Vincenzo’s parents embraced Noel like he was something sacred.
I stood near the edge of the room, half-hidden among coats and shadows. Easily ignored. Easily forgotten.
“Who is she?” someone asked near the dessert table.
Vincenzo’s mother answered without hesitation.
“Oh, her?” she said lightly. “Just the former wife. Couldn’t even raise her own child properly. A sickly boy she kept hidden. No one really knows what became of him.”
Lena placed a hand over her chest, pretending sympathy.
“Gabriel is still recovering,” she said gently. “He wasn’t strong enough to travel.” Then she turned to me with a perfect look of pity. “Poor Olivia… still grieving.”
She leaned in and kissed Vincenzo’s cheek.
My nails dug into my palms until it hurt.
A waiter accidentally knocked over a dessert stand. A silver tray crashed to the floor, the sound echoing through the hall.
Laughter followed immediately—Vincenzo’s father the loudest of all.
“We’re here to celebrate,” he said loudly, then pointed at me. “Let her clean it up. She’s used to it.”
Some guests chuckled.
Lena stepped forward smoothly, voice sweet as syrup.