AllFreeNovel
Share Us
1
“You should tell her the truth.” Her sister Teresa rolled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, leaning in so the other restaurant patrons couldn’t hear them.
“You know I can’t tell her,” Angela said, her teeth snapping on the words.
She’d had ample opportunity to tell Sienna the truth in the year since the divorce. But Angela’s relationship with her daughter was already on tenterhooks. It had been since Sienna was eight years old.
“Angelina.” Teresa, two years older, said her name the way their mother would, as if she’d done something wrong. “It’s time Sienna knew what he’s like.”
Her ex-husband, Donald Walker, had been the driving force in Angela’s life for the last thirty years, controlling everything, from the way she interacted with the children, to the charity endeavors she took part in, to the country club ladies she was supposed to make friends with. Even though they’d divorced a year ago, he was still controlling her through Sienna.
She breathed in, pursing her lips. “Sienna adores him. Telling her will only backfire. Donald will somehow use whatever I say to break any connection I’m building with her.”
Teresa spread her hands, her voice soft and cajoling. “But things seem to be better between you and Sienna.”
“That’s why I’m not going to endanger anything right now.”
The waiter chose that moment to ask if they wanted refills on their wine. Born of Italian parents, they’d been drinking wine since they were ten years old, though watered down at that time. Now that she was fifty-three—and no longer under Donald’s thumb—Angela chose the best wines. Their father was a multimillion-dollar contractor, and their mother had been trying to make it to the top of the Silicon Valley elite for thirty years. The divorce had dashed her hopes.
The restaurant, an upmarket establishment in San Francisco, was relatively quiet for a mid-week lunch in early March. The conversations were muted, the ambience sophisticated, the patrons elegantly dressed even at lunchtime. Fresh hydrangea blooms decorated the tables, accompanied by crystal stemware and delicate porcelain.
After the waiter left, Angela went on. “That’s why I want to take Sienna on this Santorini trip, to give us a chance to understand each other. Maybe down the road, when we have a better relationship, I can explain everything.” She came from good Italian stock, and she used her hands to describe everything. “Right now, she doesn’t want to hear anything negative about her father. She already thinks badly of me, the way he’s always wanted her to, and I’m not giving him any ammunition before I’m ready.”
“It’s not giving him ammunition. Haven’t you heard the old saying that the truth will set you free?”
Angela wished she’d never told Teresa the truth about her marriage. And when she gave her sister a look, Teresa raised her hands. “All right, fine. I won’t belabor the point.” Thankfully, she changed the subject. “I really like the new haircut. I swear, you look five years younger.” Teresa touched her hair, which today she wore in a chignon. “Maybe I should cut mine off too.”
“William loves your long hair. But thank you. I’m glad you like the new cut.” Angela hadn’t considered it until her hairdresser suggested a shorter cut would be more attractive, the words now that you’re getting older left unsaid. The March day had been cold and blustery, though sunny, and she patted the curls in place as if the wind had disturbed them.
Sienna blew in then, all eyes drawn to her lithe figure in neat business attire, pants, suit jacket, and low-heeled pumps. Her beautiful chestnut hair curled in ringlets past her shoulders. Both Angela and Teresa had black hair—at least before the gray crept in—but Sienna had dyed hers, as if she didn’t want to be anything like her mother. And yet the likeness was unmistakable. Sienna had Angela’s classic bone structure, the patrician nose, the full lips. But while Sienna, at five foot eight, had the statuesque figure of a Roman sculpture, Angela and Teresa were both more petite at five-four, buxom and curvy like their mother.
Over fifty now, Angela was a pale imitation of her thirty-year-old daughter. She no longer turned men’s heads. Though turning a man’s head was the furthest thing from her mind, she still wished for her youth, her beauty, and the alluring figure of a twenty-two-year-old.
The hug Sienna gave Teresa was effusive and heartfelt. “Aunt Teresa, I’m so glad you’re here today.”
When she turned to Angela, their hug was standoffish, as if Sienna couldn’t bear more than her fingertips on her mother’s shoulders and an air kiss that didn’t connect.
The rift was Angela’s fault. She’d allowed Donald to take over. That was her mistake. She should have fought for her daughter’s love every step of the way.
Sienna practically threw herself into the seat. “Thank you so much for ordering the wine.” She smiled glowingly at Teresa as if her aunt was responsible for everything. “And thank you so much for the dinnerware.”
Teresa had sent her a set of everyday plates because Sienna had complained about chips in the old stuff she’d bought when she got her first apartment six years ago.
“You’re so welcome.” Teresa leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Angela forced enthusiasm into her voice. “I’m so happy you could make it despite your birthday being last week.” She held her hand out in a that-doesn’t-matter gesture even though it mattered a lot. “But I’ve always said we should have a birth month, not just a birthday.”
Teresa raised her glass. “Here’s to turning thirty. And may the next ten years of your life be just as amazing as the last.”
Sienna’s face pinched, as if she thought the last ten years hadn’t been all that great. But in the next moment, she painted a smile on her lips.
If only things between them could be different. Maybe on Santorini, they would be. That was Angela’s hope.
“You look marvelous.” Teresa fluffed one of Sienna’s curls. “I thought you said you were going to cut your hair into a bob.”
“I’ve got an appointment at the salon this evening.”
Despite having her own new style, Angela didn’t want Sienna to cut her hair. The length and the curls looked good on her. But Angela knew better than to say anything. It had been this way for years. Whatever Angela thought Sienna should do, her daughter would do the opposite.
