27. Chloe

CHAPTER 27

CHLOE

E very second I spend here makes it more and more obvious why Paolo decided he needed to escape. It’s not what I would have done, but every third sentence out of his parents’ mouths seems to be some sort of comparison to his brothers. I don’t think I agree with Paolo’s past ways, but I am definitely coming to understand them.

It can’t be easy when nothing you do is seen as being right. If anything, all this conversation is doing is making me long for my mom again. I miss her so much.

I wish Paolo had the kind of support she gave me when he was growing up. Maybe he would have turned out differently.

“So what does your father do?” asks the queen.

I chuckle awkwardly. “My father’s dead,” I say.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says with the practiced tone of someone who doesn’t really care but has learned how to pretend that she does.

“But he is the reason I always wanted to come here,” I add. “He was from Bellamare. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have met Paolo at all. I wouldn’t have had something to talk to him about, a connection.”

“And you would never have fallen in love,” says his mother like an accusation. I just smile, deciding it’s best not to say anything to that.

We don’t want to get caught out in our web of lies right now. That won’t help anything.

“Your mother, then?” asks the king, clearly not done with this line of interrogation. “She has a job?”

I want to say, Look, I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to figure out if I’m good enough for your family, and I already know the answer’s no. So why don’t we just stop pretending? Why don’t you just tell me that you think I’m worthless?

But again, that’s not going to help us. I have to be a good wife right now, and that means swallowing all my snarky comments. This isn’t about me. It’s about helping Paolo.

“My mother did a great job raising me,” is what I say instead. “She’s always been there for me, always made sure I had everything I needed. I’m repaying the favor now. She lost her job a few months back, and she’s been taking some time out since. It feels good to do what I can for her.”

“So, you are a family-oriented person?” the queen asks, her eyes sharp on me.

This is like the worst job interview ever. At least in an interview, I have a pretty good idea what the right answers are.

“I would say so. My mom’s always been the most important person to me in the world. I think being able to rely on each other as a family, knowing they’re always there for you — well, I think that’s the best thing in the world.”

I hope that I managed to lace my own words with enough of a sting, but if the king and queen feel it, they say nothing. In fact, they don’t even blink.

I like to think that I can hold my own, but I’ve got nowhere near as much experience in this game as they do. I’m sure that they will be able to beat me every single time in the subtext-and-snide-comments arena.

“We’ve been trying to instill the importance of family values into Paolo for years. It seems that perhaps, finally, he’s found someone who could teach him that. It would be good for him.”

“I’d like to think so,” I say, forcing the smile again. I glance over at Paolo, and he grimaces encouragingly. “I hope I’ve already taught him a lot. He’s always been a kind person in the time I’ve known him.”

That, finally, is enough to make his mother crack her facade. She raises her eyebrow a fraction before settling back into the mask, but it’s enough to make me breathe out in relief. That was pure shock, right there.

That, to me, is a sign that I’m doing something right.

I just have to keep holding on now until the dinner is finished.

We’re interrupted by the kitchen staff taking away our plates from our appetizers and bringing out the main course. In the bustle, I catch Paolo’s eye and he grins at me. I smile back, though I wish I could hold his hand.

I wish it could be me and him again, alone in our own little world. Much as I want this to be over, the fact is that after the dinner, he doesn’t need me anymore. He’ll have what he wants. He’ll be home.

That thought makes my stomach turn and I push it away. I can’t be dealing with sickness again now. I’m trying to be the perfect wife. The perfect wife doesn’t throw up at the dinner table.

The perfect wife doesn’t keep her pregnancy a secret — nor is she stupid enough to let it happen without really wanting it.

I have to stop thinking about this. The more I think about it, the worse the nausea gets. There’ll be plenty of time to worry about raising a baby on my own when all this is done. Because I’m assuming Paolo won’t want anything to do with it.

Think of the scandal!

My head hurts with the pressure of it all.

I force myself to eat as much as I can of the meal. It’s good — pasta and fish and a sauce so creamy I’m almost tempted to go to the chef and ask for the recipe. Maybe I will do that before I leave. I bet Mom would love some authentic Bellamari dishes.

It’s only a short reprieve, though, because the king and queen launch right back into questioning me about my life. They ask more about my mother, about my school, about my career, such as it is. I confess that I want to be an artist, and I can’t tell if the reaction is disappointment or disdain.

The thing I know for sure is that they’re not impressed.

What was Paolo thinking bringing me home? I’m nobody. I’m nothing to them.

This was never going to work.

It takes forever, every second feeling like an eternity, but finally we finish dinner. I thank the king and queen for the meal, letting myself relax a little now that the end is in sight.

And then the king asks, “Would you like dessert?” and all I can do I stare as my traitorous stomach turns at the idea of sugar.

Please , I beg myself, don’t do this now . I took a bunch of pills already to try and calm my sickness, and until now it was working.

But it’s no use. It lurches and a fresh rush of nausea rises in my throat. I take some deep breaths, trying to will the sickness away again.

Paolo leans across the table, clearly seeing how bad I must look, and says, “Chloe, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, and then retch, covering my hand with my mouth. “I’m just feeling kind of queasy, that’s all.”

“Was it the food?” asks the king, challenging me as he fixes me with another of those intense, horrible stares.

“No,” I say. “No, the food was great.”

He looks at me, unimpressed, and I can’t hold it any longer. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.” Jumping up, I shove my chair back hard and lurch forwards before running out of the room.

I hear Paolo call after me as I go, but if I don’t make it to the bathroom right now, I’m going to make an embarrassing mistake all over the carpet.

I collapse on the bathroom floor, empty my stomach into the toilet and then let out a sob.

What if this has just ruined everything? What if this has blown Paolo’s chances of being allowed to stay in the country? What if this has blown our marriage forever?