The Guests Who Laughed
Victor ordered everyone to remain on the terrace.
He could still command a room when shame did not weaken him first.
The music stopped. The caterers gathered near the villa doors. Security stood uncertainly between wealth and employment, no longer sure whose fear mattered more. The pool threw blue light over faces that had been laughing minutes earlier.
June asked for towels for the staff before she asked for one for herself.
That small act unsettled the guests more than her anger.
A housekeeper brought a thick white towel. June wrapped it around her shoulders but did not leave the deck.
Selene crossed her arms. “This is theater.”
June looked at her wet sleeves. “Yes. You staged it.”
“I pushed you because you were in my way.”
“You pushed me because you thought I had no name that mattered.”
“That is not true.”
June turned to the bald investor. “Did you laugh?”
The man flushed. “I was startled.”
“Did you laugh?”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
“Yes,” he said finally.
June turned to the brunette in black. “Did you?”
The woman’s eyes filled, more from exposure than remorse. “Yes.”
“Why?”
The question was simple enough to make lying difficult.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
June said nothing.
The young server who had spoken near the bar stepped forward. His name was Tomas, though no one asked until June did. He described Selene snapping her fingers at staff all night. The kitchen runner described a guest placing an empty glass on her tray and saying, “Careful, you’re nearly useful.” The bartender admitted he had been instructed not to report insults from “major donors” unless there was physical injury.
“There is physical injury now,” June said.
Selene rolled her eyes. “You fell into water.”
June looked at her. “My mother fell into fire.”
The terrace went still.
Victor closed his eyes.
Selene’s face changed.
“You don’t get to bring that up,” she said.
June tilted her head. “Why not?”
“Because it has nothing to do with this.”
“It has everything to do with this. You learned from people who called cruelty order. Tonight you improved on the lesson.”
Selene’s denial cracked into anger. “My family saved this estate when your father could barely keep it solvent.”
Victor opened his eyes.
The old shame moved across his face.
June saw it.
There.
The second door.
She turned to him.
“Tell them,” she said.
Victor gripped the cane.
“June.”
“Tell them what Adrian Hart bought with my mother’s silence.”
The guests looked from daughter to father.
For the first time that night, Selene looked as if she might run.
May you like
June did not raise her voice.
“Or I will.”
