Chapter 7: Move Your Chair
1346 Words
“Are you going?” I asked.
Draven Vescari looked at the seating plan on the lounge table.
“Yes.”
“Then so am I.”
He studied me for a moment.
“You don’t have to earn your room by enduring breakfast.”
“I’ve already chosen my room.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“It was the part that mattered.”
He picked up the plan, read the small print beneath the time, and set it down.
“Nine. My brother’s house.”
“Does the invitation still include your wife?”
“It includes me and my spouse.”
“Useful wording.”
“Uncharacteristically.”
I took the envelope upstairs. Before bed, I laid out clothes I had authorized someone to collect from my own belongings: a plain skirt, a blouse that didn’t rub my throat, and flat shoes.
The crossed-out name stayed downstairs.
I didn’t need to sleep beside it.
***
The next morning, 3 September, Cassian Vescari’s house smelled of coffee and heated bread.
I had been there before as Theo’s fiancée. I knew where coats went, which bathroom had a sticking latch, and how people lowered their voices when Cassian entered.
That morning, the woman receiving guests checked the list twice.
Draven waited while she did it.
“There seems to have been a change,” she said.
“Not to the number in our party.”
Her eyes flicked toward me. “Of course.”
We followed her into the breakfast room.
Theo Vescari sat halfway down the long table. Celeste Harlow was beside him, wearing cream and holding a cup with both hands. She looked at my left hand before she looked at my face.
There was a place card for Draven near the head.
There was none for me.
An extra chair stood against the wall beneath a narrow console, close to a door used by serving staff.
Cassian rose.
“Good morning, brother.”
“Cassian.”
His gaze moved to me.
“We weren’t sure you would feel able to join us.”
“You sent the plan.”
“A household detail.”
“I noticed.”
A server approached with a cup, hesitated, and turned toward the sideboard.
Someone at the table began asking Draven about the weather at North Quay, as if a harbor three miles away had developed a separate climate.
I went to the chair against the wall.
It was heavier than it looked.
The legs caught against the edge of the carpet. I pulled once, badly, and the wooden back knocked the console.
Every conversation stopped.
“Careful,” Celeste said.
“I am trying.”
I lifted the front legs over the carpet and dragged the chair to Draven’s place.
There wasn’t enough room.
A broad man in a gray suit, one of Cassian’s port associates, occupied the place at Draven’s left and showed no sign of noticing me.
“Excuse me,” I said.
He went on buttering his toast.
Draven didn’t speak. He only turned his head and looked at him.
The knife stopped. A moment later the man picked up his plate and cup and moved one place down without a word.
I set my chair in the space he had left.
Cassian stayed standing.
“That isn’t the arrangement.”
“It is now,” Draven said.
I sat before my knees could reveal how much work the chair had been.
***
A plate appeared. Then cutlery. The server placed a cup in front of me, and I thanked her so warmly that she blinked.
Theo watched me unfold the napkin.
“Are you making every meal a performance now?”
“I haven’t had a meal with you since you threatened my mother.”
A guest coughed into his hand.
Cassian took his seat.
“This is precisely the sort of conversation we hoped to avoid.”
“Then why cross out my name?”
“The invitation was prepared before circumstances changed.”
“The correction was made afterward.”
Draven reached for the bread basket. He offered it to me before taking anything himself.
I chose a roll because I needed something to do with my hands.
Celeste leaned toward Theo.
“Some people find adjustment harder than others.”
I tore the roll unevenly. Half of it broke into crumbs.
My face heated. Sitting beside Draven had not made the room friendly, or stopped anyone from noticing the shake in my fingers.
At the other end of the table, a woman asked about the upcoming care benefit. Celeste answered at once.
“We’re looking forward to it. It will be lovely to focus on something useful.”
I looked up.
“The provider will be there?”
“Several people from the service,” she said. “Why?”
“I know some of them.”
“Yes. Through your mother.”
“Through my work.”
She smiled into her cup.
Theo buttered a piece of toast with unnecessary attention.
***
Cassian asked Draven about a port luncheon. Draven answered briefly, then asked for the marmalade.
The ordinary request almost made me laugh. My former fiancé was sitting opposite me, my stepsister had taken the place intended for me, and my husband apparently had strong feelings about preserves.
I passed him the pot.
“Thank you.”
“Is breakfast compulsory?” I asked quietly.
“Eating it? No. The cook deserves better, though.”
I took a bite of the roll. It was excellent. That annoyed me.
Across the table, Celeste had begun telling a guest how worried everyone had been when I disappeared.
“Eva barely slept,” she said.
Eva Harlow sat near Cassian, her napkin spread neatly across her knees.
“You should have called home, Mara.”
“I was unable to.”
“You managed to make other arrangements.”
The guest beside her looked at my band.
I swallowed before answering.
“Who decided to announce that I’d left Theo?”
Theo set down his knife.
“You weren’t answering.”
“Before midnight, Celeste told me through the glass that tomorrow everyone would hear I ran away. Nobody could have known I was missing yet. So who had already written it?”
Celeste’s cup stopped halfway to her mouth.
“We’ve been through this,” Theo said.
“Not at this table.”
Cassian reached for his coffee.
“The announcement was an attempt to spare further embarrassment.”
“Mine?”
“To both families.”
“You told people I’d taken money.”
Theo’s chair creaked as he shifted.
A man near the windows said, “Surely this can wait until everyone’s had something to eat.”
“I’ve been trying to eat.”
Draven placed the bread basket back within my reach.
Nobody answered the question.
I looked at Eva.
“Did you try my workplace? My mother? A hospital?”
“Don’t interrogate me at breakfast.”
“Then don’t tell this table I chose not to call.”
Her mouth tightened. She looked away first.
Nobody confessed. That particular accusation simply ended, and I let it.
***
The conversation restarted in pieces.
I ate what I could. My stomach had tightened around every mouthful, but leaving the plate untouched would have meant listening to concern about my appetite.
Celeste returned to the benefit.
“I hope the unpleasantness won’t affect attendance,” she said. “The service relies on people who can actually contribute.”
I laid down my fork.
“Do you mean money or work?”
“Both, ideally.”
“Then we have something to discuss there.”
Theo gave her a warning glance. She either missed it or chose to ignore it.
“I’m sure everyone understands what I mean.”
“I’d rather hear you say it.”
Draven looked at me. His hand rested beside his plate, still.
Celeste lifted her chin.
“Oh, Mara. Everyone knows Theo paid for your mother because you couldn’t.”
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