Chapter Three
Celeste
“Nonno, why do you flip the meat so much?” Theo peered up at Daniel, his small face scrunched in concentration. “Won't it get dizzy?”
Daniel laughed, spatula poised over the grill. “Meat doesn't get dizzy, buddy. But too much flipping makes it tough. You want to let each side cook properly before you turn it.”
“Oh.” Theo absorbed this with the seriousness of someone receiving classified information. “Did you know my dad's in love with a man named Jackson? Jackson's really nice. He showed me how to throw a spiral.”
Celeste winced. Her son had developed this habit over the past week, announcing Braden's relationship to anyone who'd listen. The mailman. The librarian. A few days ago, the cashier at the grocery store who'd only asked if they needed bags.
It was innocent. Theo was seven and didn't understand the weight those words carried, the way they made her father's shoulders stiffen or her mother's smile become fixed and brittle.
Her father's jaw tightened at the mention of Braden, but he kept his voice even. “That's great that Jackson's teaching you football, Theo. Now watch closely, see how the edges are browning?”
Celeste's hands clenched in her lap. She wanted to say something, to defend Braden, to explain that he hadn't betrayed her. They'd betrayed themselves, really, with years of lying. But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and useless.
Her family didn't and couldn’t understand. To them, Braden had blindsided their daughter with a divorce, shattered their family and upended everything. They didn't know about the nights Celeste and Braden had stayed up planning their future or that the love they had had always been platonic.
She’d let them think Braden deceived her because the truth was worse: that she had been complicit in the deception and wanted the safety of that lie just as much as he had.
Across the garden, Luna sat curled against Ottavia's side, nose buried in a book. “And then the dragon realized she didn't need a prince at all because she could fly herself anywhere she wanted.”
“Very wise dragon,” Ottavia murmured, her fingers gentle in Luna's dark curls.
Celeste's mother had transformed the backyard into something from a magazine spread. Roses climbed the fence in cascading pinks and reds. Lavender lined the stone path. Hanging baskets of petunias swayed in the evening breeze, their sweet scent mixing with charcoal smoke from the grill.
Friday evenings like this, with the whole family gathered and her grandmother's cooking weighing down their stomachs in the best way—these were the moments Celeste lived for.
Even with her sister Lauretta in New York anchoring the evening news and her brother Enzo in California designing buildings that probably cost more money than Celeste could ever hope to earn in her life, they'd managed to maintain this tradition.
Weekly dinners when everyone was in town, FaceTime calls when they weren't.
This was what mattered. What she'd sacrifice anything to keep.
The table behind her bore the evidence of culinary assault: empty serving dishes that had held eggplant parmesan, homemade ravioli, antipasto, and enough garlic bread to feed a small village. Her stomach protested just looking at them.
Her grandmother had been cooking since dawn, preparing enough food to feed an army. It was how Vittoria showed love, through food and hours spent in the kitchen, with the aid of recipes passed down from her own mother in a small village outside Naples.
“I can't eat another bite of food,” she announced as her father loaded the grill with more chicken. “You're all trying to kill me with kindness.”
“You're too skinny,” Vittoria said from behind her, fingers working through Celeste's hair with practiced ease. “Always working, never eating.”
“I just ate my weight in pasta.”
“Pfft. That was an hour ago.” She divided Celeste's hair into sections, beginning the familiar pattern of a braid. “Your sister Lauretta, she knows how to eat. Last time she visited, three helpings of everything.”
“Lauretta has the metabolism of a hummingbird.” Celeste tilted her head back, letting her grandmother's hands work their magic. This, sitting still while Vittoria braided her hair, had been their ritual since Celeste was five years old.
Back then, she'd sit on a stool in the kitchen while Vittoria told stories about the old country, crossing the ocean with nothing but a suitcase and a dream. About the sacrifices she'd made so her children could have better lives.
Missing from those stories were tales about her cousin, who had been cut off from the family for loving the wrong person. A constant reminder of what honesty would cost.
“Your favorite granddaughter,” Ottavia teased, glancing over at them. “So obvious, Mama.”
“I love all my grandchildren equally.” Vittoria's voice carried the weight of absolute authority. But then her hand cupped Celeste's cheek, warm and papery-soft. “However, this one is very dear to my heart.”
The words settled over Celeste like a warm blanket.
This was why she'd returned to Cheyenne Valley two years ago, along with Braden and the children. Why she’d left the prestige of New York and the cases that made headlines.
Her family was here. Her grandmother, who'd built a life from scratch.
Her parents, who'd never missed a school play or soccer game.
Even her siblings, who called every Friday without fail, making up for their physical absence.
Ottavia shifted Luna to grab her wine glass. “So, how are the preparations going for your trip? I've got the kids' rooms all ready. Fresh sheets, extra pillows. Theo, I even found those glow-in-the-dark stars you wanted for the ceiling.”
Theo's head whipped around. “Really? The ones that make constellations?”
“The very same.”
Celeste felt a growing tightness within her. The trip. Right. “Actually, I'm not sure I'm going.”
Her mother’s eyebrows lifted. “What? Why not?”
“I did some research.”
“You went to the rental place,” Ottavia said with a note of suspicion. “Didn't you?”
Celeste shrugged, trying for innocent and probably missing by a mile. She had driven there that morning, before dawn, catching the manager just as he was unlocking. A twenty-dollar tip and some gentle persuasion later, she'd learned exactly who Braden had arranged as her travel companion.
