The Invitation

Killed her father and never shed a tear. The dry rattle of Aunt Marge’s voice echoed in my skull as I stepped back into the sterile silence of my own kitchen. I looked at the gold bangle Mark had given me, still resting on the quartz island like a coiled snake, its blue sapphire eye tracking my movements through the house’s automated hub.

The front door chimed, the sound sharp and invasive. Rose didn't wait for me to answer. She let herself in, her heels clicking against the marble with a frantic, rhythmic urgency that set my teeth on edge.

"Elena, thank goodness you're home," she said, tossing her designer bag onto the counter next to the broadcasting bracelet. "I’ve had a revelation. This family is fracturing, and I won't have it. Not under my watch."

I leaned against the sink, the cold metal of a pairing knife pressing against my palm as I dried the dishes. "Fracturing, Mom? We’re exactly what we’ve always been. A series of private accounts."

Rose flinched, then narrowed her eyes. "Don't be glib. Bella is fragile, and you’re being... difficult. Mark told me you’re even questioning the audit. We need to sit down, all of us. No ledgers, no business talk. Just a family dinner. Tomorrow night. Here."

I looked at her, the woman who had just told me every marriage has secrets while knowing her other daughter had essentially blackmailed her father into a fatal heart attack. The air in the room grew heavy, the modernist glass walls feeling like the sides of an aquarium. Mark and Bella, sitting at my table. Eating my food. Smirking at each other while they planned to take Mia and leave me to rot in a federal cell.

"A dinner," I repeated. My voice was a flat, clinical instrument.

"Yes," Rose insisted, stepping closer, the scent of her expensive lilies cloying and thick. "A 'heal the rift' dinner. I’ve already told Bella and Mark. They’re coming at seven. We need to show the children that we are a united front before the audit is finalized on Friday."

I thought of the car with the cut brake lines. I thought of the "sedative" smoothie. I thought of the one-way tickets to Costa Rica. They wanted a performance? I would give them a masterpiece. If Mark needed me to be a stationary target, I would invite the archers into the heart of the castle.

"You're right, Mom," I said, my grip tightening on the handle of the knife. I turned toward the counter, my back to her as I carefully slid the blade into the wooden block. "The tension has been unbearable. A dinner is exactly what we need."

I looked at the reflected distortion of my own face in the polished steel of the refrigerator. The woman staring back wasn't the victim anymore. She was the one holding the guest list.

Elena looked at the knife block. 'I'd love to have them over.'