24. Gwen
It’s a good thing we didn’t have to be at the Costa home until evening, because it took us all afternoon to recover from the jetlag and our sleepless night. Even now, I can feel Charlie’s lips against my neck, his teeth on my inner thigh. If I wasn’t half-terrified of what I was about to face, I’d drag him back to that gorgeous hotel and refuse to let him leave the bed until we had to get on our flight.
Emily sent a few more last-minute warning texts about the way the family interacts with each other and how Lucia, Charlie”s mother, is fairing.
On the drive over to the house, Charlie is anxious. He shares more stories about his family, but his leg bounces and his grip on my knee is tight. I try to smooth the sky blue silk gown I’m wearing—apparently family dinners are a formal affair—but my palms are sweating and I’m afraid to stain the fabric.
The same driver from yesterday pulls through a massive wrought-iron gate and up a dirt path lined with oleander. At the end of the drive, standing like a fortress, is the Costa family home. The stone is bleached near-white from the sun, and towers topped with terracotta shingles are evenly spaced across the facade. I have to crane my neck to see the top as we pull up, and the reality of what I’m walking into suddenly hits me.
These are some of the most powerful people in the world. Not by political sway or money, though they clearly have both, but mostly by the fear and respect they instill in the world. They are a small family, and yet they’re an empire. A dynasty I’ve somehow found my way to the center of.
I try to keep my heart rate down, remembering that Charlie wants me here. That, as intimidating as their family is, he wouldn’t have brought me here if he didn’t believe I could handle it. And as terrifying as walking through those doors will be, I want it. I’ve never felt more sure of my future than when I imagine it beside Charlie, finding justice for those who need it, making the world just a little safer. I want to learn and prove myself to them, to be a Costa.
Charlie opens my door and holds his hand out to me, and when he helps me from the car, I don’t see any hesitation in his eyes. Nerves, sure. But not doubt.
“We can do this,” I say, but it comes out as more of a question than a declaration.
“Together,” he replies, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. “Fate hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”
The foyer is unsurprisingly grand, bigger than mine and Ana’s old apartment, and a million times more opulent. A member of the house staff greets us and ushers us down a long hall, our steps echoing loudly against the high ceilings and plaster walls. Charlie seems to loosen with the familiarity of his surroundings, pointing out family portraits from generations past and art that his grandmother, Sofia, collected.
Chatter and laughter grow louder as we near an arch at the end of the hall. Charlie stops just before we enter and tips my chin up to look at him.
“They’re different from most families, but they are still the people I love most. And they will love you because…” he cuts himself off, and I feel my face flame involuntarily. I have to break his gaze, afraid of what he’ll say, or what I will. “Because you’re going to be my wife.”
I nod, staring at one of his cufflinks, trying to force my blush to crawl backwards. He gives me a moment to collect myself, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie. And then we walk through the archway.
The first thing that I notice is all the color. The walls are covered in bright art, and credenzas lining the walls host family photos, blown glass vases, and other trinkets. But it’s not just the decor that’s bright.
The five people seated at the table are also dressed in brilliant colors, mostly pastels, but also beautiful jewel tones. I catch Emily’s eye immediately, surprised to find her in a pastel purple floor-length gown. She’s changed her hair since I last saw her, the severe cut accentuating the strong set of her shoulders. She looks gorgeous as she winks at me.
It takes me a moment to realize the room is silent, everyone’s eyes squarely on us. Charlie guides me gently toward the head of the table.
Emily and Charlie both warned me, but it doesn’t stop the tug of pity from pulling at my heart when we greet Lucia. She’s in a wheelchair, her lower half covered in multiple blankets. She wears a thick, high-necked sweater, but burn scars still crawl up her throat and one side of her face. Her hair is short but full with dark, tight curls, highlighting her high cheeks and soft green eyes. Charlie’s father, Aurelio, clutches her unscarred hand in his like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he’s not holding her.
“Ma,” Charlie says, dipping down and kissing his mother’s unscarred cheek. “You look more beautiful than ever.”
Lucia laughs at him, the sound cracked and rough. She shakes off her husband’s grip to pat her son on the cheek.
“Always such a terrible liar, Charlie. Leave that to the women of this family,” she chastises, and I see his eyes brim with tears. The relief he must feel at seeing her here, making jokes and joining them for a meal, is incomprehensible.
“Your strength is your beauty, Mama. It always has been,” he argues, placing a kiss against her palm.
“Speaking of beauty,” she says, pushing his face out of the way and leaning forward a bit, wincing with the effort. “I’m incapacitated for four months and you find yourself a siren?”
