I stepped back instantly into the pitch-black alcove behind the industrial ice maker, holding my breath. My mother, Cora Valli, strode into the pantry doorway. She was dressed in an immaculate royal purple silk caftan, her silver-streaked hair coiffed into an aristocratic updo, diamonds sparkling at her earlobes and wrists.
“Vita,” Cora said, her voice dripping with the clipped condescension of a colonial overseer. Vita wiped her eyes quickly with the hem of her shawl and sat upright. “Yes, Cora?” “Family breakfast is scheduled for eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” Cora announced, leaning against the doorframe with folded arms.
“Uncle Rob, Aunt Beth, and Cleo’s fiancé will be joining us. I expect you to have your breakfast in here before the kitchen staff arrives.” Vita looked up. The exhaustion in her dark eyes was staggering, but beneath the fatigue burned a spark of quiet, unyielding fire.
“Why would I eat in a storage closet, Cora? That dining table seats sixteen people. I am Marc’s wife. This is our home.” Cora threw her head back and let out a sharp, mocking laugh that made the fine crystal in the nearby pantry chime.
“Marc’s wife? Marc is three thousand miles away working twelve-hour days to maintain this standard of living while you sit around crying over swollen ankles. Marc bought this estate with his pedigree and his talent. Being married to him on paper doesn’t mean a single square inch of this property belongs to you.”
Cora leaned forward, her face darkening into a sneer of pure venom: “I will not have an emotional, unrefined girl casting a shadow over my family’s breakfast. You will stay back here where you belong until my guests depart for the country club. Do you understand me?”
In the shadows of the alcove, my jaw ached from clenching so hard. I was ready to tear the door off its hinges and denounce my own mother. But Vita’s response froze me in place. She slowly stood up from the cot.
Even in a simple cotton dress and swollen feet, her posture was magnificent. She met Cora’s furious glare without flinching. “Keep saying that, Cora,” Vita whispered, her voice eerily calm, steady, and deadly serious. Cora’s smirk faltered slightly.
