Chapter 1

Silence rolled down both sides of the long table.

The uncles who had been raising crystal glasses looked away. So did the family attorneys and the men who handled business at the Moretti docks. At the Oyster Bay estate, seats at the head table were assigned for a reason, and everyone in that room knew it.

Sofia pinched the card she'd hidden beneath her wineglass and forced a laugh. "Elena, I was only trying to keep things relaxed."

"Which part was relaxing, taking my card or hiding it?"

"I wasn't trying to steal anything."

"Great. Then give me the chair."

Her eyes filled on cue. Luca, the oldest of my three brothers, rose from my father's right and lowered his voice. "We have guests. Don't turn dinner into a circus."

I glanced around the table. "They watched Sofia move the card. Why am I the embarrassing part?"

His jaw tightened, but he had no answer.

My mother, Caterina, finally touched Sofia's hand. "Sweetheart, sit on my other side for tonight. Elena's still getting used to how this family works."

"I've lived on this estate for three years," I said. "You're only getting around to introducing me tonight."

The warmth slipped from my mother's face for half a second.

Sofia stood, but she didn't move toward the open chair. She pressed a palm to her chest as her breathing turned shallow. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. Tonight was never meant to welcome me."

She dug through her clutch for a rescue inhaler. Her fingers shook so badly she could barely work the cap.

Matteo, my second brother and the family's favorite doctor, was beside her before the inhaler reached her lips. Mom jumped up. Luca signaled the driver waiting outside, while Nico, the youngest, planted himself between Sofia and me.

His voice was as cold as the rain beating against the terrace doors. "Will you be happy when she stops breathing?"

"Matteo's a physician. She doesn't need an entire motorcade."

"She needs her family when she's scared."

Mom, Luca, and Nico hurried after Matteo as he guided Sofia out. I didn't try to stop them. There was no point dragging people back to a table they'd already chosen to leave.

My father remained at the head. Lorenzo Moretti didn't need to bang his fist to command a room. He set down his glass, and the soft click made two dozen people hold their breath.

"You're twenty-eight years old, Elena," he said. "You've been back with us for three years, and you still don't know when to let something go."

I looked at the four empty chairs. Cold seemed to pass straight through my ribs.

I'd tried on three dresses for tonight. I'd memorized the names of cousins who had never once called me. Worst of all, I'd believed Mom when she promised, [This time, everyone will see that you're home.]

For three years, every public introduction had been postponed until the timing was better. I had told myself that tonight meant the waiting was over. When the florist delivered white roses, Mom said they matched the bouquet from the day I was born. I had saved one in my room before dinner, embarrassingly pleased by such a small sign that she remembered me.

They had seen me, and they'd also seen exactly who could make this family walk out.

I slipped my place card into my purse. "I have learned something. In this house, the child who doesn't cry has to find her own seat."

My father called my name, but I walked away before he could turn the lesson into another lecture about patience.

I understood subtext just fine. I simply refused to dress manipulation up as kindness, and the Morettis were beginning to realize that I wouldn't keep swallowing their version of events just to make dinner pleasant.