Charlie laughs, and I reach my hand out to her.
“Twice as beautiful and tenfold as deadly,” he says, winking down at me, doing nothing to help me suppress the blush finding its way back to my cheeks. “Mama, this is Guinevere Byrne. Gwen, my mother.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Signora Costa,” I say, and she pulls me in with a surprisingly firm grip, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Charlie’s told me so many stories about you and your family.”
“Good to know he hasn’t tricked you into being here. I know how demanding he can be.” She raises her eyebrows at Charlie, and I see the tips of his ears redden.
“Gwen’s more the demanding one, if you’ll believe it,” he says, and I fight the urge to punch him in the side. “But I promise, she’s well-informed.”
Something unreadable passes over his mother’s expression, but she quickly turns to Aurelio. He’s tall and lean, almost willowy, with his sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. I wonder what he looked like before Lucia’s attack. If his skin was less sallow, his dark eyes bright like Charlie’s often are.
“Look, Charlie’s found himself Circe for a wife,” she says, gripping his hand again.
But Aurelio doesn’t get an opportunity to respond, because from the archway, a sweet, slicing voice breaks in.
“Not his wife yet, mama.”
We all turn, and I’m stunned by the woman standing in the doorway. Her dark curls sit atop her head in a bun that is somehow both messy and elegant, a feat I’ve never been able to achieve. She’s tall, nearly as tall as I am, her body lithe and strong under her bright red dress. There’s something terrifying about her smile, the way it lures you in and puts you on edge all at once. If anyone is a siren, it’s her, elegance so severe it’s a warning.
“Clara,” Charlie says simply, moving us a step backward so Clara can approach their mother.
“Carlo,” she says, her voice monotone. Her eyes flicker to me, but she says nothing, and I do my best not to bristle. Her posture softens immediately as she turns to her mother and takes both of her hands.
“Mama,” she whispers, pressing her lips softly to her cheek and wiping away the bit of lipstick she leaves behind. “I had every confidence you’d be at the head of this table again.”
I feel more than I see Charlie wince, and Aurelio’s eyes flash to his son and then to me, almost apologetic.
“Clara, mia rosa, mia spina,” Lucia says quietly, assessing her daughter in a way that feels wholly different from how she looked at Charlie. “Did you have faith in me, or lack it in yourself?”
If the room was silent before, it’s nothing compared to now. No one moves or even breathes as Lucia waits for Clara’s response. Her calm expression doesn’t slip, though, just hardens as she looks down at her matriarch.
“Faith in one Costa is faith in us all,” she finally says, and after a moment, her mother’s face breaks out in a smile so vicious it’s obvious where Clara learned hers.
“Always the politician.” Lucia says it like a compliment, fixing her daughter’s lipstick with her thumb. “But don’t be mean to Gwen; she’s going to be family.”
Clara turns around, that smile raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Charlie squeezes my hip, and Clara tracks the movement.
“Of course,” she nearly purrs, holding her hand out to me. “It’s so nice to meet my future sister.”
“I could say the same,” I reply, surprising myself with how calm my voice sounds. We shake hands briefly, and Clara looks me up and down once more before turning back to the table.
“Papa, I’ve missed you,” she says, crossing behind her mother and kissing Aurelio”s cheek.
Charlie ushers us toward the other end of the table and introduces me to Alessia and Mauricio, Emily’s parents. As soon as pleasantries are over, Emily snags me by the elbow and drags me to a seat.
“It took like two hours to figure out the seating arrangement with you here, and I’m not letting Clara fuck it up, so make Charlie pull out your seat before she notices what’s going on,” she hisses in my ear, her words running together in a single breath.
Charlie seems to catch on quicker than I do, because he pulls out Emily’s chair next to Aurelio’s and then mine next to hers. Clara’s eyes flare when she sees him slipping into his own seat.
There’s a commotion in the hallway as the last of the guests arrive. A woman close to Alessia’s age is dressed in a shimmering gold dress, standing out from the rest of the family. She’s short, and her frame is thin and lithe. Her smile is pleasant, but the look in her eyes is almost angry. Charlie whispers Gia and Beatrice in my ear.
I didn’t even notice the second person at first, but trailing in Gia’s shadow is Beatrice. Her face is blank, and if I had to assign an emotion to her, it would be bored. That is, if it wasn”t for the way she seemed to find the blind spot in her mother’s every movement, shifting so that when Gia turns to greet someone, Bea is carefully behind her.
“My sister,” Gia says, her bright voice nearly bird-like. She approaches Lucia delicately, waiting for her to reach out her hand.
