My mother’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the slight tightening around her eyes. She hates when he brings up her past.
“Is that right?” Mable asks, turning to her.
“Long time ago,” my mother says.
I’m about to fill the silence when Cordelia appears, sliding into the seat beside my father like she belongs there. Which, in a way, she does. She’s been at our holiday dinners since she was twelve, along with her parents.
“There you are,” she says to me, then turns her smile to Mable. “I was hoping to get to know you better. He keeps you all to himself.”
“That’s kind of the point,” I say, but I’m smiling. She’s teasing me like she always has. We’re like siblings or cousins rather.
“Don’t be greedy,” she laughs, waving down a server for another glass. She turns to my father. “Henry, did you see Julian’s face when Emery started down the aisle? I’ve never seen him look so terrified.”
“He thought she wasn’t going to show,” my father chuckles. “The boy was sweating through his tux.”
“Remember when he fainted at his confirmation?” Cordelia asks, and my father roars with laughter.
“Fell flat on the altar!”
“And Wells just stood there,” Cordelia continues, eyes sparkling. “Didn’t even flinch. Just stepped over him like he was furniture.”
What they all don’t know is that there had been a bet, one I should have known my brother would follow through on.
“I did not,” I protest, but I’m laughing too. It’s an old story, one that’s been told a hundred times at family dinners. Cordelia and I normally share a look, but this time I glance at Mable. When I was telling her about my brother, I might have told her this story, but I told her the whole story, letting her in on the secret.
Mable smiles politely. I reach for her hand under the table. “Mable, my father collects vintage cars. He’s got a 1967 Mustang he’s obsessed with,” I say, wanting to pull her into the conversation.
“Is that right?” she asks, turning to him.
But Cordelia’s already there. “Henry, when are you finally going to give Caldwell that Shelby? He’s been begging you to sell it to him since he was sixteen.”
“Still begging,” I admit teasingly.
“Never,” my father says.
“You’ll die in that car,” Cordelia says, and my father laughs again with her.
The conversation flows around us. I try to include Mable more, but Cordelia keeps the silence filled, bringing up memories, old jokes, and shared history. I’m sure she’s trying to show Mable that, while we might be royal, we can still be very much like any other family.
“Do you remember the summer at the lake house?” Cordelia asks, turning to me. “When you tried to teach me to water ski and I nearly drowned us both?”
“How could I forget?” I force a smile. That had been pure torture.
“He’s very patient when he wants to be. Isn’t he, Mable?”
Mable sets down her glass. “Very.”
There’s something in her voice I can’t read. I look at her, really look, and she’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Hey,” I say quietly, leaning toward her. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She stands suddenly. “I’m going to find the ladies’ room. If you all could excuse me.”
She’s gone before I can stand, slipping through the crowd. I start to follow, but Cordelia’s hand on my arm stops me.
“Let her breathe,” she says softly. “She’s overwhelmed. It’s a lot for someone who isn’t used to this. Sometimes a girl needs a minute.”
I hesitate, wanting to follow her. Cordelia’s probably right, but my instincts are saying different.
