Page 71 of A Love Most Fatal
“Probably what she said is nodoubletraining on event days,” Willa says while chewing on a mouthful of grapes. “Hurry up.”
“Can I have some coffee first?” I ask.
“No,” all three sisters say. I feel a twitch in my right eye, but I am so far outnumbered I don’t even think about fighting it.
By the merit of only doing one training for the day, I swear Vanessa sets out to make it as difficult as possible. It’s ninety minutes of sparring (but careful of the faces, or you’re so dead), running, hitting bags, and then more running, which leaves me drenched in sweat, limping, and exhausted. Just how I’d normally want to feel when attending a party. Sure.
I lie flat on my back on the mat, my heart rate probably 250 beats per minute, and Vanessa nudges my side with her shoe.
“You’re getting stronger,” she says.
The high-pitched sound that comes out of me is half a laugh, half a whimper. I do not feel stronger, though it is true that my body looks different in the mirror. I can keep up much better than I could a month ago. “Thanks.”
“Now go shave,” she says.
“What?” I touch my chin, which is still mostly smooth from yesterday’s shave.
“And let Leo do your hair.” She nudges my side again, harder this time, and I roll over to start painfully pushing myself to my feet.
“You don’t like how I do my hair?”
“You do your hair?” she asks, and I offer my best glower. She starts pushing me towards the door. “I’m kidding, of course spritzing your bedhead with water counts. Now go.”
“Okay, alright, I’m going,” I say, and I can’t help but smile as I make my way back up the stairs.
Mary, like a ghost, is standing at the landing and I jump when I see her. Her eyes narrow, drawing unknown conclusions about me, and the smile is wiped clean from my face. I inch towards my room without comment.
In the caron the way to the Gala, Vanessa uses a little compact mirror to freshen up her makeup. Watching her do mundane things always feels like I’m being let in on a secret, like when we sit on the couch after everyone’s gone to bed and she falls asleep with her feet on my lap or tucked under my leg.
I turn to look out the window at the passing cars. Save for Artie and Angel, who are with a babysitter, the whole family is dressed to the nines in floor length gowns and tuxedos ready for tonight. We had to take three cars, but we arrive as a posse because Vanessa says it’s important that the Donovanns and Morellis walk in together.
As soon as we step out at valet, Vanessa has turned on every switch in her social arsenal and now exudes power and charisma. I both fear her and do not want to stop looking at her with her posture so strong and solid, every detail down to her fingernail color claiming power and strength that I couldn’t imagine containing.
I have the impulse to stare at her until my eyes fall out, but again I turn away to look at anything but her.
“What first?” I ask.
“You and I greet the mayor, I’ll introduce you, then we find our seats, we’ll eat, there will be an auction, and then there is dancing.”
“When do the politics begin?”
Vanessa gives me a small smile, one that feels like a break from her mask. “Those have already begun.”
I didn’t see why it was necessary that I come to this event, but the whole family was adamant that I needed to be there to uphold the image of the new, ever-mysterious consigliere.Cillian doesn’t seem so pleased that Vanessa is by my side and not his, but no less than three glamorous women in low cut gowns flanked him when we came through the doors, so I am certain he is otherwise occupied.
I expected there to be a line to meet the mayor, but instead, he stands in a small group, one hand around a woman I assume to be his wife, and the other holding a fluted glass. His wife looks familiar, though I cannot place why.
With everyone standing and socializing, it feels like a happy hour, but everyone is in the finest clothing I’ve ever seen. The mayor, Gregory Anderson, is shorter than I thought he would be from all his signs and billboards in the last election cycle. The group around him parts for Vanessa in her blood red gown and the mayor lights up to greet her. One man remains, though, an older guy with a glass of amber liquid beside the mayor.
“Miss Morelli,” Mayor Anderson says, and then kisses the back of her hand. People still kiss hands in greeting? In Massachusetts? “Always a pleasure to see you.”
“Same to you, Greg.” Vanessa leans forward and kisses next to his wife’s cheek. “And Donna, you’re radiant, as usual.”
The woman blushes under Vanessa’s compliments, and God she looks familiar. I know I’ve met her before. “Thank you, that dress is excellent. When are you going to set me up with your stylist?”
“She’s not taking on any more clients, or I would,” Vanessa lies. Her stylist is just Willa buying new clothing for her every other week. After the first initial closet overhaul, she’s done the same for me, coming over for family dinner with new button-ups over her arm. I know they’re rich, but she might have a shopping problem.
“Mr. McGowan, it’s nice to see you here as well.” Vanessa holds out her hand and after a brief hesitation, the old man shakes it. He doesn’t look thrilled by the prospect. “Mr.McGowan works with Cillian, longtime friend of the Donovann family,” she explains to me. Another criminal, then. This one of the Irish variety.