Page 70 of Threads That Bind Us
“It took like two hours to figure out the seating arrangement with you here, and I’m not letting Clara fuck it up, so make Charlie pull out your seat before she notices what’s going on,” she hisses in my ear, her words running together in a single breath.
Charlie seems to catch on quicker than I do, because he pulls out Emily’s chair next to Aurelio’s and then mine next to hers. Clara’s eyes flare when she sees him slipping into his own seat.
There’s a commotion in the hallway as the last of the guests arrive. A woman close to Alessia’s age is dressed in a shimmering gold dress, standing out from the rest of the family. She’s short, and her frame is thin and lithe. Her smile is pleasant, but the look in her eyes is almost angry. Charlie whispersGia and Beatricein my ear.
I didn’t even notice the second person at first, buttrailing in Gia’s shadow is Beatrice. Her face is blank, and if I had to assign an emotion to her, it would bebored. That is, if it wasn't for the way she seemed to find the blind spot in her mother’s every movement, shifting so that when Gia turns to greet someone, Bea is carefully behind her.
“My sister,” Gia says, her bright voice nearly bird-like. She approaches Lucia delicately, waiting for her to reach out her hand.
“Gia, it’s so good to see you,” Lucia says, placing her hand in her sister’s and letting her squeeze her fingers.
“Me? It’s a miracle to see you alive,” Gia replies, looking down at her sister with something like disbelief in her eyes.
“Bea came with her,” Emily mutters, and Charlie’s eyes meet hers before looking back to the pair hovering near his mother.
“I know.” Charlie almost sounds disappointed, but I have more sense than to ask why.
Bea greets Lucia quietly after her mother finds her chair. I watch as Lucia beckons Bea forward and whispers something in her ear that makes her lips tilt in a smile, before pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Zia Gia,” Charlie says, clearing his throat. “I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Guinevere.”
Gia shimmies into the seat across from me, reaching her hand out and smiling pleasantly.
“Guinevere–what a lovely name,” she compliments, grasping my hand lightly before turning to Charlie. “It’s good to see at least one child in this family is taking their responsibilities seriously.”
Emily catches her parents’ eyes across the table and grimaces, which they seem to find funny. But both Bea and Clara seem less entertained. Clara sneers as she takes the seat opposite her mother at the head of the table. Bea sits betweenClara and her mother, finding her way into the shadows again.
“Ah, give the kids a break. They’re doing well for themselves,” Alessia chides, tossing a wink to her daughter; Emily struggles to contain her laughter.
“I don’t think it’s so funny, Emily,” Gia snaps, eyes narrowing on her niece. “By the time we were your age, we were all married and raising you lot. I had already lost Enzo. You live too comfortably.”
Lucia clears her throat, and everyone turns toward her immediately.
“Perhaps we can save the criticisms of our progeny until the dessert course, yes?” she asks lightly, tilting her head at Aurelio, who taps his glass with his fork.
I try to process everything that’s happened so far as house staff serve the first course, but I barely know where to start. The Costas maintain some strange balance between obvious love for one another and threatening tension. I feel like a guppy invited to a dinner party with sharks, but I try to keep a pleasant smile on my face as conversations break out across the table and everyone begins to eat.
Charlie introduces me to Bea, whose expression doesn’t change a bit as she makes small talk. Her eyes keep flicking to her mother, who seems to be absorbed in a conversation about recent developments in Central America with Mauricio and Alessia. Emily asks me about Ana, suggesting she could do somelight investigationto see if the SAT prep questions she helped Charlie create were effective.
I keep waiting to hear from Clara, but she’s silent. When I glance at her, inconspicuously as I can, she’s watching her father help her mother eat, her aunts trade jabs and jokes over Mauricio’s plate. Charlie puts his arm over my shoulder, but she says nothing.
As second and third courses are served, I can almost delude myself into believing this is a normal family dinner, despite the formal gowns and the fact that everyone but me is packing. Sparkling water is poured into champagne flutes–no alcohol is allowed at Costa family dinners, apparently. Emily’s parents ask about the research she’s doing into some spider in Madagascar, and she goes into vivid detail about skin necrosis—to the delight of her father. Bea asks about the foundation, and Charlie provides updates on a few of the families they’ve helped resettle in rural China. Everyone is polite, other than Clara and her disinterest.
“Gwen,” Lucia calls out, interrupting Charlie and Bea’s conversation about her trip to Japan. “Have you decided if you’d like a wedding in the States? Our home is open to you, of course, if you’d prefer something more Mediterranean.”
I don’t even have time to stammer out an answer, because Clara’s silverware cracks heavily against her plate. Charlie’s hand grips my shoulder, but I don’t pull my eyes away from his sister.
“That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think, Mama?” Clara asks, and I hear Emily choke on her food next to me.
I have a feeling Lucia is rarely questioned like this, even by her successor.
“Why would it be presumptuous, mia rosa?” Lucia rebuts, a challenge in her eyes and a smile pulling at one corner of her mouth.
Clara doesn’t buckle, but it’s clear it’s an effort.
“The council has not approved her.”
Approved?I fight the urge to turn to Charlie, knowing it will give away my lack of knowledge, even as his thumb rubs circles on my shoulder.