Sylvia and Luke appear to have the perfect life. A thriving fashion startup, a beautiful four-year-old daughter, and a love that began when they met at Harvard Business School. But beneath the surface, Luke hides a dark secret-he's the heir to one o...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mrs. Biancchi's gaze shifts to me, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Sylvia, is it?" She asks, her tone edged with curiosity.
"Yes," I answer, meeting her gaze directly.
"How did you meet our son?" Her eyes gleam with a hint of amusement as she settles back in her chair, her attitude surprising me. Considering what her husband is capable of doing, I fully expected the same amount of hostility from her. I thought she would ask me why I kept their son away from them, Instead she seems… almost welcoming.
Taken aback by her sudden shift, I stumble over my words. "We, uh…" I struggle to find the right response. "We met in college, we had a few classes together." I feel Luke’s usual affectionate gaze at me.
The tension in the room eases slightly as Mrs. Biancchi's unexpected warmth permeates the atmosphere. Luke's rigid posture relaxes ever so slightly, and I can't help but feel a glimmer of relief at the prospect of a more civil conversation.
Mrs. Biancchi smiles, a flash of recognition lighting up her features. "Oh yes, you and Luca went to Harvard, I heard. Quite the prestigious institution, I believe." She leans in.
"We did," I reply, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "And yes, Harvard was quite an experience."
Mrs. Biancchi nods, her eyes softening as she regards me with newfound interest. "It's good to see Luke found someone who loves and supports him," she says, her tone genuine. "He's always been a bit of a….,” She tries to find her words. “free spirit, as you call it in english."
Luke offers a wry smile in response, a hint of affection softening the hard lines of his face. "You could say that," he admits, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "But I wouldn't be where I am today if I hadn’t met Sylvia."
A flicker of emotion passes through Mrs. Biancchi's eyes, fleeting but unmistakable. "I'm glad to hear that," she says softly, her gaze lingering on Luke with a mixture of pride and longing.
The tension in the room seems to dissipate further as we engage in our Aperitivo, confrontation temporarily forgotten. It's a brief respite from the storm brewing within, but for now, it's enough to ease the palpable strain between us.
“So, which state are you from, Sylvia?” Matteo asks me after finishing the last olive on his plate.
“I was born in Chicago, but I grew up in New York.” I only tell him what he asks, I’m not gonna give him what he wants, which is for me to lose my composure and dignity as I tell everyone on this goddamn table and my own child about my sobbing childhood. I bet he already knows everything about me if he can have people kidnapped me from my own home.
“And, you and Luca are living in New York right now? I thank god for Alessandra’s interjection.
“Yes, we are, with the jobs that we have, it’s just easier to live there.” I answer her as the maids place the second course of our meal, which consists of mortadella and prosciutto.
“Mommy and her bestfriends make cute clothes for girls my age.” Lyria chimes in loudly in my lap, her hands almost knocking over my wine.
“Oh, that is wonderful, dear," Mrs. Biancchi responds warmly, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she looks down at Lyria. "I'm sure you make quite the little fashionista."
I can't help but smile at Mrs. Biancchi's genuine interest in Lyria's words, grateful for the brief distraction from the tension hanging over the table. It's a small moment of lightness in the midst of the tension, a reminder of the innocence and joy that still exists amidst the chaos.
I notice Luke's expression softens beside me as he looks at our daughter, a fondness shining in his eyes that warms my heart. Despite the challenges we face, moments like these remind me of why we fight – for Lyria, for our family.
As we continue with our meal, the conversation drifts back to lighter topics of the newly engaged, with Mrs. Biancchi asking them the same things she asked me. But even as we engage in polite banter, I can't shake the feeling that we're all just playing our parts in a carefully orchestrated performance, dancing around the true heart of the matter.
As dinner finally ends, I can't shake off the sense of unease lingering in the air. Although the worst of it seems over, there's a nagging feeling that things are far from settled. We bid the table goodbye, and go back to our temporary (hopefully) accommodation.
As soon as we enter our room, I immediately change out of the dress and randomly pick one of the pajamas in the closet. As I get ready for bed, I can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. I don’t have to pretend that everything is fucking peachy anymore. The tension hangs thick between us. After Luke put Lyria to sleep, I turn to him, my voice quiet but urgent.
"I want the truth, Luke. No short version. The whole fucking truth."
