24. Ariah
— ? —
Ariah
The garden venue is beautiful in the late afternoon light - strings of paper lanterns, tables covered in bright cloths, a designated play area where the twins and their friends are currently engaged in some kind of elaborate game involving a lot of running and shrieking.
I should be happy. I should be relaxed. This is my children’s fifth birthday, a milestone I’ve been looking forward to for months.
Instead, I can’t stop scanning the crowd.
“She’s not here,” Pietro says, appearing at my elbow with two glasses of sparkling water. “I’ve checked three times. Security has her photo. She’s not getting in.”
“Something feels wrong.”
“You’re being appropriately cautious. I get it.”
He doesn’t try to talk me out of it, because he knows I’m right. We’ve both learned to be wary of Rosaria, to expect that she’ll find a way around whatever barriers we set up.
The party continues. Parents mingle. Children play in the designated area, and in the playroom just off the main garden - a glassed-in space where we can see them from outside - the younger ones are supervised by the trusted staff we vetted specifically for today.
The catering knows Luca’s allergy; every dish was approved in advance.
His emergency kit is in my purse, within arm’s reach, always.
“Mama!” Lucy runs up to me, her face flushed with excitement. “Mama, Uncle Marco is here!”
My stomach drops.
Marco Grimaldi, Pietro’s distant cousin. We invited him because he’s family, because the twins adore him, because excluding him would have been noticed and commented on.
We did not invite the two women walking in behind him.
“Oh no,” I breathe.
Rosaria enters the garden like a queen arriving at court, Serena at her side, both of them dressed impeccably and wearing expressions of innocent surprise.
Marco’s face has gone pale - he’s spotted us, spotted Pietro’s expression, and I watch the realization hit him.
Later, I’ll learn Rosaria arrived while the lead guard was away from the gate, told the temporary guard Pietro had updated the list, and let Marco’s presence do the rest.
Whatever she said, whatever assurance Marco unknowingly gave, he’s just understood he was used.
He starts toward us immediately, but Rosaria is faster.
“Grandmother!” Luca spots her before anyone can intervene. “Grandmother came to our birthday!”
“Of course I did, darling.” Rosaria bends to embrace him, shooting me a triumphant look over his small shoulder. “A grandmother would never miss such an important occasion.”
Pietro is already moving, his face dark with barely contained fury. He catches Marco’s arm as he passes. “Get security. Now. Have them ready at the gate.”
Marco nods and hurries off. Pietro reaches Rosaria just as she straightens up, positioning himself between her and the children.
“Mother. You weren’t invited.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Pietro.” Her voice carries the particular warmth she reserves for public performances. “I’m here to celebrate my grandchildren’s birthday. Surely you won’t make a scene over that.”
“I told you to stay away from my family.”
“And I’m telling you that these are my grandchildren, and I have every right to be present at their celebration.” She smiles, all teeth. “Unless you’d like to explain to everyone here why you’re throwing your own mother out of a children’s birthday party?”
I see the trap closing. She’s counting on Pietro’s reluctance to make a scene, on his lifetime of deferring to her in public, on the social pressure of all these watching eyes.
I step forward.
“Rosaria.” My voice is calm. Steady. “You need to leave.”
“Ariah, darling.” She turns to me, her smile sharpening. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“My children’s birthday absolutely concerns me. And you’re not welcome here.”
“I’m their grandmother.”
“You’re a woman who threatened to take them from their mother. You don’t get to claim family ties when it’s convenient.”
The guests are watching now, conversations dying as people realize something is happening. I can feel the weight of their attention, the calculation in their eyes as they try to figure out which side to be on.
Rosaria’s smile doesn’t waver, but something dangerous flickers behind her eyes. “You’ve always been so dramatic, Ariah. Such a victim. Everything is always someone else’s fault with you, isn’t it? The failed career, the failing marriage, the children you can barely manage…”
“Rosaria.” Pietro’s voice is a warning.
“What? I’m only saying what everyone here is thinking.” She gestures expansively at the crowd. “We’ve all watched her struggle for years, poor thing. Such a shame those children had to suffer for her inadequacies.”