“It's Ruby Langley,” she said.
“Oh, I remember her!” Ottavia's face lit up. “Brilliant girl. You two were quite the rivalry in high school. I always thought you were friends, the way you talked about her constantly.”
“We were not friends. She was arrogant, condescending, and stole my prom date. Twice.”
Daniel glanced up from the grill. “That was what, fifteen years ago? You're going to hold onto that?”
“Sixteen.”
Vittoria's laugh was low and knowing. “My darling girl, you do love your grudges.”
“I don't—” Celeste stopped. Because that was a lie, and everyone at this table knew it.
She'd once refused to speak to Enzo for three months after he'd borrowed her favorite sweater and returned it with a stain.
She still got tense every time she passed the restaurant where an opposing counsel had humiliated her during her first trial.
Celeste’s nostrils flared.
“Ruby was cocky. She knew she was smart and rubbed it in everyone’s face.”
“She was a teenager. Most teenagers are insufferable. You had your moments too.”
“Mom.”
“I'm just saying.” Ottavia took a sip of wine. “You need this vacation, sweetheart. You've been running yourself ragged since the divorce. When's the last time you did something just for fun?”
The same question Braden had asked. Celeste didn't have a better answer now than she'd had then.
“The children—”
“Will be perfectly fine with us,” Daniel interrupted, flipping a piece of chicken expertly as he spoke. “We raised three kids. We can handle two for more than a week.”
His tone was clipped, and Celeste recognized the edge in it. His anger toward Braden. He couldn't understand how his daughter's husband, his son-in-law, could have done this to her.
In Daniel's world, marriage was sacred. You didn't just end it because you fell in love with someone else. You worked through it. You honored your vows.
Except in this case, there had never been romantic love to work through.
“There’s also the firm to manage and worry about.”
“The firm has Wesley, who you've said is more than capable.” Ottavia replied. “Honey, what's this really about?”
Everything. Nothing. The fact that stepping outside her average daily routine and leaving for elsewhere with no familiar anchor felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. The fact that seeing Ruby yesterday had stirred up something she didn't want to name.
But she couldn't say any of that. Not here, not with her children listening and her father's disapproval hanging thick in the air whenever her ex-husband’s name was mentioned.
“I just think it's unusual,” she said finally. “That Braden would set this up without telling me who I'd be traveling with.”
“Perhaps he knew you'd say no if he told you,” Vittoria responded.
“Exactly. Which means…”
“Which means,” her grandmother continued, “for all his faults, he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. He knows you need this, even if you're too stubborn to admit it.”
The braid was finished. Vittoria tied it off with a soft ribbon, then started on the second one. Celeste sat very still, watching Luna trace her finger along the words in her book, while Theo peppered Daniel with questions about meat thermometers and food safety.
“I met Ruby on the road yesterday and I was rude to her. She tried to be friendly and I shut her down.”
“So apologize tomorrow,” Ottavia said simply. “You're both adults now. Start afresh.”
It sounded so easy when her mother said it. Just apologize. Move on. Spend extended time in close quarters with someone who'd once represented everything the teenage Celeste wanted for herself. That easy confidence and ability to exist in the world without constantly second-guessing every decision.
“Fine,” she heard herself say. “I'll go.”
Theo cheered. Luna looked up from her book, smiling. Daniel nodded approvingly and went back to his grilling. Only Vittoria remained quiet, finishing the second braid with precision.
“There, beautiful as always.” She stepped back to admire her work.
Celeste reached back, touching the braids. They felt solid, grounding. A reminder of who she was, where she came from.
“I'm being silly. Getting worked up over high school drama. I'm not usually like this.”
“You're not usually a lot of things lately,” Vittoria murmured, so quietly that only Celeste could hear. “Maybe that's the problem.”
The words sent a shiver down Celeste's spine. She turned to look at her grandmother, but Vittoria's expression was unreadable, her dark eyes holding information Celeste wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Her father called everyone to grab plates for the chicken and the evening dissolved into the comfortable chaos of family—talking over each other, stealing food off each other's plates, laughing at jokes that weren't really that funny but felt hilarious anyway.
Later, after she had made a trip home to fetch the children’s overnight bags and deliver them to her parents, Celeste sat in her driveway with the engine running. The house loomed dark and empty in front of her.
She should go inside, pack and make lists in preparation for her trip. Instead, she pulled out her phone and scrolled to Ruby's contact information. She'd gotten it from the rental manager that morning, along with the confirmation details. Her thumb hovered over the screen.
I'm sorry about yesterday. Looking forward to the trip.
Too formal. Too stiff. Like a business email.
Hey, sorry I was a jerk. See you tomorrow?
Too casual. They weren't friends.
She deleted both drafts and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. She'd apologize in person. That was the adult thing to do.
But as she finally headed inside, she couldn't stop wondering what Ruby Langley had been doing for the past sixteen years. Where she'd gone after leaving Cheyenne Valley. What had brought her back.
Not that it mattered. They'd attend the festival, drive back, and probably never speak again. Their lives had diverged too much, traveled paths too different.
The Ruby she had met the other day seemed free-spirited. The sort to travel around the world, living a different life unencumbered by obligations.
In all likelihood, no great bond or friendship would come of the road trip and that was quite alright with Celeste.