“Gia, it’s so good to see you,” Lucia says, placing her hand in her sister’s and letting her squeeze her fingers.
“Me? It’s a miracle to see you alive,” Gia replies, looking down at her sister with something like disbelief in her eyes.
“Bea came with her,” Emily mutters, and Charlie’s eyes meet hers before looking back to the pair hovering near his mother.
“I know.” Charlie almost sounds disappointed, but I have more sense than to ask why.
Bea greets Lucia quietly after her mother finds her chair. I watch as Lucia beckons Bea forward and whispers something in her ear that makes her lips tilt in a smile, before pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Zia Gia,” Charlie says, clearing his throat. “I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Guinevere.”
Gia shimmies into the seat across from me, reaching her hand out and smiling pleasantly.
“Guinevere–what a lovely name,” she compliments, grasping my hand lightly before turning to Charlie. “It’s good to see at least one child in this family is taking their responsibilities seriously.”
Emily catches her parents’ eyes across the table and grimaces, which they seem to find funny. But both Bea and Clara seem less entertained. Clara sneers as she takes the seat opposite her mother at the head of the table. Bea sits between Clara and her mother, finding her way into the shadows again.
“Ah, give the kids a break. They’re doing well for themselves,” Alessia chides, tossing a wink to her daughter; Emily struggles to contain her laughter.
“I don’t think it’s so funny, Emily,” Gia snaps, eyes narrowing on her niece. “By the time we were your age, we were all married and raising you lot. I had already lost Enzo. You live too comfortably.”
Lucia clears her throat, and everyone turns toward her immediately.
“Perhaps we can save the criticisms of our progeny until the dessert course, yes?” she asks lightly, tilting her head at Aurelio, who taps his glass with his fork.
I try to process everything that’s happened so far as house staff serve the first course, but I barely know where to start. The Costas maintain some strange balance between obvious love for one another and threatening tension. I feel like a guppy invited to a dinner party with sharks, but I try to keep a pleasant smile on my face as conversations break out across the table and everyone begins to eat.
Charlie introduces me to Bea, whose expression doesn’t change a bit as she makes small talk. Her eyes keep flicking to her mother, who seems to be absorbed in a conversation about recent developments in Central America with Mauricio and Alessia. Emily asks me about Ana, suggesting she could do some light investigation to see if the SAT prep questions she helped Charlie create were effective.
I keep waiting to hear from Clara, but she’s silent. When I glance at her, inconspicuously as I can, she’s watching her father help her mother eat, her aunts trade jabs and jokes over Mauricio’s plate. Charlie puts his arm over my shoulder, but she says nothing.
As second and third courses are served, I can almost delude myself into believing this is a normal family dinner, despite the formal gowns and the fact that everyone but me is packing. Sparkling water is poured into champagne flutes–no alcohol is allowed at Costa family dinners, apparently. Emily’s parents ask about the research she’s doing into some spider in Madagascar, and she goes into vivid detail about skin necrosis—to the delight of her father. Bea asks about the foundation, and Charlie provides updates on a few of the families they’ve helped resettle in rural China. Everyone is polite, other than Clara and her disinterest.
“Gwen,” Lucia calls out, interrupting Charlie and Bea’s conversation about her trip to Japan. “Have you decided if you’d like a wedding in the States? Our home is open to you, of course, if you’d prefer something more Mediterranean.”
I don’t even have time to stammer out an answer, because Clara’s silverware cracks heavily against her plate. Charlie’s hand grips my shoulder, but I don’t pull my eyes away from his sister.
“That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think, Mama?” Clara asks, and I hear Emily choke on her food next to me.
I have a feeling Lucia is rarely questioned like this, even by her successor.
“Why would it be presumptuous, mia rosa?” Lucia rebuts, a challenge in her eyes and a smile pulling at one corner of her mouth.
Clara doesn’t buckle, but it’s clear it’s an effort.
“The council has not approved her.”
Approved?I fight the urge to turn to Charlie, knowing it will give away my lack of knowledge, even as his thumb rubs circles on my shoulder.
“We barely know her.”
Aurelio clears his throat and looks to his wife, who nods.
“Clara, Gwen has proven herself over the past months. She’s kept our secrets, learned our ways, even worked on a target with Charlie,” he says, sending me a small smile that I can’t seem to return. “You’ve received the reports, the same as your mother. Even her sister doesn’t know much, and she lives with them. There’s no reason for the council to vote against her.”
Some part of me realizes Aurelio is on my side here, but my mind sticks on the word reports. Has Charlie been…reporting on me? Without my knowledge? It’s now an effort not to shrug Charlie’s grip off my shoulder. I can feel the anger building under my skin, my short fuse already burning.
