Page 68 of Her Dark Lies
“Amazing,” Brian gushes. “Harper took us all over the city, to all her photoshoots. We saw the Colosseum, and the Vatican. A special tour, just for us. It was incredible. And the food... I’m already thinking about the next time we can come visit.”
“You’re welcome anytime. Mom, did you have fun?”
“I did. I’ve developed a fondness for pistachio gelato. Harper told me about your dress. I’m so sorry, Claire.”
“Yeah. Totally sucks.” She’s distracted; despite her condolences, she’s not even making eye contact with me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. The ferry ride was very rough, the waves got us all damp. I hear you’ve had to move up the schedule?” she looks queasily at the dishes of food, and even more so at the champagne. Brian pours her a cup of coffee. He’s pretending nothing is wrong, so I go along with it. I’ll talk to him about it later. Or tomorrow. Or never. I resolve not to let my worry for my mom interfere with things. I have enough on my plate.
“Yes, you’re going to be eating all day. Rehearsal is tonight. It should be a fun party—it’s down onThe Hebrides. I’ve heard there’s a big surprise.”
“Sounds like fun, honey. This place...” She smiles, an actual, genuine smile, one I don’t get to see very often. “I’m proud of you. You certainly landed yourself a catch. Hold on to him.”
She takes a seat two down from me, a leg curled beneath her on the chair. Those daily yoga classes have paid off, she’s limber as a teenager. Harper drops down next to her.
“Any news on the dress?”
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t able to find Henna to talk to her. I’ll deal with it after brunch. Promise.”
Speaking of Henna... I don’t see her anywhere. Granted, she’s running this show, but she should at least be able to enjoy the fruits of her labor.
Ana arrives, looking severely elegant in a black wrap dress, Brice in ironed jeans and a black turtleneck at her side. They mix and mingle and are delightful hosts, taking special pains to include my family in the conversation.
This is perfect. The room is so happy, with the clinking of silverware and glasses, the laughter and general conversation. The bottles never seem to disappear or get empty, the dishes on the sideboard stay full. I finally see some of the kitchen staff, who have been coming in and out silently, unobtrusively. They’ve managed all this without the main power on, running entirely off the generators. They know how to manage a roomful of people, and a tiny part of me relaxes. Under Henna’s guidance, the dinner tonight will be flawless.
Fatima is the only one who isn’t smiling. She stands at the far end of the room by the door to the kitchen watching over everything with a sharp eye. She is dignified, remote, with her hair screwed back into a bun and her chin high. She has not had time to grieve her mother, not at all, but I recognize the stance of a woman who is content to wait her turn.
I realize Harper is talking to Ana about the interview. They’ve scheduled the shoot for after brunch. I’m glad. Harper’s been on me about this for months—now that it’s happening, I hope she’ll get off my back and we can resume our benign neglect of one another.
Satisfied, I lift my mimosa, and hit my glass gently with my fork. Everyone settles. There are a few whistles. Jack looks at me, surprised but clearly delighted. I stand. I’ve been preparing this speech for days, wanting to surprise Jack with a bit of extroversion. I don’t normally get talkative unless I’ve had a few drinks. I’ve had to modify it a bit, but the gist is the same.
“I’d like to make a toast.”
“Toast this,” someone shouts, and Jack throws a piece of bacon at the offending someone.
“I’d like to make a toast to all of you. For being so flexible—” more wolf whistles, and now I’m blushing, and Jack is openly laughing “—for agreeing to join us in Italy for our wedding, halfway around the world for many of you. We adore you all and are so grateful you’re here with us. Jack and I prepared a whole weekend of activities for you, but as you can see—” lightning flashes, and thunder booms, right on cue “—we’re going to be stuck inside more than we’d planned.”
“And we know what you and Compton will be doing,” a tall blond-haired man at the second to the last seat of the table calls out, followed by more wolf whistles. I obligingly roll my eyes; this is clearly the horniest group of merrymakers. Maybe Katie and Harper will find themselves partnered off. After all, they are the bridesmaids.
“I want to thank Jack and his family as well, for offering the hospitality of their delightful home.” Another crack of thunder, and we all laugh. “Thank you for helping us start our lives together.” I raise my glass. “Ching Ching.”
“Ching Ching!” they shout.
Jack hops up to clink glasses with me, a smile on his face. My toast is the Italian way of saying cheers, or bottoms up, and I know he likes that I took the time to figure it out.
Jack holds up his glass. “And if I may say thank you as well, to my bride, the love of my life, who has opened her heart to this grizzled old man. May this be the first of many happy breakfasts together.”
There’s another smattering of applause, then all the guests start hitting their glasses with their cutlery. Jack obligingly sweeps me into his arms and kisses me, and the room explodes into shouts of happiness.
Their joy burns away the clouds that have shrouded me. I finally feel like a bride. I finally feel like things are going to be okay.
40
Wake Up, Wake Up
Don’t think I’ve gotten attached to this woman. Not for a moment. Oh, I know what you’re thinking—she’s not obsessed, she’s not out for revenge.
She’s in love.
