Chapter 2 - THE QUESTION NO ONE DARED ANSWER
Z
Lorraine recovered first.
She withdrew her hand, placed it beside her champagne glass, and gave Anthony Castellano a smile she probably practiced in mirrors.
"Mr. Castellano. What an unexpected honor."
Anthony didn't return the smile.
"I asked you a question."
The silence around our table became so complete that I could hear the pianist's fingers hovering above the keys.
Lorraine glanced at me.
"June is terribly clumsy. She caught her sleeve on a plate."
Anthony looked at the blood.
"Did the plate leave those marks?"
"No, of course not."
"Then perhaps you can explain why your nails are buried in her arm."
Lorraine's cheeks flushed.
"That's a ridiculous accusation."
Anthony turned to Spencer.
"Your wife is bleeding."
Spencer finally looked at me.
His eyes moved from my sleeve to my face, and I watched him make a decision. I could almost see the calculation: the important guest, his mother's reputation, the business opportunity waiting across the room.
"June has sensitive skin," he said. "She scratches herself sometimes."
For one terrible second, I thought he might convince them.
Then Anthony pulled out the empty chair beside me.
"May I?"
I nodded.
He sat down, making no attempt to touch me.
"What's your name?"
"June."
"June what?"
"Whitcomb. I was June Bennett before I married Spencer."
He nodded as if the distinction mattered.
"Would you like a doctor?"
The question was so simple that it nearly brought me to tears.
"No. I think I just need to clean the wound."
"Then that's what we'll do."
He turned to the nearest waiter.
"Please bring a first-aid kit and a clean cloth. And ask the manager whether there's a private room available."
Lorraine laughed sharply.
"This is a family dinner. We don't need to turn a minor scratch into a public emergency."
Anthony looked at her.
"Then you should have stopped scratching her before it bled."
A few guests lowered their eyes. Others stared openly.
Spencer pushed his chair back.
"Mr. Castellano, I appreciate your concern, but this is a private matter."
"You're right," Anthony replied. "It is private."
He paused.
"Which makes it interesting that your mother chose to hurt your wife in front of two hundred people."
"Fourteen," I whispered before I could stop myself.
Anthony glanced at me.
"What?"
"There are fourteen people at this table."
For a second, something almost like amusement touched his expression.
"Thank you for the correction."
Then he looked back at Spencer.
"Your wife has a right to answer questions without being injured. She has a right to refuse something without being punished. And she has a right to leave this table whenever she chooses."
Lorraine's voice turned icy.
"You don't know anything about our family."
"No," Anthony said. "But I know what blood looks like."
The waiter returned with the first-aid kit. Anthony asked whether I wanted help, and when I agreed, he moved his chair aside to give me room.
The restaurant manager appeared with an offer to escort me to a quiet lounge.
I stood.
My knees felt weak, but I managed to straighten my blouse.
Spencer caught my wrist.
"June, sit down."
The grip wasn't hard enough to leave a mark.
It didn't need to be.
I looked at his hand.
He released me.
Anthony rose beside me.
"No one is going to stop her from leaving this table."
I walked away without looking back.
In the lounge, a female staff member cleaned the scratches and applied dressings. She asked whether I needed medical assistance, whether I felt safe returning home, and whether there was someone I trusted who could accompany me.
I answered honestly for the first time in years.
"I'm not sure."
She didn't tell me I was overreacting.
She didn't ask what I'd done to provoke Lorraine.
She simply sat beside me while I tried to breathe.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock.
Anthony stood in the doorway.
"Your husband wants to speak with you."
My stomach tightened.
"You don't have to let him in," he added. "I'm asking what you want."
I looked at the bandages on my arm.
Then at the door.
"No," I said.
Anthony nodded.
"I'll tell him."
He started to leave, but I spoke again.
"Mr. Castellano?"
He turned.
"Why are you helping me?"
He considered the question.
"Because I saw someone hurting you, and everyone else was pretending not to notice."
Then he left me alone with a choice I'd never been allowed to make without consequences.
May you like
For the first time in three years, I had said no.
And the world hadn't ended.
