Chapter 4 #2
“Are you okay?” Vivian asked softly. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he would say something like that.”
“It’s fine.” I played it off as I didn’t care.
“It’s not fine.” She glared at my grandfather. “Miserable old shit.”
“Everything okay?” Rina Beciraj, a lithe blonde in a flirty bubblegum pink dress, joined us. “Do I need to get my brother?”
“No!” I said a little too quickly and too sharply. “No,” I said, quietly this time. “I’m fine. Just a misunderstanding.”
Rina narrowed her eyes. “You don’t look fine.”
“Yes, well, I hear that a lot.” I carefully extricated myself from Vivian. “Excuse me.”
I walked as calmly but quickly as I could to the nearest door and fled across the entry way and around the staircase to the room that had once been my stepdad’s home office and library. Safe inside, I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes. I tried to control my breathing.
“I am becoming calmer with every breath I take,” I whispered into the darkness. “I am strong and confident.” I unclenched my hands at my sides and flexed my fingers. “I am powerful. I am worthy. I deserve respect and kindness.”
Slowly, I gained control over my panicked and embarrassed thoughts. Knowing I couldn’t hide in here forever, I left the office—and ran straight into my mother. Her face was a mask of barely contained fury, and I shrank back into myself, feeling like I was a child about to be viciously corrected.
“What did you do?” she hissed through clenched teeth. The alcohol on her breath overwhelmed me. Her eyes were black with anger and a little crazy, too. She seemed to be on the brink of losing control, and I instinctively flinched in anticipation of the pain I would soon feel. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” She grasped my jaw in her shockingly strong hand, digging her nails into my plump cheeks.
She shoved my head back so hard it banged into the door frame behind me.
“I’m warning you, Elona. If you fuck up this night and cost me my only son, I will end you.
” She shook me like a terrier with a rat clamped between its teeth. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I hurriedly answered, desperate for her to let go. “Yes, I understand.”
She squeezed even harder, her fingernails curling into my skin so deep I knew there would be marks.
With a final rough shove, she let go and stormed away from me.
I lifted my trembling hand to my face and gently rubbed my sore cheeks.
At least I wasn’t wearing full makeup tonight.
She would have wiped the foundation right off my skin with that death grip.
My lower lip wobbled, and I tried to compose myself.
As far as discipline went, that was the lightest punishment I had ever received from her.
Not even when I was a child had she shown that much restraint.
I was glad to be returning to the party without a swollen lip or splotchy red handprint on my face.
I found everyone moving toward the formal dining room and fell in behind Ben and Aston. They both smiled at me, and I smiled back, hoping they couldn’t see the unease in my expression. If they did, neither mentioned it.
Mariana and I had tackled the dining room earlier that afternoon, steaming table linens and carefully folding intricate napkin designs based on a Pinterest tutorial.
I had run out to H-E-B to buy candles and fresh flowers and greenery.
Mariana had pulled the best silverware and dishes from the butler’s pantry.
I had arranged the good crystal drinkware and set out gold chargers.
Mariana had cooked an incredible menu with multiple courses including a dessert and wine list that left me in awe of her ability to adapt and prepare. She deserved so much better than working for my mother, and I wished more than anything that she would quit.
Her nephews appeared as we streamed into the room, settling everyone into their seats. The boys all worked at their family’s high-end restaurant and understood fine dining service. As far as the food and ambience went, I was confident they were well in hand.
But conversation? The subtle tension simmering beneath the surface? No, I didn’t have an easy answer for that.
My mother sat at the head of the table, and my grandfather occupied the space directly across from her on the other end.
To mother’s right sat Luka and across from him Dafina.
Nikolai was next to Luka and then Marley, Ben and me.
Vivian, Besian, Rina and Aston sat across from us.
It was a good mix, and I hoped my grandfather would be on his best behavior.
Aston didn’t seem like the sort of woman to let him get away with any rude remarks.
I could hardly eat. My stomach was in knots, and every time I lifted my fork or spoon to my mouth, I earned a glower from my grandfather.
