Chapter 2 - A Chair That Was Not Planned

I didn't sit down right away. Nobody did. The candles kept burning and the chandeliers threw light across the glassware, and I could hear someone's fork settle too hard against a plate behind me.
Rosa stood a few feet from me with that pie still in both hands. Her knuckles were white from holding it. Emma stayed close to her elbow, not touching her, just there. Across the table Vanessa didn't move either. She had her shoulders back and her chin up, the way she did for photos.
I looked at the seating chart in my head and threw it out. The empty chair to my right was for a business partner who hadn't flown in. There was a place setting there, water glass already filled. I walked around the end of the table and pulled that gold chair out myself. The legs scraped the floor loud enough that two guests flinched.
"Here, Mrs. Miller," I said. "Sit by me."
Rosa glanced at the chair, then at me. "Oh, I don't want to trouble your dinner."
"You're not trouble," I said. I kept my hand on the back of the chair and waited.
She came forward slow. Her coat was damp at the shoulders from the night air outside. Emma stepped with her, one hand hovering near her back without quite guiding her. When Rosa sat, the chair was too low for the tall table, and she looked smaller in it. She set the pie pan down in front of her plate, careful, like she was afraid the crust would crack.
Emma moved fast after that. She took a fresh water glass from the side station and set it down to Rosa's right. Then a small bread plate. Her hands were steady but her eyes kept flicking toward Vanessa.
Vanessa was watching every move Emma made. I felt it before I saw it. That stare.
"Thank you, Emma," I said, to break it.
"Yes, sir," Emma said quietly, and stepped back.
I took my seat between them — Rosa on my right, Vanessa on my left. The table was too long for quiet talk. Everyone down both sides could see us. Mr. Bellini cleared his throat at the far end. Someone's wife whispered something behind a napkin.
Vanessa turned toward the guests and smiled. It was perfect. Teeth, warmth in the eyes, the red satin catching the candlelight as she leaned forward just enough.
"Well," she said, bright, "we love a surprise guest, don't we?" A few people gave a nervous laugh. "Luca has such a big heart."
Under the table, her hand found my thigh and gripped it hard. Her nails pressed through my suit pants. She didn't look at me when she did it. She kept smiling at the woman across from us.
I didn't move my leg away. I put my hand over hers for a second. Her skin was cold.
"Eat," I said to Rosa, low. "Please."
Rosa folded her hands in her lap. She didn't reach for the water. "Your table is beautiful," she said. "I remember you liked the crust cut off your toast."
Something caught in my chest. I nodded and picked up my own water just to have something to do. The ice shifted.
Vanessa's grip tightened, then released. She lifted her hand and placed it lightly on my forearm for the guests to see, her fingers resting right on my cuff. Possessive, gentle if you didn't know better.
She leaned in close enough that her earring brushed my shoulder. Her perfume was strong. Her voice dropped so only I could hear it.
"Fix the seating after salad," she breathed, still smiling. "Have Emma take her to the kitchen to eat."
I looked at her. Her eyes weren't smiling.
Down the table, conversation tried to restart and died again. Everyone was waiting to see what I would do with an old woman in a dark coat and a homemade pie in the middle of an engagement dinner.
I reached over and moved the pie pan half an inch, so it wouldn't tip off Rosa's crowded place. The metal was still warm from her hands.
"She eats here," I said, quiet, just to Vanessa. "With me."
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Vanessa held my look. Her fingers pressed once, hard, into my arm, then smoothed my sleeve flat like she was brushing off lint. She turned back to her plate and picked up her wine.
Rosa sat still, her hands back on the edge of the pie pan. Dinner didn't move forward. No one signaled the servers. The candles burned lower.