Page 69 of Threads That Bind Us
It takes me a moment to realize the room is silent, everyone’s eyes squarely on us. Charlie guides me gently toward the head of the table.
Emily and Charlie both warned me, but it doesn’t stop the tug of pity from pulling at my heart when we greet Lucia. She’s in a wheelchair, her lower half covered in multiple blankets. She wears a thick, high-necked sweater, but burn scars still crawl up her throat and one side of her face. Her hair is short but full with dark, tight curls, highlighting her high cheeks and soft green eyes. Charlie’s father, Aurelio, clutches her unscarred hand in his like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he’s not holding her.
“Ma,” Charlie says, dipping down and kissing his mother’s unscarred cheek. “You look more beautiful than ever.”
Lucia laughs at him, the sound cracked and rough. She shakes off her husband’s grip to pat her son on the cheek.
“Always such a terrible liar, Charlie. Leave that to the women of this family,” she chastises, and I see his eyes brim with tears. The relief he must feel at seeing her here, making jokes and joining them for a meal, is incomprehensible.
“Your strength is your beauty, Mama. It always has been,” he argues, placing a kiss against her palm.
“Speaking of beauty,” she says, pushing his face out of the way and leaning forward a bit, wincing with the effort. “I’m incapacitated for four months and you find yourself a siren?”
Charlie laughs, and I reach my hand out to her.
“Twice as beautiful and tenfold as deadly,” he says, winking down at me, doing nothing to help me suppress the blush finding its way back to my cheeks. “Mama, this is Guinevere Byrne. Gwen, my mother.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Signora Costa,” I say, and she pulls me in with a surprisingly firm grip, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Charlie’s told me so many stories about you and your family.”
“Good to know he hasn’t tricked you into being here. I know how demanding he can be.” She raises her eyebrows at Charlie, and I see the tips of his ears redden.
“Gwen’s more the demanding one, if you’ll believe it,” he says, and I fight the urge to punch him in the side. “But I promise, she’s well-informed.”
Something unreadable passes over his mother’s expression, but she quickly turns to Aurelio. He’s tall and lean, almost willowy, with his sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. I wonder what he looked like before Lucia’s attack. If his skin was less sallow, his dark eyes bright like Charlie’s often are.
“Look, Charlie’s found himself Circe for a wife,” she says, gripping his hand again.
But Aurelio doesn’t get an opportunity to respond, because from the archway, a sweet, slicing voice breaks in.
“Not his wife yet, mama.”
We all turn, and I’m stunned by the woman standing in the doorway. Her dark curls sit atop her head in a bun that is somehow both messy and elegant, a feat I’ve never been able to achieve. She’s tall, nearly as tall as I am, her body lithe and strong under her bright red dress. There’s something terrifying about her smile, the way it lures you in and puts you on edge all at once. If anyone is a siren, it’s her, elegance so severe it’s a warning.
“Clara,” Charlie says simply, moving us a step backward so Clara can approach their mother.
“Carlo,” she says, her voice monotone. Her eyes flicker to me, but she says nothing, and I do my best not to bristle. Her posture softens immediately as she turns to her mother and takes both of her hands.
“Mama,” she whispers, pressing her lips softly to her cheek and wiping away the bit of lipstick she leaves behind. “I had every confidence you’d be at the head of this table again.”
I feel more than I see Charlie wince, and Aurelio’s eyes flash to his son and then to me, almost apologetic.
“Clara, mia rosa, mia spina,” Lucia says quietly, assessing her daughter in a way that feels wholly different from how she looked at Charlie. “Did you have faith in me, or lack it in yourself?”
If the room was silent before, it’s nothing compared to now. No one moves or even breathes as Lucia waits for Clara’s response. Her calm expression doesn’t slip, though, just hardens as she looks down at her matriarch.
“Faith in one Costa is faith in us all,” she finally says, and after a moment, her mother’s face breaks out in a smile so vicious it’s obvious where Clara learned hers.
“Always the politician.” Lucia says it like a compliment, fixing her daughter’s lipstick with her thumb. “But don’t be mean to Gwen; she’s going to be family.”
Clara turns around, that smile raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Charlie squeezes my hip, and Clara tracks the movement.
“Of course,” she nearly purrs, holding her hand out to me. “It’s so nice to meet my future sister.”
“I could say the same,” I reply, surprising myself with how calm my voice sounds. We shake hands briefly, and Clara looks me up and down once more before turning back to the table.
“Papa, I’ve missed you,” she says, crossing behind her mother and kissing Aurelio's cheek.
Charlie ushers us toward the other end of the table and introduces me to Alessia and Mauricio, Emily’s parents. As soon as pleasantries are over, Emily snags me by the elbow and drags me to a seat.