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Mrs. Vincent, Father’s cook, enters through the door connecting the dining room to the kitchen carrying three pre-served plates. She smiles at me warmly as she settles mine in front of me, but she doesn’t speak for fear of interrupting the men’s conversation.
Benedicto follows behind her with silverware and napkins, depositing them in each of our place settings before following Mrs. Vincent back into the kitchen. A pitcher of water with glasses sits in the middle of the table. I take it upon myself to pour myself a glass. Maximo takes the pitcher from me when I’m done, pouring Father and himself glasses without missing a beat in their conversation.
I pick at the roasted chicken with garden vegetables coated in a vinaigrette sauce. Though being ignored is rude, I find I don’t care that much. I’ve had much more unpleasant meals in this house. Specifically, whenever Nero and Father would get into an argument about my brother’s desire to leave the family business.
Speaking of Nero, I need to check in on him. Last I heard, he and Heather had reconciled. I didn’t ask for details when he responded to my text the morning after the Worldwide Geographics event to tell me they were back together. I’m sure I wouldn’t have gotten any anyway. Nero’s always been private. And those two are due for plenty of alone time to getreacquainted.
I grin at my silly joke. I’m so happy the evening worked out the way I’d hoped. Nero deserves all the good things in life, and it’s amazing to see everything working out for him.
“Care to share what amuses you?” My father’s question draws my eyes up. Both he and Maximo watch me expectantly.
I swallow my bite of chicken and clear my throat. “Just thinking about work,” I lie.
Father’s brows lift. “Thinking about work makes you smile?”
“You know how much I love working at the gallery.” At least, he should. I talk about it enough.
Then again, my mother was the parent who encouraged my brothers and me to find artistic hobbies. Father just wanted us to develop skills that would make us look more refined to high society. I doubt he cares that art is my calling and that I’m fortunate enough to work and study in a field I love.
Whoa. Negative, much?
I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from. Aside from allying with Nero and supporting the abdication of his role in the family, I’ve never felt the need to speak out against my father. I rarely even think ill of him despite how absent he’s become over the years. He’s not the same man since Mom or Antony died, but he’s the only parent I have left. I still love him.
I guess I just wish he showed a little more interest in me as a person and not a chess piece to be moved around the board. Specifically, when dealing with the MacKenzies after my mistake put us in debt to them.
“Of course,” Father replies obligingly. Then, he turns to Maximo. “Catarina fancies herself an artist.”
The hand bringing the fork to my mouth halts. What does he mean by that? Father doesn’t know about my artistic persona, Bella Donna. Does he?
I suppose it wouldn’t be a huge surprise if he did. He’s good at finding out information.
Not about Antony’s death, apparently.
Not for the first time, I wonder how Father didn’t discover the potential connection between the MacKenzies and Antony’s murder. Didn’t he notice the unique cigar label in the crime scene photos? Wouldn’t he have assigned someone to look into it?
Maybe he did.
Maybe I’m walking down a path my father’s already tread and I will find myself at the same dead end.
Or maybe I won’t.
I won’t know unless I continue to pursue the truth. I just need to figure out where to start.
“Catarina?”
I lower the fork when I notice Father watching me with a slightly disapproving frown. “I’m sorry. Did you ask me something?”
His jaw ticks with annoyance. “Maximo asked if you paint.”
“Oh.” I look at my cousin, noting the calm expression paired with probing eyes. “I do paint, but I prefer sculpting.”
“Like statues?”
“Yes. Small, porcelain ones.”
“I see.”
I nod and lower my gaze to the plate in front of me. I cut a small piece of chicken and put it in my mouth. Sensing eyes on me, I glance up and see Maximo staring at my mouth. My cheeks heat. What is going on here? My engagement ring is a massive beacon telling the world I’m unavailable. Not to mention, the entire family knows about the Furnaris impending alliance with the MacKenzies through my marriage. So why is Maximo looking at me likethat?And, more importantly, why is my father letting him?
