Maisey Yates - Scandals Of The Rich - A Façade to Shatter

She hadn’t, of course.

Lia’s grandmother was the only one who’d seemed to sympathize. When Lia put the dress on today, despair and humiliation rolling through her in giant waves, her grandmother had hugged her tight and told her she was beautiful.

Tears pricked Lia’s eyes. Teresa Corretti was the only one in the family who had ever been kind to her. Her grandfather hadn’t been unkind, precisely, but he’d always frightened her. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. He’d loomed so large in her life that she’d started to think him immortal. He’d been intense, driven, the kind of man no one crossed. But now he was dead, and the family wasn’t any closer than they’d ever been. Not only that, but Lia wasn’t certain that her cousin Alessandro wasn’t to be more feared as the new head of the family.

Lia screwed up her courage and reentered the ballroom. A glance at her watch told her she’d put in enough time to call it an evening. She was going to find her grandmother and tell her she was leaving. No one would care that she was gone anyway.

The music pumped and thumped as it had before, and the crowd surged. But then another sound lifted over the din. It took Lia a minute to realize it was Carmela, shrieking drunkenly.

Lia despised her late uncle’s wife, but thankfully she hardly ever had to be around the woman. She didn’t care what Carmela’s problem was tonight. She just wanted to go back to her room and get out of this awful dress. She’d curl up with a book or something inane on television and try to forget the humiliations of the day.

But, before she could find her grandmother, the music suddenly died and the crowd parted as if Moses himself were standing there.

Everyone turned to look at Lia. She shrank instinctively under the scrutiny, her heart pounding. Was this yet another ploy of Carmela’s to embarrass her? Did she really have to endure another scene? What had she ever done to the woman?

But it wasn’t Carmela who caught her attention. It was Rosa. Carmela’s daughter stood there, her face pale, her eyes fixed on her mother’s face.

“That’s right,” Carmela said gleefully, her voice rising over the sudden silence of the gathered crowd, “Benito Corretti is your father, not Carlo! That one is your sister,” she spat, pointing a red-tipped finger at Lia as if she were a particularly loathsome bug. “Be thankful you did not turn out like her. She’s useless—fat and mousy and weak!”

Rosa looked stricken. Lia’s heart stuttered in her chest. She had a sister? She wasn’t close with her three half-brothers. She wasn’t close with anyone. But a sister?

She’d never had anyone, not really. She’d often longed for a sister, someone she might get to know in a way she couldn’t get to know brothers. Her three half-brothers had one another. Plus they were men. A sister, however—that felt different somehow.

A surge of hope flooded her then. Perhaps she wasn’t really alone in this family, after all. She had a sister.

A sister who was every bit as lost at this moment as Lia had been her entire life. She could see it on Rosa’s face, and she wanted to help. It was the one thing she had to offer that she knew was valuable. But suddenly, Rosa was storming away from Carmela, coming across the room straight for Lia. She reached out instinctively to comfort her when she came near. But Rosa didn’t stop. The look she gave Lia could have frozen lava. Lia’s heart cracked as Rosa shoved her hands away with a growled, “Don’t!”

A throb of pain ricocheted through her chest where her heart had been. Rejection was nothing new to her, but the freshness of it in the face of her hope was almost too much. She stood there for long moments after Rosa had gone, aware of the eyes upon her.

Aware of the pity.

Soon, before she could think of a single pithy remark, the crowd turned away, their attention waning. Self-loathing flooded her. No wonder Rosa hadn’t wanted her comfort. She was so pitiful. So naive.

How many times had she let her heart open? How many times had she had the door slammed in her face? When was she going to learn to guard herself better?

Shame and anger coiled together inside her belly. Why couldn’t she be decisive? Brave? Why did she care how they treated her?

Why couldn’t she just tell them all to go to hell the way her mother would have done?

Grace Hart had been beautiful, perfect, a gorgeous movie star who’d been swept off her feet by Benito Corretti. She’d had no problem handling the Correttis, until she’d accidentally driven her car off a cliff and left Benito a lonely widower with a baby. Soon after that, Benito had sent Lia to live with Salvatore and Teresa.

She knew why he’d done it. Because she wasn’t beautiful and perfect like her mother. Because she was shy and awkward and lacking in the most basic graces. She’d grown up on the periphery, watching her cousins and half-siblings from a distance. Wanting her father’s love but getting only cool silence.

No, she wasn’t beautiful and perfect, and she wasn’t decisive. She hated crowds, and she hated pretending she fit in when everyone knew she didn’t. She was a failure.

She wanted to go home, back to her small cottage at Salvatore and Teresa’s country estate, back to her books and her garden. She loved getting her fingers in the dirt, loved creating something beautiful from nothing more than soil and water and seeds. It gave her hope somehow that she wasn’t as inconsequential as she always felt.

Useless. Fat and mousy and weak.

Lia turned and fled through the same door Rosa had stormed out of. This was it. The final straw in her long, tortured life as a Corretti. She was finished pretending to fit in.

She meant to go to her room, but instead she marched out through the courtyard and found herself standing in front of the swimming pool.

There was no one in it tonight. The hotel had been overrun with wedding guests, and they were all at the reception. The air was hot, and the blue water was so clear, the pool lit from below with soft lights. For a moment Lia thought of jumping in with her dress on. It would ruin the stupid thing, but she hardly cared.

She stood there for a long time, hot feelings swelling within her. She wanted to be decisive. Brave. She wanted to make her own decisions, and she didn’t want to let anyone make her feel inferior or unneeded ever again.

She took a step closer to the edge of the pool, staring down into the depths of the water. It would ruin her dress, her shoes, her hair.

So what?

For the first time in a long time, she was going to do what she wanted. She was going to step into the pool and ruin her dress, and she damn well didn’t care. She was going to wash away the pain of the day and emerge clean. A new, determined Lia.

Before she could change her mind, she kicked off her shoes and stepped over the edge, letting the water take her down. It closed over her head so peacefully, shutting out all the sounds from above. Shutting out the pain and anger, the humiliation of this day.

She didn’t fight it, didn’t kick or struggle. She was a strong swimmer, and she wasn’t afraid. She just let the water take her down to the bottom, where everything was still. She’d only sit here a moment, and then she’d kick to the top again.

Above her, she heard some kind of noise. And then the water rippled as someone leaped into the pool with her. It annoyed her. She wasn’t finished being quiet and still.

Guests from the reception, no doubt. Drunk and looking for a good time.

Lia started to kick upward again, her solace interrupted now. She would get out of the pool and drag her sodden body back to her room. But her dress was heavier than she’d thought, twisting around her legs and pulling her back down again.