. Knew his desire to be dominant over a willing partner, and his crawling, shameful suspicion that it made him unworthy of a decent woman.