The Holiday Dinner

He didn't think she saw him slip the blue velvet box into his dopp kit. But he had left something far worse behind.

Elena stared at the syringe. It sat in the velvet depression like a jewel, the clear liquid catching the light from the desk lamp. *For when the Goose stops laying.*

Her hands were shaking so violently she almost dropped the box. She knew what this was. She had processed the medical invoices. She had seen the "emergency" prescriptions Seraphina allegedly needed.

Insulin.

High-dose, rapid-acting insulin. Enough to send a non-diabetic into hypoglycemic shock. Enough to cause a coma. Or death.

The "tragic accident" Marcus had mentioned.

She slammed the safe shut, spinning the dial until the tumblers clicked. She shoved the painting back into place, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

She needed to leave. Now.

But she couldn't just walk out the front door. The cameras. The live stream to Scarsdale. Seraphina was watching. If she saw Elena leave with a suitcase, she would alert Marcus. He would turn the car around.

Elena ran upstairs. She needed to look normal. She needed to look like a wife preparing for a lonely Christmas Eve, not a fugitive.

She changed into a festive red dress, the silk cold against her skin. She applied lipstick, her hand trembling as she traced the curve of her mouth. She put on the diamond bracelet he had given her, the shackle glittering in the mirror.

Then she went downstairs to the kitchen.

It was 4:00 PM. Eleanor and the girls were due any minute for the traditional Christmas Eve dinner. The catering staff was already bustling around, setting up warming trays.

"Mrs. Hawthorne," the head caterer said, looking up from a platter of canapés. "Everything is on schedule. Shall we start passing the hors d'oeuvres when the guests arrive?"

"Yes," Elena said, her voice sounding strange and distant. "Please."

The doorbell rang.

It was Eleanor. She swept into the foyer in a cloud of fur and disapproval, Bella and Chloe trailing behind her like sullen attendants.

"Elena," Eleanor said, handing her coat to the housekeeper. "You look... flustered. Is everything alright? Where is Marcus?"

"He had to go to the city," Elena said, the lie slipping out easily now. "Client emergency. He sends his apologies."

"On Christmas Eve?" Eleanor’s eyebrows rose. "That boy has no sense of balance. But I suppose someone has to pay for all this."

She gestured vaguely at the house, at the life Elena was currently financing.

"Yes," Elena said. "Someone does."

They moved to the dining room. The table was set with the Hawthorne china, the silver polished to a mirror shine. Elena sat at the foot of the table, opposite Eleanor. Bella and Chloe took the sides.

The conversation was stilted, painful. Eleanor critiqued the floral arrangements ("A bit pedestrian, don't you think?"). Bella texted under the table. Chloe pushed her peas around her plate.

"So," Eleanor said, cutting into her prime rib. "How are the treatments going? Dr. Evans is optimistic?"

"Very," Elena said. "The retrieval is Tuesday."

"Good. It's time we secured the next generation. The Hawthorne line is thinning, you know. We need new blood."

New blood. Or just new money.

"Speaking of wine," Eleanor said, tapping her glass. "This Cabernet is a bit... robust for my taste. Marcus usually serves the Pinot from the cellar."

"I thought we'd try something different," Elena said.

"Seraphina always knew how to pick the vintage Marcus needed," Eleanor sighed, a wistful look crossing her face. "She has such a refined palate. Unlike some."

Elena set her fork down. The metal clinked against the china.

"Does she?" Elena asked. "I wouldn't know. I've never met her."

"You've met her," Eleanor said dismissively. "At the wedding. Briefly."

"I met a woman in a veil who didn't speak to me," Elena said. "I met a signature on a trust document. I met a line item on a spreadsheet."

Bella looked up from her phone. Chloe stopped chewing.

"Elena," Eleanor warned. "Not at the table."

"Why not?" Elena asked, her voice rising. "We're all family here, aren't we? Why can't we talk about Seraphina? Why can't we talk about how she's doing? Is she enjoying her 'treatments'?"

"She is suffering," Eleanor snapped. "She is fighting a terrible illness."

"Is she?" Elena stood up. She walked to the sideboard where the wine was kept. "Because I heard she's doing quite well. Beatrice van der Byl saw her last week. In the Caymans."

Eleanor froze. "Beatrice is a gossip."

"She said Seraphina looked radiant. Like a queen holding court."

Elena picked up the bottle of wine. She poured herself a glass, filling it to the brim.

"Maybe that's why she picks such good wine," Elena said, taking a sip. "She has plenty of time to taste it on the beach."

Eleanor stood up. Her face was white with rage. "You are drunk. You are hysterical. Go to your room."

"No," Elena said. "This is my house. I pay the mortgage."

"You pay nothing!" Eleanor shouted. "You are a guest here! A temporary inconvenience until Marcus comes to his senses!"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bella slowly lowered her phone. Chloe looked between them, wide-eyed.

"Is that what I am?" Elena asked softly. "A guest?"

"You are a utility," Eleanor spat. "A necessary evil. But don't think for a second that you are a Hawthorne. You will never be a Hawthorne. You don't have the blood. You don't have the history."

She pointed a shaking finger at Elena.

"Seraphina is his soul. You are just his wallet."

Elena looked at her mother-in-law. She looked at the woman who had welcomed her, groomed her, used her.

"Well," Elena said, raising her glass. "Then I guess the wallet is closed."

She tipped the glass. The red wine spilled onto the white tablecloth, spreading like a bloodstain.

'Seraphina always knew how to pick the vintage Marcus needed.'