Page 21 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
Crispin, perhaps sensing the shift, finally stepped forward, embracing Ophelia with a warmth that Aria hadn't expected. His hand lingered on her back, a genuine smile breaking through the façade. "Ophelia," he said fondly. "Still as formidable as ever. Have you been terrorizing your gardener again?"
"Oh, don't start with me." She laughed, relaxing slightly. "I remember the trouble you and Dorian used to get into. The neighbour still flinches at the word 'paintball.'"
Crispin grinned sheepishly. "That was entirely Dorian's fault."
"I haven't forgotten the time you lit the fuse," Ophelia said. "And you both deserve prison time for almost burning down Surrey in the process."
"I haven't seen you in ages," he murmured.
"You never call," Ophelia said lightly. "Where's your mother?"
"On her way. Dad had a late day at the office."
"As usual," Ophelia said, then added under her breath, "God help your poor mum."
Aria stood a step behind, her palms slightly damp, her stomach churning. The lights, the noise, the scent of perfume all seemed to coalesce around her like smoke. Her chest felt tight.
She felt like she was quietly vanishing.
"Come, Aria. We need to mingle," Ophelia said, breaking through Aria's anxiety. Her eyes were concerned.Are you alright?they silently asked.
Aria shook herself internally and gave her a wobbly smile.
They mingled, drifting between guests. Aria remained quiet, a silent shadow at Ophelia's side.
Then Crispin's family arrived: his petite mother, her salt-and-pepper hair swept elegantly back; his sister Alice, tall and wide-eyed wearing pale blue silk; and his father, a shorter, broader version of Crispin, still handsome and charming.
They greeted Crispin and Helga with the warmth of long-standing familiarity.
Aria sat on a chair by the side, watching the room blur in a sheen of crystal glass and designer perfume. Ophelia was in an animated conversation with an old friend from her Cambridge days.
Dorian appeared, as if summoned by the quiet tension in the air.
"They look good together, don't they?" he said softly, his eyes fixed on Crispin and Helga, who were now deep in conversation with Crispin's mother. "Polished. Photogenic. Equally well-bred."
Aria said nothing.
He tilted his head, considering her like an unsolved riddle. "Would you like some wine? Might help settle the nerves."
"No, thank you"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Suit yourself."
There was a pause before he leaned in just enough that only she could hear.
"Now do you see where you stand, little maid?" he murmured, his tone warm, almost paternal. "Understand what you are? Decorative, yes. But temporary. Always temporary."
Her throat tightened and she swallowed past the lump that had lodged there like a rock.
"You're not the first," he went on, almost wistful. "Crispin's always had a thing for charity projects. That wounded look, the tragic silences...it's like catnip to him. But it never lasts."
Her spine straightened slowly. "I always planned to leave."
His smile sharpened. "Mm. Then do us all a favour and make it graceful."
He turned slightly towards her, his voice lowering. "And for God's sake, stop preying on my godmother. She's sentimental and half-blind, not stupid. You've got just enough looks to pass for genuine concern, but I see what you're doing."
Her jaw clenched . "I'll return the necklace after tonight."
