Chapter 5 - What Are You Hiding Under There
The pause between courses always felt longer than it was. I had stacked the second plates on my right arm and reached for Mr. Moretti's with my right hand so I wouldn't have to set the tray down. The candle in front of Mrs. Aldana's place had burned low enough that the wax pooled, and the light moved across her diamond necklace every time she breathed.
I thought if I kept my eyes on the porcelain I could get through the clear without anyone talking to me. My left hand was under the stack, gloved and sweating, and the skin underneath pulled tight every time I shifted weight. I tried not to let it show in my shoulders.
Vanessa set her napkin down flat beside her plate. She didn't push the plate toward me. She kept her fingers on the rim.
"Claire," she said. My name tag must have been easy to read from where she sat. "Can I ask you something?"
I stopped with my hand half under Luca's plate. "Yes, ma'am."
She glanced at my left hand, then back at my face. No smile. "What's with the glove? One glove. Is that house rules or a personal choice?"
The dining room tone went thin. I could hear the ice settling in someone's water glass at the sideboard and the faint tick of the city through the windows behind her. Luca didn't move at first. He was watching, his chin lifted off his hand now, his eyes on me and not on her.
I forced air in through my nose. My throat was dry. "It's a rash, ma'am," I said. "House manager said to keep it covered for service."
It came out too quick. One short sentence and it sat there on the table between the plates. I hated how neat it sounded. Rash. Cover. Like I hadn't practiced it in the kitchen mirror that morning while I taped gauze down.
Vanessa pursed her lips again, the same look from before. She tapped one nail against her own plate. "A rash," she repeated. She looked at Luca. "Since when does the house let staff serve food with a skin issue?"
I shifted the stack higher on my arm. The heat crawled up my wrist under the glove. I wanted to explain it was nothing contagious, that I washed, that I only handled the tray edge, but every extra word felt like it would make it worse. So I kept my mouth shut and waited for her to tell me to leave the room.
Luca picked up his water glass and set it down again without drinking. The tattoos on his fingers caught the candlelight.
"Take your time," he said quietly.
I looked at him before I could stop myself. His voice wasn't kind exactly. It was even. He wasn't looking at Vanessa. He was looking at my hands, the way the glove gripped the bottom plate, the way my right thumb pressed white against the rim to keep everything steady.
I didn't understand it. A second ago I'd been sure he was counting reasons to have me pulled off his dinner. Now he'd given me space to stand there. My chest loosened and then tightened again because I didn't know what it cost.
"I can finish the clear clean," I said softly. "Please let me keep serving without an issue."
My voice dropped on the last words. I heard the plea in it and hated it. I wasn't supposed to ask guests for anything. I was supposed to disappear and bring the next course hot.
Vanessa exhaled through her nose and leaned back. She let go of her plate. "Fine," she said. "But I don't want that hand near my soup."
"Yes, ma'am," I said. "I understand."
I slid Luca's plate free first, then hers, keeping my left hand underneath, out of her line of sight. The porcelain clinked softly as I built the stack. My left palm throbbed with the weight, a deep ache that ran up to my elbow, and I breathed through it and counted the steps to the sideboard in my head. Four steps. Turn. Set down. No spill.
Luca moved his glass aside to give me room. As I reached past him, his sleeve brushed my wrist. He didn't pull back quickly like most guests did. He just watched my glove disappear under the plates.
"Careful," he said, low enough that Vanessa, turning to check her phone, might not have heard. "No rush."
I nodded once. I stacked Vanessa's plate on top and felt the whole tower wobble for half a second. I locked my knees and held it. The candle flame bent from my movement and then straightened again.
May you like
I made it to the sideboard without looking back. My left hand was shaking under the weight by the time I set the stack down, and I pressed it flat against the cool wood for one breath to steady it. Behind me, Vanessa said something to Luca I couldn't catch, and he answered with a short hum that didn't commit.
The lie held for now. I could feel it holding, thin as the gauze under the glove.
