14. Ariah
— ? —
Ariah
The restaurant Valentina chose for our working dinner is exactly the kind of place I used to avoid during my Grimaldi years, upscale enough to attract the society crowd, intimate enough that you can’t escape without being seen.
But it’s her favorite, and she’s the client, and I’m trying to rebuild a professional reputation that doesn’t depend on whose wife I am.
“These sketches are incredible,” Valentina says, spreading my drawings across the white tablecloth. “The way you’ve incorporated the helix motif from your cousin’s piece into the design… it creates this beautiful continuity. Like the pieces are having a conversation with each other.”
“That’s the idea.” I take a sip of wine, feeling almost relaxed for the first time in weeks. “Jewelry should tell a story. Not just about the wearer, but about the relationships that matter to them.”
“Is that what Maison d’Emery was about? Before?”
“Before, during, and hopefully after.” I smile, and it feels genuine. “I never stopped believing in the work. I just… lost access to it for a while.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re finding your way back.” She raises her glass. “To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings.”
We clink glasses, and I’m thinking about how nice this is, how normal, how much I’ve missed the simple pleasure of doing work I’m proud of - when I see them.
Rosaria and Serena, crossing the restaurant like twin sharks scenting blood. They’re perfectly dressed, perfectly composed, perfectly positioned to intercept me before I can escape.
“Ariah, darling.” Rosaria’s voice carries the particular warmth she reserves for public performances. “What a lovely surprise. We had no idea you’d be here.”
This is a lie. Rosaria doesn’t do surprises; she does reconnaissance and strategic positioning. But I can’t say that, not here, not with Valentina watching and half the restaurant’s society regulars pretending not to stare.
“Donna Rosaria. Serena.” I keep my voice pleasant and flat. “I’m in a meeting.”
“We can see that.” Serena slides into the chair next to me before I can stop her, while Rosaria claims the one across from Valentina. “We won’t stay long. We just wanted to check in. You’ve been so hard to reach.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So we’ve heard.” Rosaria’s smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes are sharp. “Starting a little business, aren’t you? How entrepreneurial. Pietro must be so proud.”
“Pietro doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“No? I thought all the Grimaldi wives kept busy with their charity projects and their little hobbies. It’s sweet that you’re trying to contribute.”
The insult lands exactly where she intends it to - on the word hobby, on the diminutive little, on the implication that anything I do is just a pale imitation of real work. I feel my face heat, but I keep my expression neutral.
“This is actually a professional meeting,” Valentina says, and I could kiss her for the steel in her voice. “Ariah is designing my wedding jewelry. The Marchetti family has been looking for someone with her expertise for years.”
“How charming.” Serena examines her nails with studied disinterest. “Though I imagine it must be difficult, working out of that tiny apartment with two small children underfoot. The twins must be so confused, poor things. Uprooted from their home, separated from their father…”
“The twins are fine.”
“Are they?” Rosaria tilts her head with mock concern.
“Because we’ve heard some troubling things, Ariah.
About the instability of your living situation.
About the erratic behavior. About a mother who’s perhaps not as…
equipped as she should be to handle the responsibility of raising Grimaldi heirs. ”
The threat hangs in the air between us, crystalline and unmistakable.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” My voice sounds calm, but under the table, my hands have gone cold.
“We’re not suggesting anything, dear. We’re simply concerned. The children’s welfare has to come first, doesn’t it? And Pietro’s mother certainly has standing to ensure her grandchildren are being properly cared for.”
“Standing?” I laugh, and it comes out harder than I intend. “You’ve spent six years making sure I knew I wasn’t good enough for your family. Now suddenly you’re concerned about the children’s welfare?”
“Things are different now.” Serena leans in, her voice dropping to something intimate and poisonous.
“You’re not living as Pietro’s wife anymore.
You’re a woman who took his children and ran.
People notice these things. People talk.
And the courts, well, the courts care very much about stability, don’t they?
About which parent can provide the best environment.
About resources and support systems and… reputation.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s an observation.” Rosaria’s smile sharpens.
“You’re alone, Ariah. You have no family here, no real support system, no resources beyond whatever you’ve managed to squirrel away.
We, on the other hand, have lawyers and connections and a very compelling argument about what’s best for those children.
It would be a shame if things had to get… complicated.”
I want to scream at them. I want to throw my wine in Rosaria’s face, to tell Serena exactly what I think of her calculated manipulation, to make a scene that would feel satisfying for exactly three seconds before it destroyed me.
Instead, I fold my napkin and place it on the table.
“This meeting is over.” I turn to Valentina, who’s watching the whole exchange with wide eyes. “I apologize. Can we reschedule?”
“Of course.” She’s already gathering her things. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I stand, pushing my chair back with careful precision, and I look at Rosaria with all the contempt I’ve been swallowing for six years.
“Stay away from my children,” I say quietly. “And stay away from me.”
“We’re family, dear.” Rosaria’s voice follows me as I walk toward the door. “Family doesn’t stay away. Family protects what belongs to it.”
I make it to my car before my hands start shaking.
I make it three blocks before I have to pull over because I can’t see through the tears.
* * *
The drive home takes twice as long as it should because I keep having to stop, to breathe, to remind myself that panic won’t help anyone.
By the time I pull into the parking space outside my building, I’ve cycled through terror and rage and something that feels like despair, and I’ve landed somewhere numb.
They want my children.
They’re going to try to take my children.
I climb the stairs to my apartment on legs that don’t feel entirely connected to my body, and when I open the door, Piper takes one look at my face and puts down her book.
“What happened?”
“Rosaria. And Serena.” I can barely get the words out. “They found me at the restaurant. They said… they said the family has standing, that the courts care about stability, that I’m alone and they have resources and…”
“Hey.” Piper crosses the room and takes my hands, which I only now realize are shaking. “Hey, look at me. Breathe.”
“They’re going to try to take Luca and Lucy. They’re going to say I’m unstable, that I can’t provide for them, that…”
“They’re going to try to scare you.” Piper’s voice is fierce. “That’s what bullies do. They make threats they can’t back up because they’re counting on you to fold.”
“What if they can back it up? What if they actually…”
“Then you fight.” She squeezes my hands hard.
“You fight with everything you have. You get a lawyer, you document everything, you build a case that shows you’re a good mother who loves her children and has every right to raise them.
But you do not let those women see you scared.
You hear me? You do not give them that power. ”
I nod, but the fear doesn’t loosen its grip on my chest.
That night, I call the lawyer I found when I first filed the separation papers - my own choice, not anyone’s referral.
“What they said tonight isn’t a court order,” she tells me. “It’s intimidation. Threats about standing and stability - those are pressure tactics, not evidence of unfitness.”
“Can they actually take my children?”
“I can’t make promises about outcomes. But a present, capable mother with her own resources?
That matters. And whatever you decide about your marriage, that’s separate from protecting your kids.
You don’t have to reconcile to have a strong position, and reconciling doesn’t guarantee anything either.
Focus on what you can control: documentation, consistency, being the parent you already are. ”
It’s not reassurance exactly. But it’s something to hold onto.
Piper makes me tea I don’t drink and sits with me until my breathing steadies, and later, after I’ve checked on the sleeping twins and stood in their doorway watching their small chests rise and fall, I pull out my phone and do something I never thought I’d do.
I text Pietro.
Your mother and Serena approached me tonight. They threatened to take the children. I need to know where you stand.
His response comes in seconds: I stand with you. I will always stand with you. Tell me what happened and I will make sure it never happens again.
I stare at the message for a long time, trying to decide if I believe it.