3. Solenne #2
He’s efficient, professional, moving through the room with his assistant to capture the event.
Donor groups arranged by contribution level.
Committee members gathered near the display about the reading room.
And then, inevitably, a larger group shot - the sponsors and hosts and honored guests, everyone who matters enough to be documented.
“If I could have everyone for the main photograph,” the assistant calls, gesturing toward the windows where the light is best. “Donna Costanza, if you’d stand in the center - and the Caruso family, of course…”
I rise from my seat. The Caruso family. That includes me.
But by the time I reach the gathering group, the arrangement has already been decided.
Costanza is centered, flanked by major donors and committee members.
Costanza draws Ginevra forward beside her, then asks the assistant to make room for the largest donor and his wife.
The row shifts toward me. The photographer’s assistant is directing people into place, making small adjustments, and when I try to find a position, I’m shuffled toward the edge.
“Just a bit to your left - yes, perfect - and can we bring the back row in slightly…”
I’m standing at the far right of the group, half-hidden behind a tall man I don’t know. I try to shift, to move somewhere more visible, but the photographer is already counting down.
“Everyone look here - three, two, one…”
The flash goes off. The group relaxes. And I know, without needing to see the image, that I’ll either be cropped out entirely or reduced to a sliver of burgundy at the edge of the frame.
At my place, someone has left a pledge card. I write down a donation because the children still need their reading room. My signature presses through to the linen beneath the paper.
The luncheon continues. More conversation, more polite inquiries about how I’m adjusting, more carefully neutral smiles. I play my part and count the minutes until I can leave.
Near the end, as guests are beginning to gather their things, a young woman approaches my table. She’s carrying a notebook and wearing a press badge from one of the local magazines.
“Mrs. Caruso? I’m doing a piece on the event. Would you have a moment?”
Finally. A chance to speak for myself.
“Of course.” I gesture to the empty chair beside me. “What would you like to know?”
“I’d love to hear about you. Your films have been well-received internationally - I read that you were offered a significant role before moving here.”
“Yes.” I straighten in my chair, grateful for the opportunity to exist as something other than a silent wife. “A period drama. The kind of project that doesn’t come along often. It was a difficult decision to step back from it.”
“But you made the choice to prioritize family.” The reporter’s pen hovers over her notebook. “How has that transition been for you?”
“Challenging, honestly. I’ve been working since I was twenty-two, and…”
“Solenne is adjusting beautifully.” Costanza appears beside us and draws the reporter’s unattended chair away from the table before she can sit. “We’re so grateful to have her here. Family first, always. That’s what matters most.”
“I was actually hoping to hear from Mrs. Caruso directly,” the reporter says. “About her perspective on…”
“These transitions take time, of course.” Costanza’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m sure she’ll have more to share once she’s had a chance to settle in properly. For now, we’re keeping things quiet.” She turns to me with an expression of warm concern. “You understand, don’t you, dear?”
“I can speak about my own work, Costanza.” I turn back to the reporter. “What I was saying…”
Across the room, the photographer calls the reporter over to the project display. Costanza takes the opening before I can finish.
“The project director would love to speak with you about our programming,” she tells the reporter. “And the photographer needs a few more shots before the light goes. Let me introduce you.”
And just like that, the reporter is walking away. My chance to speak for myself, to exist as more than Valentin’s adjusting wife, disappears across the room in sensible heels.
I sit at Table Four and breathe through the anger building behind my ribs.
The event winds down. Guests begin to leave, offering air kisses and promises to see each other soon. Ginevra makes the rounds, gracious and glowing, and when she returns to Costanza’s side, I’m close enough to hear the exchange.
“You must stay for dinner,” Costanza is saying. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper visit. I’ll have the staff prepare the guest room.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose…”
“Nonsense. It’s no imposition at all.” Costanza takes both of Ginevra’s hands in hers. “It will be like old times.”
Ginevra makes a show of protesting, but she doesn’t protest very hard. Within minutes, it’s settled. She’s staying.
No one mentions this to me. No one asks what I think about having an overnight guest in my home.
I find Costanza before she can disappear into the house. “I didn’t realize we were expecting a guest tonight.”
“Ginevra’s family and ours have been close for generations.” Costanza doesn’t quite look at me. “It would be rude not to offer.”
“I understand. I just thought I might be included in those kinds of decisions.”
“Household arrangements are really my domain, dear.” The smile is back, the one that looks warm and isn’t. “You have enough to worry about with Summer and everything else. Let me handle the hospitality.”
She’s gone before I can respond, sweeping off to direct the staff, and I’m left standing in the empty reception room with the echo of those words.
My domain.
Tonight. I’ll talk to Valentin tonight.
***
I don’t mean to fall asleep waiting for him.
It’s been a long day. The luncheon, the careful performance of pleasantness, the effort of remaining composed while being systematically sidelined.
By the time dinner ends and Ginevra has been installed in the guest room and Summer has been bathed and read to and settled into bed, I’m exhausted in a way that goes deeper than physical.
I change into my nightgown and pick up the novel I’ve been trying to finish for a week, the one set in Prague that everyone was talking about before we left Los Angeles.
The words blur together after a few pages. I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment.