I rose slowly, deliberately, letting each movement feel as though it were measured against some invisible clock. My hands smoothed the fabric of my hoodie, running over the soft cotton as if brushing off invisible dust from delicate silk, careful not to disturb the faint creases along the sleeves. I moved with precision, aware of every step, every motion, because I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. My eyes, steady and unyielding, sought Rafael’s across the room, locking with his for a fraction of a second that stretched longer than it should have. A measured, delicate smile tugged at my lips—polite, practiced, and faintly cruel in its restraint. It was a smile that spoke civility without warmth, control without surrender.
“The one you’re not invited to,” I said, letting the words hang like a small blade in the air, sharp but almost casual. I let my tone hover between amusement and dismissal, knowing full well the sting it would carry.
Rafael’s laughter came first, short, startled, a sound that carried more disbelief than humor. It was a laugh that tried to convince itself this was a joke, that I couldn’t possibly mean it, that this couldn’t possibly be real. I felt a strange, cold satisfaction as it rolled off his tongue, the first crack in his composure, fleeting though it was.
Victor followed, his low, amused chuckle filling the room like a warning. The sound was familiar, the one he always used when he thought I was straining too hard to be clever, when he believed he’d caught me trying. His head shook slowly, almost affectionately, and he said, “Come on. You nearly had us. Almost.” His words were light, teasing, but they carried the quiet acknowledgment of my effort, an acknowledgment that barely grazed the surface of their understanding.
I said nothing. I let the silence stretch, let it settle thickly between us. Let them laugh, let it echo, let it ricochet off the walls and settle in the hollow spaces where I stored every unspoken word, every thought swallowed before it could be uttered.
Celestine tilted her head, draped across the couch like some fragile martyr, the faint curl of a smile tugging at her lips, a smirk that suggested she had already anticipated the outcome. “Yeah, it’s a joke,” she said, her voice mock-sweet, light as a feather but laced with venom. “Because let’s be honest, no one’s really interested in Aurelia. She can’t even dress herself properly—baggy hoodies, baggy pants. What’s she hiding under all that?”
Rafael snorted, sharp and bright, and nudged Victor lightly, as though Celestine had just delivered the revelation of the century. “She does dress like she’s hiding,” he agreed, a grin spreading across his face. “You should try dressing like Celestine.”
The laughter that followed filled the room again, echoing against the walls, reverberating into the hollow spaces where I kept everything I hadn’t dared voice. The sound should have stung, should have drawn a reaction, but I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink.
“Yeah,” I said softly, letting the corners of my mouth lift just enough to imply civility, just barely. “It’s a joke. It’s my cousin’s wedding.”
The laughter stopped as if someone had flipped a switch, leaving a deafening silence that hung heavy in the air.
“You all can come,” I added, and I held their eyes with deliberate intensity. I wanted them to understand that I meant it, even if I didn’t care if they actually came. It was a truth delivered coldly, measured, precise.
Rafael scratched the back of his neck, a subtle tell I had memorized long ago, and looked away first. “Ah, we’re gonna be busy,” he said, a tinge of hesitation in his voice, a trace of discomfort at being caught in my quiet trap.
“Yeah,” Victor added, quick, eager to fill the silence, to redirect the moment. “We’re taking Celestine to Switzerland next week. It’s part of her birthday gift. Doctors said she could travel once she’s stronger.”
