2. Danielle
— ? —
Danielle
The dining room at the Morelli estate seats twenty-four, which I know because I counted once, during one of those endless dinners where I wasn’t part of any conversation and needed something to do with my eyes.
Twenty-four chairs, heavy oak with carved backs, arranged around a table that’s probably older than my entire family line.
My chair is the one at the far end - not the foot of the table, which would be a place of honor, but three seats down from Niccolo’s right hand, past his cousin Giancarlo and Giancarlo’s wife Benedetta.
Close enough to be technically included.
Far enough that I have to raise my voice to be heard.
I’ve stopped raising my voice.
“The soup is excellent tonight,” Benedetta says, performing graciousness for an audience. “Don’t you think, Danielle?”
I think it’s cream of mushroom from a recipe I suggested eight months ago, back when I still thought I might be allowed to contribute something to this household. The cook has somehow removed every trace of flavor I put into it. It tastes like expensive nothing, like everything else in this house.
“Lovely,” I say, and return to my bread.
Donna Matilde presides from the head of the table, impeccable silver hair and impeccable posture and impeccable judgment aimed at everything I do and am.
She’s not cruel - that’s the thing I can never quite explain to anyone who hasn’t lived inside this particular kind of coldness. She just corrects. Gently. Constantly.
“Danielle, dear.” Her voice cuts through the murmur of conversation. “I couldn’t help but notice your dress this evening. Is that from the spring collection I mentioned?”
“No, this is from a shop in the city. I found it last month.”
“Ah.” A small pause. “It’s very cheerful. Though perhaps a bit casual for a family dinner? The Castellanis are joining us later for drinks.”
Giancarlo clears his throat. “Speaking of the Castellanis, did you hear about their son? Apparently he’s engaged to the Fontana girl. Very suitable match.”
“Very suitable,” Benedetta agrees. “Her family has excellent connections. And she studied at the conservatory in Milan - quite accomplished.”
“Unlike some marriages,” someone murmurs from further down the table. I don’t catch who. I don’t need to.
“Niccolo made his choice,” Matilde says smoothly, “and we support him, of course. Don’t we, everyone?”
The table murmurs agreement. I stare at my bread and try to calculate how many more courses I have to survive.
“Danielle, you’ve barely touched your soup,” Matilde observes. “Is it not to your liking?”
“It’s fine. I’m just not very hungry.”
“Perhaps you’re not feeling well? You’ve seemed tired lately. The social calendar can be overwhelming for someone not accustomed to it.”
“I’m accustomed to working twelve-hour shifts on my feet,” I say, before I can stop myself. “A dinner party isn’t exactly strenuous.”
The table goes quiet. Matilde’s smile doesn’t waver, but something sharpens behind her eyes.
“Of course. Your restaurant experience. How fortunate that you had such practical training before joining our family.” She turns to Giancarlo.
“Danielle used to work in the service industry, did you know? Very admirable, really. Not everyone has the determination to work their way up from such humble beginnings.”
“It wasn’t humble,” I say. “It was honest work.”
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” Matilde’s voice is warm, concerned.
“I think it’s wonderful that you have those skills.
In fact, I was just telling the Contessa Fontana the other day how refreshing it is to have someone in the family who understands the value of labor.
So many young people today have never worked a day in their lives. ”
Giancarlo nods enthusiastically. “Very true, very true. And your family must be so proud, Danielle. To see you here, married into-”
“Speaking of family,” Matilde interrupts gently, “how is your mother, Danielle? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
My stomach drops. I know where this is going.
“She’s doing better. The new treatment seems to be helping. She’s started walking again, short distances.”
“How wonderful.” Matilde sets down her soup spoon. “I’m so glad we could help with that. The specialist we recommended has an excellent reputation.”
“The Florentine medical community is unparalleled,” Giancarlo says. “You’re fortunate to have access to it, Danielle.”
Fortunate. I look down the table at Niccolo, hoping to catch his eye. He’s deep in conversation with the man on his left - something about property taxes. He was supposed to be home for dinner three nights this week. He made two.
“Actually,” Matilde continues, “I wanted to mention something while we’re all here.” She pauses, letting the table’s attention gather. “I had a call from Signora Benedetti at the hospital today. Apparently there was some confusion about the payment arrangements for your mother’s care.”
“What confusion?”
“Oh, nothing serious. Just a small outstanding balance from before the family took over the account. Something from early last year, I believe? A diagnostic procedure your family couldn’t quite cover at the time.”
The bone density scan. The one that cost more than my monthly salary, that I put on a payment plan and scraped toward for six months.
“I thought it was handled,” I say. “I was making payments-”
“You were, yes. But when the family took over your mother’s care, the hospital assumed we’d be settling all outstanding debts.” Matilde’s eyes are kind. They’re always kind. “I’ve taken care of it, of course. I didn’t want you to be embarrassed by collection calls.”
The table is quiet. I can feel them looking at me - Giancarlo with performative sympathy, Benedetta with something closer to satisfaction, the various cousins who fill these seats and have never once tried to know me.
“Thank you,” I say, because what else can I say? “I’ll repay the family, of course.”
“Don’t be silly.” Matilde’s laugh is a small, silver sound. “We’re family now. That’s what family does.”
I look at Niccolo. This time he’s watching, his expression troubled, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t contradict his mother. Doesn’t stand up for me.
“Though I must say,” Matilde continues, her voice still perfectly pleasant, “I do hope we won’t discover any other surprises.
It’s difficult enough navigating these situations without unexpected complications arising.
The hospital administrator was quite concerned - apparently the original debt had been flagged for collection. Something about missed payments?”
“I didn’t miss payments. I was-” I stop. The whole table is watching. “The payment schedule was complicated. When I started working at the restaurant in Florence, the timing-”
“Of course, dear. These things happen when resources are limited.” Matilde picks up her wine glass.
“The important thing is that it’s all settled now.
Though perhaps in the future, you might let us know if there are other…
outstanding matters? It’s so much easier to address these things proactively rather than having creditors call the estate. ”
My face is burning. I want to explain - that I never missed a payment, that the hospital changed their billing system, that none of this is what she’s making it sound like - but the table has already moved on.
Giancarlo is saying something about wine futures, and Benedetta is laughing at a joke I didn’t hear, and Matilde is smiling at me like she’s just done me the greatest favor in the world.
“The fish course will be out shortly,” she announces, and just like that, the conversation moves on.
“You know,” Matilde adds, almost as an afterthought, “I ran into old Signora Ricci at the market yesterday. She mentioned that back in Vallechiara, your family was quite well-known for their debts. Generations of them, apparently. It’s remarkable, really, that you’ve managed to rise above such circumstances. ”
I set down my fork.
“My family worked hard. We just didn’t have the advantage of inheriting money we didn’t earn.”
The words hang in the air. Matilde’s smile doesn’t waver.
“Of course, dear. That’s exactly what I meant. Such determination. It’s really quite inspiring.”