By the time Pirate dozes off curled up on the blanket, Mattie has finished my make-up. I study my reflection in the mirror with a critical eye. My hair doesn’t have Mattie’s auburn tint, but the dark tresses are thick and glossy. The many hours I spent outdoors have darkened my skin. A few white sunspots mark my arms and legs, but my cheeks have a healthy glow, and the color of the dress shows off my tan.
Mattie rolls her eyes when I wipe off the red lipstick and replace it with a dab of gloss. It makes my lips look fuller.
“Ready?” she asks with a note of irritation. “I left Jared alone with the vultures.”
Dabbing away the excess gloss with a tissue, I smile at her in the reflection of the mirror. “I’m sure he’ll survive for an hour.”
I check on Pirate one last time before dashing after Mattie down the stairs.
It’s dark already. The garden is lit with fairy lights that are draped around the trees and lanterns that are burning on the tables. Going on tiptoes on the terrace, I scan the crowd.
“He left,” Mattie says in a dry tone.
I feign ignorance. “Who?”
“Angelo.”
So, that’s his name. It’s fitting.
“Angelo who?” I ask, enjoying the sound of his name on my tongue.
“Russo.”
“Where’s he staying?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. “At the guesthouse or at a hotel?”
Her manner is curt. “He went home.”
Disappointment surges through me. He won’t see me in my dress. He couldn’t even wait until the end of the party. Corsica is on the other side of the world. I may never see him again.
“It’s a good thing he left,” she says. “He had no business showing up at a family event.”
“Wasn’t he invited?”
“He and his father invited themselves. Dad only told them to come because it was the polite thing to do.”
“How come you know so much anyway?”
“Ryan told me.” Mattie steps in front of me, cutting off my view. “He’s trouble, Bella, with a big T.”
“I wasn’t even looking for him.”
“Right.” She crosses her arms. “Stay away from him and his family. They’re bad people.”
“How can you say that? You don’t even know him.”
“Do you remember that guy in primary school, the one who always had scruff here?” She draws a finger around the base of her neck. “He got his school uniforms from the trunk with the second-hand throwaways in the gymnasium. His jersey had holes under the armpits.”
I frown. “Isaac?”
“Yes. Angelo is like him. Well, not in the way he was dressed tonight, but his family comes from the same place as Isaac’s family.”
“I liked Isaac. He was clever and better with math than anyone in school. And he was good with animals. He was really kind to the stray cats who lived in the drainpipes behind the toilets.”
She sighs. “Just trust me when I tell you that the Russo family is the worst kind of bad.”
I want to say they can’t be that bad if Dad considers them good enough to do business with, but my dad walks up with a proud smile.
He kisses my cheek. “You look beautiful, darling.”
My mom follows short on his heels, stumbling her way over the grass. “You almost ruined everything, Sabella. I’m only glad no one decided to leave.”
Taking my arm, my father says, “Shall we make the toast?”
When Mom doesn’t look, he winks at me.
I’m not so enthusiastic now that he has left. To be honest, I’m a little hurt. Fine, a lot. The evening has lost its sparkle. I only endure the party for the sake of my parents. Like a good hostess, I do the rounds and talk to the guests, offer them refreshments, and listen politely to Uncle Fred’s story about the bank robbery.
When it’s time to open my gifts, I blow out a quiet sigh of relief. That means the cake will soon be cut and served with coffee, which announces the end of the party.
The Russo family gifted me an intricate gold bracelet shaped like interlinked daisies with a diamond in each flower’s center. It’s exquisite. They must be loaded. If Dad felt obliged to invite them to my party, they must be very important to his business. He never invites his colleagues or associates home. He doesn’t believe in mixing business and pleasure.
Everyone admires the bracelet, except my mom. She seems upset about the fact that I like it so much, but it’s only because she doesn’t want anyone’s gift to outshine hers. My parents’ gift is a grand piano wrapped in white velvet and tied with a gigantic pink ribbon. I’ve never played the piano, and I don’t have the talent to or ever will. When I point that out to Mom, she says the piano will make a good impression in my living room, one day, and that I have lots of friends who can entertain me by playing.
By lots of friends, she means Colin, my childhood friend and neighbor. None of my other friends are musically talented. Colin and I were born a week apart, and we were in the same class for the whole of primary school. We were only separated in high school because my parents sent me to a girls-only private school while Colin got shipped to the boys’ school. My mom is still secretly hoping we’ll marry one day. Fat chance. Colin is like a brother to me.
After the lychee sponge cake topped with a rose-flavored ganache has been served, I stand in the entrance and dutifully shake each person’s hand as I thank them for coming. By the time I finally close the door, I can hardly stand on my feet. Despite my tiredness, a strange listlessness comes over me.
Kicking off the heels that pinch my toes, I wander aimlessly through the empty house. The catering team has already removed the hired cocktail tables and tidied up. “It’s what I pay for,” my mom always says with a grateful sigh when she wakes up the next morning with a slight hangover in a clean house.
My feet carry me automatically to Dad’s study. Saying goodnight has been a habit since I was little. He always works for an hour or two when everyone’s gone to bed, never making any exceptions, not even on weekends or after parties.
My mom’s heated voice comes through the wood before I even reach the door.
“I’m not going to say I told you so, but I did warn you not to do business with those people. You can’t let this happen.”
“I won’t,” my dad grumbles. “Now, give it a rest.”
“Give it a rest,” she exclaims. “Nothing good is going to come from this.”
“You stick to your business, and I’ll manage mine.”
“You mean run your household and raise your kids but don’t have an opinion when it comes to how your business impacts our lives.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, for heaven’s sake. I’ll take care of it. Don’t I always?”
“Dramatic?” Her voice quivers. “Sometimes, Benjamin Edwards, you can be a patronizing son of a bitch.”
A moment later, the door flies open in my face. I bounce back as my mom charges through the doorframe, her face streaked with black mascara. She glares at me before flouncing down the hallway on her bare feet with her heels swinging in one hand.
I don’t take her animosity personally. She simply doesn’t like showing weakness. No one is allowed to witness her in any state of dress or composure that isn’t perfect. I’ve never seen her in pj’s or without her make-up. She’s always immaculately groomed when she comes downstairs in the morning.