Chapter 12 Twelve
IDALIA SOLENE
Hours later, after my father had convinced to dine with them, I agreed. And despite the fact that the dining room was massive, the air inside it felt completely trapped. The bright lights of the hall shined down on the expensive porcelain plates and the heavy crystal glasses.
The house staff moved quietly around the edges of the room. They placed silver trays of roast beef, grilled asparagus, and mashed potatoes on the dark mahogany wood. The food looked perfect. It looked expensive. But to me, it tasted like wet cardboard. My stomach was filled with a hot, burning fire. I had no appetite for their fake hospitality.
I looked at the people sitting around the table. Mr. Vance sat at the head. He looked like a broken man, ever since he realised it was me. He did not pick up his knife. He did not pick up his fork. He just stared at my face. His eyes were red and wet.
He looked at me like he was trying to memorize my features before I vanished into thin air again.
Elena, on the other hand, was sitting at the opposite end of the long table. Her dark emerald dress looked too tight against her rigid posture. She was trying to hold her head high, but her neck was stiff. Camilla sat directly across from me. Her hands were shaking.
They shook so badly she could not hold her heavy silver fork. Her fingers slipped. The metal fork dropped against the porcelain plate. Clink. The sound was sharp and loud in the dead quiet room. She picked it up. Her fingers slipped again. Clink. She finally placed her hands in her lap and stared down at the table.
“Are you okay?” Mr Vance asked, worried about his petrified daughter.
She nodded and replied in a tight voice. “I'm fine. Just emotional.”
Elena cleared her throat. She forced a smile onto her face. It was a tight, unnatural expression. She wanted to take control of the room. She wanted to play the role of the boss.
"Idalia," Elena said. Her voice was slightly louder than normal. "We are just so shocked. We missed you. You must tell us where you have been for the last five years. Why did you not call us? Why did you let us believe you were dead?"
I slowly placed my white cloth napkin on the table and then rested my forearms on the hard wood. I looked directly into Elena’s eyes.
"Shouldn't it be time we told ourselves the truth, Elena?" I asked. My voice was very low. It was soft, but it carried a heavy, dangerous weight. I did not scream. I did not yell. I forced them to stop breathing and lean in just to hear me. "You did not miss me, Elena. Do not insult my intelligence by pretending to be a loving mother. We both know the truth. You only miss the quiet, weak girl you used to control."
Elena’s thin lips pressed together into a hard line. The fake smile dropped from her face entirely. She swallowed hard. The skin around her eyes tightened. I had shut her down with one simple sentence. I did not give her room to argue. I did not give her room to lie.
The silence returned to the dining room. It was thick and heavy. It felt like a heavy wool blanket pressing down on our chests. I reached out and picked up my crystal water glass. The ice cubes clinked softly against the sides. I stared at the clear, cold water. I swirled it around in the glass. I watched the water climb the crystal edges and fall back down.
"It is a miracle, isn't it?" I asked the quiet room.
I kept my eyes on the water. I spoke softly. I let the words float in the heavy air.
"Surviving in this city is very hard," I continued. "Things happen so fast. People get hurt. People disappear."
I stopped swirling the water. I lifted my head. I looked directly across the table at Camilla. She was already staring at me. Her dark eyes were wide with pure panic. She knew exactly what I was talking about.
"Car crashes are so common you know," I said, my voice completely flat and devoid of emotion. "A truck hits your bumper. Your car spins out of control. Metal crushes against metal. Glass shatters into a million pieces. The car rolls down a steep hill. Have you ever been in a bad car crash, Camilla?"
Camilla shook her head quickly. She did not speak. Her thin lips parted slightly as she tried to pull air into her lungs.
Her shaky hands gripped the white tablecloth in her lap.
I leaned forward and rested my chin on my folded hands before locking my stormy grey eyes onto hers. I did not let her look away.
"Have you ever felt the sensation of freezing cold water filling your lungs?" I asked her.
“Camilla… I understand you're disappointed but-” My father tried to interrupt but I continued.
My voice dropped to a terrifying whisper. "Have you ever felt the dirty river water rush into your mouth? Have you ever felt the way it burns the back of your throat when you try to scream for help? Have you ever felt the heavy, pulling weight of the water dragging your body down to the bottom while you fight for one last breath of air?"
Camilla pushed her heavy wooden chair back. The legs scraped loudly against the floor. She dropped her napkin, pressed her shaking hands flat against the top of the table to steady herself. Her face was the color of dirty snow. She looked like she was going to pass out.
"Stop," Camilla whispered. Her voice cracked. "Stop looking at me like that."
Elena quickly intervened. She saw her daughter breaking and tried to throw a shield over her.
Sgripped the edge of the table, her hands shaking, but she forced her chin up. She tried to find a legal false hope to cling to.
"Accidents happen every single day," Elena said. Her voice was harsh and defensive. "People get into accidents. It is a tragedy. But without proof, stories are just stories. The police investigated the river. They closed that file five years ago. You have absolutely no proof of anything. You have nothing."
I looked away from Camilla and slowly turned my head toward Elena.
I smiled.
It was a slow, deliberate movement. It was a cold, beautiful (I knew I was beautiful), and absolutely terrifying smile. I let her see the total lack of fear in my eyes. I let her see the immense power I carried in my blood.
"You think I need a courtroom?" I asked softly. I tilted my head. "You think I care about a police file?"
Elena’s eyes widened. She realized her threat meant absolutely nothing to me.
"I do not need a judge, Elena," I told her, my voice smooth and rhythmic. "I have my own money. I have my own power. I hold the lives of the most important people in this city in my hands every single day. I can completely ruin your life, I can drain your bank accounts, and I can destroy your social standing without ever stepping inside a police station. I am the judge now."
Camilla could not take the pressure anymore. She snapped. The panic turned into a desperate, frantic anger.
"You cannot touch us!" Camilla yelled. Her voice was shrill and loud, breaking the quiet rules of the dining room. Her shaky hands gripped the edge of the mahogany table like a lifeline. Her thin lips pulled back into an ugly sneer. "You have nothing! I am marrying Thane Devereux! He is the most powerful man in New York City! He owns this city! He will protect me from you! You are just a doctor. He is a billionaire. When I tell him you are threatening me, he will crush you!"
I looked at her angry, terrified face.
I couldn't help but laugh.
It was a rich, deep, mocking sound. It rolled out of my chest and I did not try to hide my amusement. Her threat was the funniest thing I had heard in five years, except some stand-up comedy shows I once a habit of attending.
When she said his name, my mind did not go to his bank account. My mind did not go to his massive company or his billions of dollars.
Nope.
My stupid mind went directly to the memory of his body.
I remembered his heavy jaw pressing against my bare shoulder in the dark when he had me from behind. I remembered the rough, coarse feeling of his afternoon stubble against my skin. I remembered his large, incredibly warm hands wrapping tightly around my waist, pulling me flat against his broad, hard chest. I remembered the heavy, suffocating heat of his body. I remembered the deep, heavy way his voice vibrated against my ear when he whispered my secret name. The memory of his physical form sent a sudden, hot thrill straight through my stomach.
Damn it.
I stopped laughing. I looked at Camilla with pure pity.
"You think Thane wants you?" I asked. My voice was calm and steady. "You have lived with him for five years. You wear his grandmother’s necklace. But there is no ring on your finger. You are still just a fiancée. Do you know why?"
Camilla’s face turned bright red. Her chest heaved.
"Because a man like Thane Devereux does not want a cheap, empty copy," I told her, striking the final, brutal blow. "Especially not when he has already tasted the original. He knows something is missing. He feels it every time he looks at your face."