Page 20 of Prince of Masks
Mother watches her go with narrowed eyes.
I wonder, fleetingly, if she thinks Mila is after a share in the will. Not that Nonna has much to dish out, nothing beyond this property. Not even a comfortable nest of gold in the bank. My father foots her bills. Paid for the whole villa to be restored, too. He funds her servants, her cars, her gardening—so Mila wouldn’t get anything beyond a severance or a transfer.
Mother would give the severance.
I don’t see Mila being transferred to Elcott Abbey in this lifetime.
Before I can let my mind spiral over it another moment, Nonna squeezes my shoulder, then pats it, firm. “Have a macaron.”
“No.” Mother’s voice is firm. A sword carved from steel. “She has had some treats today already.”
Well, that’s debatable.
Nonna throws up her hands. “Then there is no harm in more.”
I look between the two, unsure of who to obey.
Nonna isn’t offering anymore.
And Mother isn’t playing.
“Have one, have as many as you like.”
“She has a gown to fit into.”
“And a dress cannot be let out?”
“It’s Oscar.”
“Tyranny is what it is,” Nonna tuts. “Telling these young, beautiful women that men will only want them if they can fit into their shackles and if they have enough diamonds on their necks.”
I sink into the couch and hope it swallows me, whole.
The bickering goes on.
And on.
And I just deflate into the cushions that smell faintly of dated perfume and potpourri.
I wait it out.
The two of them are just so strikingly different.
I used to wonder, when I was younger and not so self-aware, if Mother changed once she married my father. If it was theexpectations that come with aristos society that hardened and polished her.
Then I came to understand myself better over the years, how—no matter the manner I was raised—I am so strikingly different to my mother, but so similar to Nonna.
We were, perhaps, born the way that we are.
So I know now that Mother had always been a climber. She aspired, as so many do, to reach the rank above her own.
Nonna didn’t. She had more than enough to offer comfort in her life, and she didn’t want for more.
Nonna’s wealth is in the experiences of life and of loves; Mother’s is in gold, diamonds and pearls.
Mine is somewhere in between.
If I let myself be so greedy, I would take it all.
