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“I did.” I put on a big smile. “A few of my pieces at the gallery.” I never should have told her about this. Clearly.
“That place,” my father says, “is an embarrassment.” He’s definitely looking at me now. This is for me. Next to him, Lucian checks his phone under the table and frowns. Did Eva tell him what was going on? If she did, does he know more than I do? We’re in the same room, and I can’t ask him. Even if I do, I probably won’t get answers. Another flare of anger burns me up. Embarrassment rings in my ears. “You should know better than to associate yourself with a place like that.”
I move my spoon in a slow circle through the soup. “I don’t know, Dad. They put up my painting for me, and it sold. That’s how I’ll get recognized as an artist.”
“By living in a hovel?” His face is getting red, which is not a good sign. “Stop pretending, Daphne. Insisting on that place is childish. If you want to waste your time on playacting an artist, I don’t care, but you don’t have to slight this family to do it.”
I’m pretty sure my ears have burst into flame. “I don’t think it’s a slight. My work is good.”
“Not good enough.”
“Good enough to sell. Good enough to get a commission.”
I don’t know what I’m thinking, talking back to him. It’s never worth it. Always dangerous. Blood hums in my ears. My face has to be as red as this soup. It’s bullshit, being here. Leo could die, and I’m angry at him. I’m worried sick about him. I should have skipped the dinner too. I could have made an excuse and painted until I was too tired to see straight. I’d have sorted all my feelings out on the canvas instead of swallowing them like curdled milk.
“Are you painting others?” Lucian asks.
I look at him, instead of my father. I can’t tell whether he actually cares or whether he’s saying something to end the silence. His dark eyes are narrowed. Bright. “For the gallery?”
A bored shrug, but that light doesn’t leave his eyes. Lucian’s always watching to see what makes people react. Or overreact. “For anyone.”
“Maybe. Why?”
“Morelli Holdings could use some updated art in the meeting rooms.”
“If you want art, use a dealer,” my father snaps.
“Art dealers are thieves. Unless you know someone who’s not.” Lucian aims this at our father.
It’s enough to turn the conversation away from me.
“Sophia,” my mother says, and then there are two conversations happening. The crushed tomatoes are disgusting. I eat the entire bowl. My mother is still going on about an event she’s planning. How Eva will be helping her, though time is getting a bit short, and people will notice if it’s a disaster.
I sneak my phone out of the pocket of my dress and put it on my lap.
Daphne: I’m coming over after this
The main course comes. Braised chicken with a side of Brussels sprouts. I can’t stand Brussels sprouts. They’re never good. Tasteless, and the texture is always off.
Eva: Not tonight
Eva: Not good here
Not good at Leo’s house. I have no idea whether that means he dies by morning or he’s in a terrible mood, and I want to know. Maybe I should get over it and wait for the news like everyone else. But I can’t force myself not to care. I can’t get all these feelings in a decipherable order. What are you supposed to do when your favorite brother might die but no one wants to tell you anything? And all this to protect me. The way he always does. Except then what? What happens if it’s actually as bad as Eva says it is?
I’m not just mad at him. I’m mad at myself. I let Leo protect me, I keep letting him do it, and now I feel like the world is falling out from underneath me. That’s ridiculous. I should be able to stand on my own two feet. It’s cowardice, what I’m doing.
And I hate it. I hate being treated like a child who has to be kept away from everything scary in the world.
It’s too late for that anyway.
Eva: I’ll text you in the morning, ok?
Daphne: OK
“Texting?” My mother frowns at me from her seat.
“No.” I put my phone back in my pocket. “Thinking about my next painting.”
