Chapter 8: My Name Was on the Work
1419 Words
“I couldn’t pay for every hour,” I said. “So I worked some of them myself.”
Celeste Harlow’s smile remained in place.
“Nobody said you never helped.”
“I didn’t say helped.”
Theo Vescari pushed his cup away.
“Do we need to turn this into another accounting exercise?”
“You sent the account.”
At my side, Draven Vescari stopped spreading marmalade on his toast.
I looked at Celeste.
“Tuesday evenings, Saturday mornings, the three nights when the agency couldn’t cover. I prepared meals, washed bedding, helped with bathing, and stayed when she couldn’t safely manage alone.”
“She’s your mother,” Celeste said.
“Yes.”
“Most daughters would consider that natural.”
“Then why did Theo charge me for it?”
Her eyes went to him.
A spoon touched a saucer halfway down the table. Nobody picked it up again.
“I covered the household,” Theo said.
“Not those shifts. My name was on the work.”
Cassian Vescari leaned back.
“Private family arrangements rarely survive this kind of public dissection.”
“Neither did my reputation survive your announcement.”
“Mara,” Eva Harlow said sharply.
I turned to her.
“Did you think I stopped needing wages when I went to my mother after a shift?”
“I think there are more graceful ways to discuss sacrifice.”
“I wasn’t asking for a medal.”
My voice had risen. I lowered it, though I resented having to do that in a room where everyone else could insult me at conversational volume.
“I’m asking why my unpaid hours became his expense.”
***
A guest near Celeste tried to redirect us toward the benefit’s auction prizes.
“The organizers have done wonderfully this year.”
“Which provider representative is attending?” I asked.
Celeste lifted one shoulder.
“I don’t manage the guest list.”
“You were just speaking about the service.”
“I know the director is expected.”
“Good. Repeat your claim there.”
Theo looked at me fully now.
“What claim?”
“That you funded my mother’s care because I couldn’t. In front of someone who can check the visits, the invoices, and who covered the gaps.”
Celeste laughed.
“You want to drag your mother’s private arrangements into a charity event?”
“No. I want you to stop using them as your achievement.”
“It isn’t my achievement.”
“You’re remarkably eager to defend it.”
Cassian’s expression hardened.
“No one will be staging an interrogation at a benefit.”
“I’ll ask a question. She can answer it.”
“Not everyone wants their working life discussed over dinner,” a woman said.
“Then they shouldn’t invent mine over breakfast.”
The woman’s cheeks colored. I wished I had aimed that more carefully. She had not written Theo’s demand.
I picked up my cup to keep from saying anything else too quickly.
Celeste looked around the table. She had witnesses now, and I could see the calculation in the way she held her smile until someone returned it.
“I have no difficulty saying what everyone knows.”
“At the benefit?” I asked.
“Yes, Mara. At the benefit.”
“Before the provider?”
“Yes.”
Theo’s fingers tightened around the handle of his cup.
I took a sip of coffee. It had gone cold.
***
We did not leave immediately.
I hated that part.
There was still bread on my plate, still conversation struggling along the table, still the knowledge that any sudden departure would be described as another episode.
Draven finished his toast.
“Are you staying for the garden?” Cassian asked him.
“No.”
“You used to make time.”
“I made time for breakfast.”
His brother’s gaze rested on the space I had taken beside him.
“So I see.”
Draven folded his napkin.
I stood when he did. My chair caught against the carpet again, and for a dreadful second I thought I would have to wrestle it in front of everyone.
He steadied the back after I had risen.
“Thank you,” I said under my breath.
“For the chair or the escape?”
“Don’t make me choose.”
His mouth moved, barely.
At the door, Celeste called my name.
I turned.
“The benefit is formal. You do remember?”
I thought of the blue dress I had worn to confront her, and of how little I wanted to see it again.
“I remember.”
“It would be a shame to feel uncomfortable.”
“I’ll manage my clothes. You remember what you agreed to say.”
We left before she answered.
***
In the car, I stared at my hands.
Draven waited until we had turned out of the drive.
“You barely ate.”
“You counted?”
“The roll suffered extensive damage. Very little reached you.”
I looked at him.
“It was a good roll.”
“I thought so.”
“Don’t agree with me about bread. I’m furious.”
“That seems unnecessarily restrictive.”
A laugh caught me by surprise. It hurt my throat, and I pressed my fingers beneath my jaw.
His amusement disappeared.
“Do you need to go back to the clinician?”
“No. I need people to stop making me talk.”
He faced forward.
For several minutes, he gave me exactly that.
I watched Bellacosta change through the window: shuttered shops opening, a delivery van blocking a lane, two people arguing over a parking space. Ordinary trouble. I wanted some.
At North Quay, the entrance was busy with departing guests. A staff member wheeled a luggage cart around us, apologizing without slowing.
Draven held the door while I passed through.
“I built this place with money Cassian never touched,” he said as we crossed the lobby. “It’s the one door in Bellacosta his name doesn’t open. Since yesterday, not even downstairs.”
Farther along, a barrier blocked the service corridor. The sealed access notice was still in place. A worker carrying folded linen turned toward another elevator rather than passing through.
I stopped looking before the corridor could become the only thing I saw.
“Can we get something to eat?” I asked.
“An excellent development.”
“Somewhere without relatives.”
“That considerably improves the available choices.”
***
We took a small table off the main lounge.
There was no grand arrangement. A member of staff brought sandwiches and asked whether we wanted the tea left to steep.
“Please,” I said.
Draven reached for a sandwich before the plate had properly landed.
“Impatient,” I said.
“Observant.”
He ate half while I poured tea.
I took my first proper mouthful and realized how hungry I was. For a little while, the conversation consisted of passing things.
Then I set down my cup.
“Will you help me?”
“With the benefit?”
“Yes.”
“What do you need?”
“Time to ask the question. Not someone stopping me because Cassian dislikes the subject.”
“He will dislike it.”
“I gathered.”
“What else?”
“A way there. A way out that doesn’t depend on Theo. And no speech about how I should leave this to you.”
Draven wiped a crumb from his thumb.
“I don’t know her work records.”
“Exactly.”
“I can arrange transport. You choose when you leave.”
“And if I’m wrong about an amount?”
“Then you’re wrong about an amount.”
I looked at him for a moment, irritated by how little comfort that offered and how useful it was.
“You don’t want to restrain me?”
“From asking a question she agreed to answer?”
“From making your family miserable.”
“Cassian punishes people who embarrass him,” Draven said. “Usually through someone they love.”
“My mother.”
“Or your work. Or me.”
He reached for the last sandwich, then stopped.
“Are you having that?”
I pushed the plate toward him.
He took it.
“I want to see what Celeste does when the provider answers.”
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