Page 72 of Threads That Bind Us
“Thank you–for your confidence and your well wishes.”
Lucia looks around the room, completely unphased by the way her sisters, brother-in-law, and nieces seem unable to look at her. She pushes her plate away from her and turns to pat her husband’s cheek.
“Well, it’s been a delight having the family together again, but I’m exhausted. My love, help me back to our room, will you?”
Aurelio stands and navigates Lucia’s wheelchair backtoward the hall, turning over his shoulder to look at his children.
“We love you both.” He says it like an apology.
Like Lucia’s departure was a signal, everyone else gathers themselves. Clara glares at Charlie, Emily, and Bea–a clear order to stay seated. Alessia and Mauricio exchange worried glances with each other, but Gia just rolls her eyes.
“Don’t kill each other,” she mumbles, brushing her hand down her shimmering dress. “Who knows which one of you she’ll put at the helm next?”
When it’s just the cousins and I left in the dining room, and the final snap of the door closing can be heard down the foyer, Clara turns to Charlie.
“What the fuck was that?” she nearly screams, on her feet in an instant.
Charlie just slumps back in his chair, running his hands through his hair and looking bewildered.
“You think I planned that? The last thing on the fucking planet I want is to lead The Syndicate and you know that,” he argues, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the ceiling.
“It doesn’t matter if you planned it!” Clara yells, slamming her hands on the table, making the plates clatter. “You and Gwen started this doomsday clock. I’ll never forgive you.”
“Oh please, dial it down a few notches,” Emily sighs, dropping her arms on the table and laying her head on them. “It’s not like they were going to live forever, Clara. You were going to have to get married eventually.”
Clara’s still pissed, but she seems more defeated than anything now, dropping ungracefully back into her chair with anoomph. The change in tone without the older generation in the room is stark. Fewer accusations. Less formal hierarchy. More bitching. I have whiplash from Clara’s quickly shiftingmood, but even that isn’t enough to distract me from my simmering anger toward Charlie. My skin prickles unpleasantly when I feel him reach for me. As if I would want his touch, his comfort. As if he wasn’t the one who ripped that from me.
“You want to apologize to Gwen for basically calling her a gold digging whore in front of her future in-laws?” Bea asks, her eyebrows raised at her cousin.
Clara turns toward me, a grimace that seems genuinely remorseful plastered on her face.
“Oh shit, yes, sorry,” she says, reaching over Charlie to grab my hand. “That wasn’t fair. I have a habit of being inconsiderate of others’ feelings when I’m trying to make a point, but I try not to do it with family.” She smiles at me like she wants me to trust her, and I really don’t know if I should. “I know your agreement wasn’t like that, and honestly, even if it was, that isn’t my business. I’d dance naked in Times Square if it meant saving my brother.”
“You’re not pissed at him?” I ask, finally letting my confusion break through my carefully constructed wall. I wish it didn’t feel like a weakness.
“Oh, I’m definitely pissed at him. If he wouldn’t have met you, I could probably have put off getting married for like five more years,” she sighs, picking up her fork and pushing her food around her plate. “Where the hell is dessert? If they’re not going to let us drink at family dinner, we should at least get sweets.”
She clinks her fork against her glass, and a few moments later, there are little dishes of panna cotta topped with bright red raspberries in front of us.
“Lucia’s not going to give The Syndicate to Charlie. Clara’s earned it,” Emily says, and I can tell it’s for my benefit. She doesn’t lift her head from her arms, her eyes closed like she’sfighting a headache. “She just doesn’t want to share her throne.”
“Shut up,” Clara sneers through a mouthful of dessert. “I just think it’s fucking medieval that I have to get married to take my position.”
“It’s not about the wedding, it’s about?—”
“Expanding the network of The Syndicate, yeah Charlie, I took the same lessons you did as a kid,” Clara interrupts her brother, scooping another large spoonful of raspberries and cream out of the glass. “We’re barely on the other side of thirty and I’ve made dozens of agreements with organizations and families. I’ve personally cut the heads off enemies.” Charlie glares at her and she rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine, I made you do it, but it was my call. Theonepartnership I make through marriage should not count more than everything else I’ve done.”
I feel for Clara, even though the wholefirst thing desperate enough to open its legsline still stings.
“Can’t you do what Charlie did and find a rent-a-spouse?” I ask, and Charlie turns to me with his eyes wide while Clara cackles.
“Did he tell you I called you that? Oh my God, I’m so sorry, but that’s so funny,” Clara laughs, and Bea and Emily join with soft chuckles under their breath.
The only ones not laughing are me and Charlie.
“You know that’s not—” he starts, but I refuse to be the first person to let Charlie get a word in, especially with anger heating my blood.
“Oh, don’t think you can calm me down right now. Reports? Approval? Did you not think it would be appropriate to inform me I could have spent all this time with you, and your family might have rejected me?”