“While I appreciate Guinevere’s ability to keep her mouth shut, I’ll reiterate that we don”t know her,” Clara emphasizes, barely sparing me a glance as she sets her gaze on her father. “Carlo may not be the next leader of this family, but his position is critical. Trusting some broke waitress because Charlie is easily swayed by a pair of good legs is irresponsible.”
Emily mutters Jesucristo under her breath, but I barely hear it over Charlie’s near growl.
“You don’t speak about her like that,” Charlie says, his voice low and cutting. Clara glares at him, her expression a mix of fury and disbelief. “She will be my wife, and I swear to God, Clara?—”
“What? You’ll challenge me?” Clara cuts him off with a laugh, and the sound is laced with pain and betrayal so visceral it reverberates through the room. “You think a single member of The Syndicate, much less the council, would follow you after what you’ve done? Our mother is attacked, and what do you do? You don’t sit by her bedside, think about our family, or put hardly effort into hunting down her attackers.” She points at me without looking at me, and I’m half tempted to snatch her fingers out of the air and break them. “You decide our mother is obsolete. Unable to lead. In all but her heartbeat, dead. And you find the first thing desperate enough to open its legs for you and decide you’re ready to lead us.”
Charlie’s out of his seat in an instant, Aurelio reaching out and grabbing his son by the arm to hold him back. My mouth is dry, and despite my instinct to reach for Charlie, I’m locked in my seat.
“Enough.” Lucia’s voice is clear and final, silencing the protests and arguments across the table. “Sit, Carlo. You as well, Clara.”
She’s only half out of her seat, her fingers gripping the edge of the table, but Clara sinks back down. Charlie sits as well and tries to grab my hand, but I shake it off, my pulse still pounding through my veins.
“Your love for me is fierce, daughter,” Lucia says with a soft smile, the most unguarded I’ve seen her all night. Clara’s shoulders loosen a bit at her mother’s words, and she sits more comfortably in her seat. “You have kept The Syndicate strong in my absence and proven your ability to lead us. All while sitting at my bedside, keeping me informed, briefing me even when I couldn’t speak and tell you I understood. Your faith in me is admirable.”
Clara’s expression is equally touched and smug as she glances at Charlie. His face is stone, the same look I remember from the pig farm. Compartmentalized. My heart is pounding in my throat, and I’m certain they can all hear it.
“But Charlie made the right choice.”
Clara’s mouth drops open, and everyone else at the table gapes at Lucia except Aurelio, who just holds his wife’s hand and watches her speak with admiration filling his gaze.
“I will never be the leader I was before my attack. It will be months, maybe years, before I can stand again. Being in this chair alone is a miracle. Healing was a miracle.” She looks at her husband, and he pulls her fingers to his lips and kisses them like Charlie has done to me so many times. “It is time for the next generation of Costas to govern The Syndicate.”
“Mama—” Clara starts, but Lucia glares at her, effectively cutting her off.
“This is my final decision, Clara, and you will abide by it,” she says, and Clara’s shoulders drop as her expression shutters. “There will be a year of transition, but by next summer, The Syndicate of Fate will fall to the next generation.” Lucia turns to Charlie, her expression much softer. “Despite your sister’s insistence, I was never under the impression you had lost faith in my recovery, my son. You put The Syndicate first, as is demanded of all of us. The mark of a true leader.”
Even I hear the threat laced through those words. The room is once again silent, Clara’s deep breath the only perceptible noise.
“I am the heir,” she says, but her voice breaks at the end, and it comes out as more of a question than a declaration.
“You have been raised as such, yes,” Lucia allows, seemingly unbothered by the pain in her daughter’s voice. “But there have never been first born twins in the Costa line. There is no precedent. If Charlie is more capable of prioritizing our work, perhaps he is better suited for the role.”
Charlie stiffens in his seat next to me, likely sweltering under the glare Clara is sending his way.
“Mama, I did not intend to—” he begins, but again Lucia cuts her child off.
“I care little what your intentions were. What I do care about is the future of our work. The children who we have pulled from the arms of traffickers. The evil we have eradicated, and the poison we’ve burned from this earth. Even as small as our impact is, it is necessary. And if my daughter is unable to correctly set her priorities, I will choose an heir who can.”
Charlie doesn’t say a word, doesn’t reach for me or react. Everyone is holding their breath, waiting for someone to break the silence. It should be unsurprising that it is again Lucia.