“My children have suffered nothing.”
“Haven’t they?” Rosaria tilts her head with mock sympathy. “A mother who drags them from their home, who separates them from their father, who can barely hold herself together from one day to the next? They deserve so much better than what you’re capable of providing.”
I feel my temper rising, the careful control I’ve maintained for months starting to slip. But I hold on. I won’t give her the satisfaction of a public breakdown.
“We’re not discussing this here.”
“Of course not. You never want to discuss things, do you? You just run away and hide and pretend everything is everyone else’s fault.
” Rosaria steps closer, lowering her voice to something intimate and poisonous.
“Those children deserve a real family. Not whatever disaster you’ve made of their lives. ”
“Their lives are fine. They’re happy. They’re loved.”
“Are they? Because I’ve seen how you raise them.
No structure. No discipline. No understanding of what it means to be a Grimaldi.
” She shakes her head with exaggerated sorrow.
“That boy is going to turn out just as weak and useless as his father, and the girl - well, with your influence, who knows what kind of confused little creature she’ll become. ”
The world goes red.
Not me. My children. She’s insulting my children.
I’ve endured six years of Rosaria’s contempt. Six years of being dismissed, undermined, erased. Six years of swallowing my anger because making a scene would only make things worse.
But this - this is different.
I set down the sparkling water I’ve been holding and pick up my wine glass from the table beside me. The red wine catches the light for just a moment before I throw it in her face.
The gasp from the crowd is audible. Rosaria stands there, red liquid dripping down her perfectly composed face, her designer dress stained, her mask of gracious grandmother shattered.
“How dare you…” she starts.
“No.” I step toward her, and she actually steps back. “How dare you. You come into my children’s birthday party, uninvited, after threatening to take them from me, and you think you can say whatever you want about them? About my children?”
“Everyone saw what you just did. Everyone saw how unstable…”
“Everyone saw me defend my family.” I’m shaking, adrenaline flooding my system, but my voice stays steady. “Something you’ve been attacking for six years.”
“Pietro.” Rosaria turns to her son, wine still dripping from her chin. “Are you going to stand there and let her treat me this way?”
Pietro moves - but not toward me. He steps to my side, his hand finding the small of my back, his presence a wall between his mother and his wife.
“Get out, Mother.”
“Pietro…”
“Get out of this party. Get out of our lives. You’ve done nothing but poison everything you touch, and I’m done making excuses for you.”
Rosaria’s face contorts - shock first, then rage, then something ugly and exposed that she usually keeps hidden beneath her polished surface. “You’re choosing her? This foreigner, this nobody, over your own mother?”
“I’m choosing my family.” His voice is ice. “You were never part of it. You just convinced me you were.”
Rosaria draws herself up, gathering the shreds of her dignity.
She looks around at the faces watching her with a mix of horror and fascination, and I see the moment she realizes she’s lost control of the narrative.
She’s no longer the concerned grandmother.
She’s the woman who insulted her grandchildren and got wine thrown in her face.
“The only thing I regret is not doing this years ago.” Pietro turns to Marco, who’s returned with a security guard. “Escort them out. Now.”
“Pietro, I’m so sorry - she said you’d invited her, I believed…”
“I know. It’s handled. Just make sure they leave.”
Marco and the guard move toward Rosaria, but she’s already stalling, adjusting her purse, looking around the garden as if searching for something. Serena has slipped away from her side - I notice it suddenly, the absence where she stood moments ago.
Before I can say anything, a staffer pushes through the crowd - Marina, one of the trusted people we hired specifically for today, specifically to keep the children safe. Her face is ashen. Her hands are trembling.
“Signora Grimaldi.” Her voice shakes. “You need to come. Now. It’s Luca - something’s happened in the playroom.
A woman went in - she told me you’d sent her to check on the children, that it was your instruction.
I knew that couldn’t be right so I ran straight here, but Elena just called - he’s not breathing right. She thinks it’s his allergy.”
I’m already running, snatching my purse from the chair as I pass because Luca’s emergency kit is inside and I have never needed it more.