I reached for my wine glass and wished it was something stronger.
At least a buzz would have dampened the nightmarish level of anxiety turning my stomach in a ball of throbbing panic.
Down at the other end of the table, I caught my mother shooting daggers at Dafina who was asking for another refill of wine. She had started to get a little loud, and when I dared to glance in Luka’s direction, I found him grimly stabbing his fork into his food.
Unable to help myself, I smiled at his discomfort. He deserved all that and more. I regretted giving him those stomach meds. If I had known what a giant asshole he was, I would have lied and said there were none in the house.
How much longer is this going to drag on?
I glanced at my watch, a vintage Chopard Happy Diamonds piece Brett had gifted me for my MBA graduation. Unlike my mother, he had always paid attention to details. He knew that I would always prefer something unique, fun and vintage, and this glittery cocktail watch was no exception.
The dessert course arrived, and Luka spoke quietly to Carlos who brought more champagne. He and Nestor began filling up flutes, and when they were done, Luka rose with his glass in hand. Across from him, Dafina smiled stiffly, but her glassy eyes seemed a bit panicked.
I grew suspicious, and my lungs felt too small and tight. Dafina looked strangely out of it, and her gaze kept darting to the doorway. Was she expecting someone? Was she planning to bolt? What was going on with her?
I glanced around the table, wondering if anyone else had seen it. Rina Beciraj caught my attention, and my nervousness must have come across as guilt because she narrowed her eyes at me.
Oh, no.
Luka cleared his throat, and I balled my hands into fists under the table.
“Tonight has been a long time in the making.” He cleared his throat again, this time from obvious anxiety.
“Our two families have been separated by....” His voice trailed off, as if he had forgotten what he planned to say. “Tragedy,” he continued, “and grief.”
Oh my God. Is he serious? I gawked at him, wondering why the hell he hadn’t asked someone to write a toast for him. The awkwardness of his speech, and the now sickly look on my sister’s face stressed me out so badly I could hardly breathe.
To my right, my grandfather wheezed faster. If he tried to stand to add a few words, I was going to faint. I could feel my heartbeat pounding against my eardrums. Scanning the dinner guests, I realized I wasn’t the only one feeling tense.
Luka held out his hand, silently inviting Dafina to join him.
She rose on wobbly feet and took a few unsteady steps around the table to stand at his side.
He slipped an arm around her, his fingers visibly tightening on her trim waist. His mask slipped for a moment, and there was a brief flash of annoyance and anger at her drunkenness.
Luka recovered quickly and turned that handsome grin on my sister. He lifted his champagne flute. “To Dafina and the bright future ahead of us.”
The words had barely left his mouth before she made a strange gurgling sound and vomited all over him.
He tried to step back and escape the foul explosion, but she had clenched onto his arm, probably to keep herself from falling. He was painted from chest to shoes in a never-ending, viscous and putrid stream.
Shouts of horror and anger erupted around the table.
Silverware rattled. Glasses shattered. Chairs clanked against the floor.
Our guests fled the scene or backed away into corners.
Mom screamed at Dafina, and my grandfather’s wheezing breaths were as loud as a jet engine as he sputtered with embarrassment and fury.
And I sat there. Dumbly. Frozen. Mortified. Disgusted.
Amused.
It was wrong. I was a terrible person for finding it funny, and I had to cover my mouth as if shocked when, really, I was pressing my fingers into my lips, smashing them against my teeth to stifle the eruption of laughter that threatened to escape.
Across the dining room, Luka’s gaze met mine. He must have seen the enjoyment sparkling in my eyes. He glared at me, and I couldn’t help myself. I let my hand fall away from my lips, and I smiled at his indignity, letting him know exactly how much I was enjoying his comeuppance.
If looks could have killed, I would have dropped dead. Instead, I reached for the champagne flute I had set down in shock, lifted it in his direction and then took a triumphant sip.
Fuck you, Luka Beciraj.