Page 19 of Pretty Poison

Approaching the head of the table, Dario pulls out the chair beside him and gestures for me to take my seat. Instead, I step around and stand in front of it, replicating everyone else’s stance.

We all continue to stand until Kat finds her seat beside Maze. As a deep cough sounds in the air, everyone moves at once, seating themselves once again.

“Before dinner is served,” Dario starts, everyone giving him their full attention, “I’d like to say a few words.” He clears his throat again, reaching for his glass. “I’d like to thank you all for being here for our last dinner as a family before introducing another. While Liana and I have started off rather roughly, I hope we can grow to know and learn more about each other in the process of extending our family. Speaking of, I’d like to announce to you all that as of the letter I received just before dinner, Liana is fit and healthy enough to bear my children. Because of this, I imagine we’ll start trying within the next few weeks. I’d like to get the wedding and honeymoon out of the way first before talking about such things.”

Everything stands still for a moment. Dario closes his mouth and stands, thrusting his glass into the air. Everyone follows, creating an arch as they all clink glasses with the person opposite them, while I remain seated, unable to move.

Across from me, Red holds his out, impatience radiating off him as he becomes irritated waiting for my glass to meet his, but I can’t move. This is all too much. The reality of the situation sinks low in my gut. This is it. This is what my life has come to. It’s like a never-ending downward spiral here-–a rather large family, all who love each other in their own demented ways, showing it in ways I will never and can never understand.

“Liana, this is where you stand and raise your glass to Red,” Dario says, leaning in, his hot breath meeting my ear. The heat sends shivers down my spine and snaps me from my fear-induced trance.

As I stand, the sound of my chair scraping across the floor startles me. I push that aside, replacing the wretched noise with the clink of my glass against Red’s.

Again, almost immediately, everyone sits back down. The food is rolled in through the swinging doors on rather elegant looking carts. The word ‘Vitales’ is engraved on the front of each of them, with an emerald-encrusted gem on each corner. It’s rather extreme for something as minuscule as a cart they’ll only ever see for special occasions, but to each their own, I suppose.

“Ma’am?” An older woman says, and I turn to face her. “We have the steak with wide-cut fries and a side salad or grilled chicken breast in place of the steak. Which would you like tonight?” She tilts her head to stare at me further, a soft smile on her lips.

“Chicken is fine,” I tell her, returning a gentle smile.

With quick movements, she places the dish on my place setting and adds three small dishes of sauces in front. “We have lemon butter sauce, mushroom cream sauce, and if you like spice, there’s hot sauce. Please help yourself to all three.” Before moving along, she curtsies and bows her head.

This is all so foreign to me. Even at the fancy restaurants my father would string me along to, the service was never this kind and accommodating. The fact there are options is a concept I hadn’t pictured, especially at their house. It feels like an elegant restaurant, one that I’ll dine in for the rest of my life.

∞∞∞

Before I know it, dinner’s over and the plates are being stacked up onto the metal carts, and rolled back into the kitchen. Like the previous seven dinners, I barely ate anything. I poked and prodded at the chicken, devoured the salad and cut the fries to give the impression that I ate more than I actually did. It’s a trick I learned growing up when my father dragged me to multiplebusiness meetings in one night. He taught me that pushing the food around on the plate gives the illusion you’ve eaten, and keeps you from falling into a food coma before the end of the night.

The torturous dinner seemed to drag on for forty-five torturous minutes. Formalities were made, and war stories were shared by several family members. Everyone gave their personal take on marriage, gossiping about the failed ones while ensuring me I wouldn't be kicked aside if it were to happen to me. I couldn’t bring myself to speak, hoping that if I stayed silent, they’d forget I was alongside them. My stomach churned as my mind reeled.

From what I learned, marriage is a hard concept. It takes time and copious amounts of‘faking it ‘til you make it’to force yourself into thinking it’s real until maybe, just maybe, it snaps itself into place. If it doesn’t, then you have to live side by side and hand in hand with someone you despise to ensure you live up to their family’s expectations. And Dario’s family has rather harsh traditions and expectations to uphold. It almost sounds impossible.

Standing abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor, Dario addresses everyone in one simple word, “Everyone…” For a moment, there’s a brief silence, as they focus on him, while I swallow down the lump in my throat. “To merge two different things into one, the two options we had for dinner will be served at the wedding. If you weren’t pleased with the meal you chose, you can change your choice, but please address it with me tonight. Now, for the wedding cake tasting; there are multiple options that have been baked by our wonderful caterers. Tonight, we’ll each try one, but Liana and I will have the final say.”

He turns to face Red. “Whether you like it or not, your vote counts for nothing, Red. You’ll be served whichever cake we choose and eat it with a fucking smile on your face.”

“As long as it’s edible, I’ll live. At the end of the day, it’s fucking cake. Of course, I’ll eat it.” He plasters on a fake smile, almost as if he's toying with Dario.

“Good,” Dario says. “Liana and I will take the first slice and then the plate will be passed to the next person and so forth. Please take a slice and move the plate along the table. Hopefully, we’ll be able to decide on the first go. If not, you’re all free to leave and Liana and I will stay until a decision has been made.”

“Bring on the cake!” Red says, slouching further into his chair and unbuckling his belt.

“Redello!” Elaina warns in a low tone.

“What? The steak was good,” he says defensively. “I have to make room for all this cakey goodness. I don’t want to be restricted here.”

A few snickers echo down the table as he retracts his belt with a snap and hangs it on the back of his chair. Given the light-hearted reactions, I can only assume this happens often. I’m sure I’ll soon get used to it.

I watch him reposition himself in his chair, undoing the button of his slacks for good measure, as the cakes are carted in and displayed at the head of the table, directly in front of us. He ogles them, his eyes practically bulging out of his head as he licks his lips slowly.

“Just because they’re there doesn’t mean you can eat them yet, Red. Control yourself.”

His eyes snap to Dario. “It’s a weakness,” he shrugs. “But I’ll compose myself until it’s my turn. I don’t want to get shot days after going through the most agonising pain known to man. Actually, scrap that,” he says, his eyes finding mine. “If you ever feel the need to kick me in the balls again for whatever reason, use a gun instead. I would take a full clip any time over that. Just maybe try to avoid the balls. I’d appreciate that.”

“Don’t piss me off again and I won’t need to,” I counter, cocking my head to the side. “How are your babies, anyway? Do they still work?”

He scowls. “They work fine, thanks for asking.”

“It was more of a rhetorical question, Red. I don’t care. Next time, you should keep your fucking mouth shut. It only gets you into trouble, don’t you agree?”

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