15. Chapter 15
A ria
Dinner was announced.
Aria took her place beside Ophelia, the clink of cutlery and the hum of conversation around her like distant thunder.
Her hands trembled slightly over the silverware.
She'd practised this with YouTube tutorials, but decided to mimic Ophelia's graceful movements as a precaution.
Fork in the left, knife in the right, napkin on the lap.
She could feel Crispin's gaze flicker over her from across the table, light and brief, like a butterfly's wing brushing a petal. She didn't look up.
To her right sat Laura, Dorian's mother, in navy blue silk and heirloom pearls that winked with old money. She turned slightly towards Aria with a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"It's lovely, isn't it," she said airily, "how inclusive society has become. Even the help can sit at the main table now. It's all so very modern."
Aria blinked, her fork poised mid-air.
Laura's eyes dropped to the opal necklace around Aria's throat, her smile tightening. "I must say, that's quite a piece. Not what I would've expected from...your sort. I do hope it was borrowed ."
Aria opened her mouth, but didn't get the chance to reply.
Ophelia's voice sliced through the conversation, low and steel-edged. "Do I seem senile to you, darling? "
Laura flushed. "Of course not, I only meant-"
"Good," Ophelia said, adjusting her wineglass with deliberate care. "Then you'll trust I gave that necklace to Aria because I wanted to. And because in two years, she's shown more intelligence, tact, and integrity than most of the people in this room. Present company included."
A stunned hush fell across their corner of the table. Laura's mouth opened, then shut again.
Aria kept her eyes on her plate, fighting the burn behind them.
From across the table, she could feel Crispin still watching her.
The silence was broken by the delicate chime of silver against crystal.
Crispin's mother stood gracefully, glass held just high enough to command attention, her posture perfect, smile poised. "If I may, for just a moment," she said, and the room obediently quieted.
"Tonight is a celebration, not only of the company's newest chapter, but of those who will lead us forward.
" She turned slightly, nodding at a broad-shouldered man at the other end of the table.
"Please join me in congratulating Thomas Ashcroft on his well-deserved promotion as the newly appointed chief operating officer of the company. "
There was applause, polite and polished, a few cheers from younger executives .
But she wasn't done.
"And," she said, holding up her hand again, "there's more."
She paused for effect. Her eyes lingered on Aria before moving on. Aria knew something was coming. Something bad.
Smiling now, she placed a perfectly manicured hand on her son's shoulder. "Our family has even more reason to celebrate. Crispin has asked Helga to be his wife."
The words dropped like a stone into the centre of the table.
A few gasps, along with scattered applause. Helga smiled shyly, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin like someone modestly receiving a crown.
Crispin looked...off. His smile was there, but brittle. His eyes, however, were not on Helga.
They were on Aria.
Pinned to her like she was the only one in the room not clapping .
She kept her gaze pinned to her plate, her breathing slow and shallow as she tried to steady the tremor in her fingers.
Her knife slipped slightly against the porcelain.
Soon, the clatter of cutlery resumed and glasses clinked.
Conversation continued in low, cultured tones.
Only her world had come to a standstill.
Her vision blurred for a moment, and a single tear escaped-soundless and swift-leaving a thin trail down her cheek before she could stop it.
She brushed it away surreptitiously with the corner of her napkin and, finally, cautiously, looked up.
And that's when she saw it.
They were all looking at her.
A satisfied little smile rested on Crispin's mother's lips and something smug lurked behind her eyes, like a queen watching an enemy pawn fall.
His father, with his arm resting on the back of his chair, wore the same knowing expression-one that said this is how things are.
His sister, Alice, didn't smirk. But the pity in her eyes was worse. It was soft, apologetic.
Helga sat beside Crispin like the queen on a hunt. Her smile was delicate, composed, but her eyes were cold, unblinking. Satisfied .
Even Ophelia looked at her with a kind of quiet sorrow. Her lips pressed together, her shoulders rigid. Her eyes too full.
They all knew.
They all had known.
Knew what Aria had been to him.
Knew what she hadn't been.
Knew what she would never be.
She was the insect under a magnifying glass, shrivelling not from flame, but from the dispassionate gaze of a careless schoolboy.
And Crispin...
He was still looking at her.
Aria sat back in her chair, the opals at her throat suddenly suffocating. The taste of rosemary and roast had turned to ash on her tongue. Around her, the laughter rose like water, and she, somehow, was still drowning in silence.
When she finally glanced sideways, Ophelia was watching her, not with pity, but with confusion. Her eyes were soft, but her lips were pressed into a thin line.
Aria then straightened her spine and picked up a random fork.