The Dinner Celeste Tried to Rewrite
Chapter 13 - The Dinner Celeste Tried to Rewrite
Celeste issued a statement through her attorney insisting she had acted only to protect Rose, whose health she said had deteriorated. She claimed the family had misunderstood her intentions and that no property could have transferred without proper approvals.
The statement might have sounded plausible to strangers. Dante read it beside the hospital notes documenting his mother's dehydration and the independent assessments that contradicted several sweeping claims about her functioning.
There was still uncertainty about some papers. There was none about the way Rose had been frightened into silence.
Dante called off the engagement formally. He did it privately, through counsel, refusing to turn the breakup into a public spectacle.
Celeste came to the estate anyway.
“I planned an entire life with you,” she said as Anthony stood discreetly by the hall.
“So did I.”
“Then you're throwing it away for a woman who forgets where she puts her glasses.”
Dante looked at her. “Ma remembers where she puts her love. You mistook that for weakness.”
Celeste's eyes flashed. “You think that waitress is innocent? She's found herself a rich family overnight.”
“Evelyn has asked for nothing.”
“Everyone wants something.”
“Maybe that's why you never understood her.”
Celeste left furious. Dante watched the gate close, then sat alone in the foyer where he'd once welcomed her home.
***
Evelyn found out about the breakup from Rose, not Dante. She was relieved but wary of becoming part of someone else's romantic disaster.
“People will talk,” she told Rose.
“People always have,” the old woman replied. “I wasted too much life listening.”
Evelyn smiled. “You weren't wrong to love someone, Mrs. Romano.”
“Call me Rose. We may be related, and even if the paperwork never tells us exactly how, you've shown me more care than people who wore my family's jewelry.”
Then Rose added a request that frightened Evelyn more than any courtroom: “Would you come for Sunday supper? Not to serve it. To eat.”
May you like
Evelyn thought of her sore feet and the endless trays she'd carried past tables like theirs.
“Yes,” she said. “I'd like that.”
