Chapter 6
Vanessa stood before anyone could tell her not to.
The sound was her chair scraping back on the marble. She'd smoothed her red gown with both hands and lifted her champagne flute, and the light from the chandeliers caught the sequins and threw it across the ceiling. Luca was still seated beside Rosa, his hand resting near that chipped bowl. He didn't look up at first. I stayed by the sideboard with my white cloth folded tight in my hands.
"Everyone," Vanessa said, and her voice was bright in a way that didn't match the room. "If I could just have a moment."
A few guests turned. A man in a tuxedo near the windows lowered his glass. The woman beside him had already been reaching for her clutch.
Vanessa smiled like she was posing for a photo. "I know this evening didn't go exactly as we planned," she said. "Luca and I wanted tonight to be perfect for you all. And of course, what a wonderful surprise that his mother was able to join us after all. We were just so worried about her health."
I felt my jaw tighten. Rosa's hands were in her lap. She didn't react to the word health, but her shoulders pulled in just a little.
Vanessa kept going. She lifted her flute higher. "We are so blessed. To have family, to have friends who come such a long way to celebrate with us. To have this home. Luca has built such an incredible life, and I am just so proud to be standing next to him as we start our next chapter. So please, raise a glass with me. To love. To family. And to many more dinners together."
She drank. That was the cue.
The applause started a second too late and ended a second too early. It wasn't rude. It was worse than rude. It was polite. A few soft claps, a couple of murmured "cheers," the clink of two glasses that didn't quite meet. No one stood with her.
The man by the windows cleared his throat. "That was lovely, Vanessa," he said. He didn't look at Luca. "I think we're going to head out, though. Early morning."
His wife was already standing. "Yes, such a beautiful evening, thank you so much for having us," she said, her eyes darting to Rosa and then quickly away. "We should let you have some family time."
Vanessa's smile held. "Oh, you don't have to —"
"We really should," another guest cut in gently from the far end of the table. He was folding his napkin and placing it beside his untouched lobster. "Big drive back to Westchester tonight. Congratulations again, you two."
It spread like that. Not a confrontation. Not a scene. Just coats being reached for and chairs being pushed back carefully so they didn't scrape. Excuses that sounded reasonable on their own but together meant the same thing. Early flights. Babysitters. Work in the morning. One woman squeezed Rosa's shoulder as she passed and whispered something I couldn't hear. Rosa nodded, her eyes wet.
Luca didn't stop any of them. He stood when an older couple came to shake his hand by the head of the table, thanked them quietly, and then sat right back down beside his mother. He didn't walk anyone to the door. He didn't offer cars. He let the room empty.
Vanessa stayed standing with her flute still in her hand. She watched the door. Her other hand held the stem so tight her knuckles went pale.
"Thank you for coming," she said to each person, her voice getting smaller each time. "So glad you could make it. We'll do this again soon."
No one said when.
In less than ten minutes the long black marble table was half empty. Champagne flutes were still full, sweating in the candlelight. The lobsters sat on gold chargers, the butter gone cold and filmed over. The white roses in the center hadn't been touched.
The last guests left were two women near the windows who kept whispering and then finally left with a quick wave that Vanessa tried to return. The door clicked behind them.
The chandeliers hummed. The candles burned lower.
Vanessa finally lowered her glass and set it down hard enough that champagne sloshed. She looked at Luca, at Rosa, at me. Her cheeks were red under her makeup.
"Well," she said, and she tried to laugh. "That went well."
Luca didn't answer. He had turned his chair slightly to face Rosa and had his forearm on the table, close enough that his sleeve brushed her cardigan. Rosa was looking at the bowl in front of him, her hands still folded.
Emma," Luca said without looking at me. "Would you leave the kitchen light on for us?"
I nodded. My throat was dry. "Yes, sir."
Vanessa stared at him. "Luca. The guests —"
May you like
"They left," he said. It wasn't cruel. It was just flat.
She stood there in her red gown in the middle of her own engagement dinner, with no one left to perform for. The only sound was the soft tick of the candles and the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. Her curated guest list was gone, their plates uneaten, and she was left holding an empty toast.