“Guinevere, my dear,” she coos, the maternal tone jarring compared with the way she’s spoken to her children. “I do apologize for my daughter’s spiteful words. Regardless of the way you and my son found each other, your affection is clear. And everything Charlie has told us gives us nothing but confidence that you will be an excellent partner for him, whatever role he must take.” She lifts her scarred hand and places it against her chest, giving me a look laden with empathy. “And I hope Ana’s scans come back clear. She seems like the sweetest young lady.”
There’s no threat there, nothing but care and compassion in her voice. In any other situation, this would simply be my future mother-in-law passing on her sympathies.
But all it tells me is that Charlie included Ana in his reports.
Not just her illness, but her. Her personality, her resilience.
Maybe Charlie was right. Maybe I am made for this. Maybe I’ve learned to control myself under his tutelage. Because I shove all my anger and fear down to some place in the recesses of my heart and return Lucia’s smile.
“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 back toward 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 an oomph. 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 shifting mood, 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’s fighting 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. The one partnership I make through marriage should not count more than everything else I’ve done.”
I feel for Clara, even though the whole first thing desperate enough to open its legs line 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?”
All three of the Costa women are staring at Charlie open-mouthed as he blinks at me, seemingly unable to come up with a response.
“You didn’t tell her?” Emily asks, her voice cold and cutting. Bea’s looking at Charlie like a disappointed parent, but Emily and Clara are just as angry as I am.
“He did not tell me. Not that he was writing reports about how well I was doing, or that he was including details about Ana in those reports. He also failed to explain that you all could decide I wasn’t up to the task.” The guilt is clear in his eyes, but it doesn’t assuage me at all. In fact, it only makes it worse. “What would happen if they said no, Charlie? Ana and I would be out on our own again? You’d be fine just dropping us back at our old apartment?”
As I say the words, something cracks in my chest, and I realize I’m not angry. I’m heartbroken. For a person who spent her whole life saying she didn’t need anyone but herself and her sister, I sure as fuck gave him enough of my heart that he could break it.
“I’d never abandon you two,” he says, his voice pleading. “You have to know I would financially support you two for the rest of your lives.”
Clara, Bea, and Emily simultaneously curse under their breath as my chest tightens, pulling those little fragments of my heart further apart.
“That’s not what she’s talking about, asino,” Clara reaches over and smacks him on the back of the head before she turns to me. “He doesn’t mean it like that.”
“I wouldn’t let them say no, Gwen. It wouldn’t happen.” Charlie seems to have realized his words, nearly panicked in his effort to clarify.
“He doesn’t have that power, though, does he?” I ask Clara, and she glances at Charlie empathetically before shaking her head at me. “You should have told me. You should have let me know there was a possibility this would all end, before…before everything changed between us. If they rejected me, you eventually would have had to marry someone else. And I don’t know if I could have watched that.”
“If it helps, I was just being a colossal bitch because I was angry,” Clara says, coming to bat for her brother. “My mother was right; you’ll make an excellent Costa. There’s no reason for anyone to vote against you, even me.”
Charlie reaches for me, but I keep my hands firmly in my lap.
“Thank you, Clara,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to repress the tears welling in my eyes. “But he should have told me. And I know I’m committed to this, and I have no intention of backing out, but I think I have a right to be pissed.”
“Oh yeah, definitely be pissed,” Emily says, finally lifting her head from the table. She grabs my arm and pulls me to stand with her. Charlie follows immediately, his shoulders tense and expression anguished. “Gwen’s going to come stay with me tonight, and I’ll get her back to D.C. tomorrow. You figure out how you’re going to fix this little shit show you’ve created.”
“Oh, can I come? I’m also mad at Charlie, mostly in solidarity, but also because I had no idea Gwen existed until tonight, so I feel lied to as well.” Bea stands up, smiling at me for the first time this evening.
She misses the glance that Charlie and Clara share, and I suddenly remember that there are more things at play than just my relationship.
“I’ll come, too,” Clara announces, standing and snagging Charlie’s dessert as he stares at us. Emily leads me around the table, and we all link arms like girls on the playground. “We can all be mad at Charlie together.”
And I am pissed. But my anger is mollified a little by the women around me, which I think is their goal. Bea whispers in my ear that she loves the color of my dress as we start down the hallway.
“Gwen,” Charlie calls out, and we all stop and turn over our shoulders like it was something we practiced. It would be funny if I wasn’t still ready to stab him with a fork again.
“I truly am sorry, mia filettatura.”
And I know he is. I’m certain that, deep down, Charlie doesn’t want to hurt me. But everything I start to say turns to ash on my tongue. I can’t respond because I know I’ll crumble, and the fact that I can forgive him so easily is terrifying. But I know better than most that the easiest hearts to break are the ones handed to us willingly.