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But I’m not done yet.
“Didn’t I hear a rumor about Mia once?” I say loudly, tapping my chin and pretending I don’t know the reason why all the Bianchis hate an eighteen-year-old girl.
Because I do. I know every last excruciating detail.
Mia is staring at me with huge, pain-filled eyes. Tears are collecting on her lashes, and she gives another shake of her head. She wants me to shut up, but I’m not going to. I’ve had a gutful of family bullshit today, and every Bianchi is going to feel my wrath.
I lift my glass and take an enormous mouthful of wine, pretending to think. As I put it down, I nod as if I just remembered something. “Oh, I know. It’s because of that family scandal my precious, prissy wife caused by screwing around behind her late husband’s back. Giulia got knocked up by a... kitchenhand, wasn’t it?” I swing my gaze to my wife.
Actually, it was the owner of her husband’s favorite restaurant, but I say kitchenhand just to get on her nerves. Giulia shoots me a look full of hatred and clasps her wine glass so hard that it might shatter at any moment.
I turn my nasty grin on my stepdaughter. “Mia’s not a real Bianchi. Oh, Mia. How could you do this to your family?”
Not technically true, but it’s how her family treats her. Bianchi is my wife’s maiden name and the one she passed onto her daughters. The Bianchis are a far more prominent family than Giulia’s ex-husband’s and she didn’t want to let her name go.
Mia breathes in sharply, trying to suck those tears back in and pretend like nothing’s wrong. I wait for someone, anyone, to leap to their feet and rip me to shreds for laying the blame of Giulia’s infidelity at Mia’s feet.
No one speaks.
No one moves.
No one even looks at Mia.
Tomaso turns to his sister and resumes their conversation.
I shake my head and take another mouthful of wine. I had to piss people off day after day for ten years in order to receive this sort of treatment at home. All Mia has to do is exist.
She and I stare at each other across the table. She’s breathing fast, but quietly, like she terrified of drawing the tiniest bit of attention to herself.
I pick up my fork and stab it through some green beans. “Pathetic.”
I pass the rest of the meal in silence and so does Mia. She doesn’t touch her food, and no one asks her if she’s feeling all right or if she’d like anything else. When one of her uncles gets up to smoke a cigarette on the terrace, she mumbles something about wanting to be excused and hurries out of the room. No one gives her a second glance.
I get up and follow her.
She’s half running to her bedroom, but I catch up to her in the hall upstairs, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around to face me. “Wasn’t that interesting? What aninterestingdinner.”
She rips her arm out of my grasp, her face creased with emotion. “Screw you, Laz.”
Anger races through me. I grab both her shoulders and push her against the wall. “Oh, you can say it to me, but you can’t say it to them? They won’t lift a finger to defend you, Mia. Not one of them. Some family you’ve got.”
“How dare you bring up that scandal at the dinner table? Their silence wasn’t about me. They were appalled by you.”
I scour her face with narrowed eyes, wondering if she really believes that. Maybe she just desperately wants to. I’ll be doing her a favor by helping her realize that no one gives a damn about her.
“You’re all alone, Mia. No one cares about you. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
3
Mia
It’s just a photo. It doesn’t matter. These people are nothing and soon you’ll have left this nightmare forever.
I repeat this mantra over and over as I walk home. I’m a Bianchi, and everyone in this city knows that crossing a Bianchi is dangerous for your longevity, except high school doesn’t follow normal rules. High school is its own ecosystem with different in-crowds, out-crowds, and pecking orders. Lately, I reek of vulnerability. I’m the limping gazelle on the savanna, and the predators are closing in around me.
It’s just a photo, Mia.
But it’s not just a photo. It’s evidence of me doing something that gets my stomach churning every time. I need two shots of vodka just to walk through that door.
