Chapter 1: The Weight of Velvet
The crystal chandelier in the Grand Meridian ballroom cast a cold, refracting light across the polished mahogany of the Steinway. My fingers still tingled from where I had gripped the edge of the wood, holding myself back from crossing a line that could not be uncrossed. Across the room, Victoria stood smoothing the sequined fabric of her beige evening gown, her breath coming in sharp, shallow hitches that she tried desperately to mask behind a practiced social smile. Flashbulbs from the lingering society photographers popped like distant lightning, capturing the glittering illusion of a perfect engagement.
Beside me, three-year-old Lily clutched the hem of my dark suit jacket, her small fingers curling tightly into the wool. Her big blue eyes were wide, blinking against the glare of the flashlights, her blonde curls catching the amber sconce light. She didn't cry. Lily rarely cried when the tension grew thick; she simply went quiet, absorbing the heavy atmospheric pressure of rooms she was too young to understand yet old enough to feel.
"Daddy," she whispered again, her voice small and clear in the echoing cavern of the foyer as the guests slowly filtered toward the exit doors. "That was Mommy's song. You said so."
"I know, sweet girl," I murmured, kneeling down so my eyes were level with hers. I adjusted the pale pink cardigan over her shoulders, feeling the steady, rapid thrum of her pulse against my palm. "Let's go outside. The air is better out there."
Victoria glided toward us, her heels clicking a rhythmic, hostile tattoo against the marble floor. Her dark hair, pinned back in a severe chignon, seemed to pull the skin of her face taut, accentuating the sharp angle of her jaw. She didn't look at Lily; she glared down at me with an intensity that burned right through the polished charm she had worn all evening for the benefit of the gala committee.
"Get her out of here, Dante," Victoria said, her voice dropping into a low, venomous register meant only for my ears. "The reporters are still in the courtyard. If one headline links my engagement party to your dead wife's ghost, I will make sure you never step foot in this foundation again."
"She was humming a melody she heard in this very room three years ago, Victoria," I replied quietly, rising to my full height so I towered over her by a head. I kept my face impassoned, utterly devoid of the rage churning beneath my ribs. "A melody Elena played before the ink was even dry on the divorce papers you helped draft."
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Victoria’s lips parted, a sharp retort forming, but she caught sight of a stray journalist lingering by the coat check and instantly switched her expression back to a radiant, porcelain smile, leaning in as if whispering a sweet nothing. "You're playing a dangerous game, Dante. That piano belongs to the estate now. Everything does."
I didn't answer. I scooped Lily into my arms, resting her curly head against my shoulder, and walked past the glittering lights into the cool, dark night.
