Chapter 7 - The Mask Drops
The heavy double doors of the Grand Salon swung open with a soft, weighted click.
The moment I stepped onto the antique Persian rug, Calliope’s face transformed. The irritation and cold vanity vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by an expression of wounded, compassionate tenderness that would have won an Academy Award.
“Nora!” she cried out, her voice trembling with emotion as she rushed forward, arms outstretched. “Oh, thank God you came! I’ve been so sick with worry!”
I didn't move. I kept both hands resting loosely in the pockets of my coat, refusing to reciprocate the embrace.
Calliope halted a foot away, noticing my lack of reaction. Her eyes flickered with a micro-second of irritation before she masked it with a tearful smile.
“Look at you,” she whispered, gesturing toward my coat. “You’re still so pale. Nora, please, sit down. Let’s talk like sisters.”
Eleanor stood up from the settee, dabbing at dry eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. “Nora, sweetheart. We are so glad you found the courage to be here. We know how difficult things have been for you since Saturday night.”
I walked over to the single wingback chair opposite the sofa and sat down, crossing my legs with calm elegance. I pulled my left hand from my coat pocket and rested it deliberately on the mahogany armrest. The stark white bandage, extending from my palm to my mid-forearm, stood out sharply against the dark polished wood.
Calliope’s eyes drifted to the bandage, a tiny smirk twitching at the corner of her lips before she sat down opposite me.
“Nora,” Calliope began, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a posture of complete earnestness. “Saturday night was a nightmare for all of us. Emotions were running high, there was so much pressure, and... well, we all know how vulnerable you get when you feel overwhelmed in social settings.”
“Is that what happened, Calliope?” I asked, my voice calm, smooth, and chillingly level.
“We both know you had too much to drink,” Calliope said softly, her voice full of patronizing pity. “You were stumbling near the cake table, Nora. When I came over to help you steady yourself, you got defensive. You grabbed my champagne flute, and in the struggle, it broke. I blame myself, Nora! I truly do! I should have recognized that you were having a breakdown before things escalated.”
Eleanor nodded vigorously beside her. “Your sister is being so generous, Nora. Most women would have pressed charges against a sister who caused such a violent scene at a high-profile wedding. But Calliope loves you. We both love you.”
I leaned back in the chair, watching them perform for the invisible cameras they believed only their hired crew could see.
“And what about my arm, Calliope?” I asked quietly.
Calliope blinked, thrown off script. “Your arm? What are you talking about?”
“The doctor at the emergency room took X-rays of my left forearm,” I said, tapping the armrest with my bandaged fingers. “He found an old, unaligned fracture of the ulna. He said it was caused by a violent fall from height or blunt force trauma when I was eight years old. Do you remember July 14th, Calliope?”
Calliope’s face stiffened. The sweet, angelic smile began to fray around the edges.
“Nora, that was nineteen years ago,” Eleanor interrupted sharply, her motherly facade cracking. “You were running from the neighbor’s dog! We’ve been over this a million times! Why are you bringing up irrelevant childhood fantasies when we are trying to resolve your adult crisis?”
“Because it wasn't a dog, Mom,” I said, looking directly into Eleanor’s cold eyes. “Calliope pushed me from the treehouse. She pushed me because I accidentally knocked over her blush powder. And you made me lie to the doctors so her little pageant crown wouldn't get tarnished.”
Calliope let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, dropping the gentle act entirely. She leaned back against the sofa, crossing her legs and tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“Oh, please,” Calliope sneered, her voice dropping into its natural, acidic register. “Are you seriously still whining about that stupid treehouse? You fell because you were a clumsy, fat little kid who couldn't balance on a ladder! Mom told you to lie because you were embarrassing us! You’ve always been an embarrassment to this family, Nora!”
Eleanor reached over, lightly tapping Calliope’s knee to warn her, but Calliope was too intoxicated by her own superiority to stop.
“Look at you,” Calliope laughed, gesturing dismissively at me. “You think because Julian Vance put a ring on your finger that you’re suddenly royalty? Julian married you out of pity, Nora. He wanted a meek, quiet little mouse he could keep tucked away in an office while he runs his family empire. You don't belong in our world! You never did!”
“Is that why you smashed the glass into my hand at the reception?” I asked, keeping my gaze locked on hers.
Calliope leaned in close, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure, venomous spite.
“I did it because you looked too smug,” Calliope whispered, each word dripping with raw malice. “Standing there in that custom dress, with everybody looking at you, acting like you were the queen of the night. You stole the spotlight that was supposed to be mine! I am the one who belongs in society pages, Nora! Not you! So yes, I crushed that flute into your hand. And look who everyone believed! Mom believed me. Dad believed me. The whole world thinks you’re an unstable, drunken lunatic.”
She reached onto the side table, picked up a thick legal folder, and tossed it into my lap.
May you like
“Sign the non-disclosure agreement, Nora,” Calliope commanded, her voice cold and imperious. “Sign the affidavit stating the injury was an accidental fall due to your intoxication. In exchange, I won't sue you for defamation, and Mom will let you come to Christmas dinner. Otherwise, I will make sure every client in your architecture firm knows they’re employing a certified psychotic.”
***
