Chapter 8 - Dinner with a Viper
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At eight o'clock sharp, a fire crackled inside the limestone hearth of Bellavista’s formal dining room. Rain still lashed the tall arched windows overlooking the black Atlantic, while Sinatra played softly from hidden speakers and crystal chandeliers cast warm light over white damask linen.
Vivien sat to Dominic’s right in an emerald silk evening gown, glowing with confidence after her final bridal fitting. Across her wrist sparkled a diamond tennis bracelet Dominic had given her on her birthday, and on her left finger sat his grandmother’s four-carat emerald-cut engagement ring.
"You should have seen my father’s face when the governor’s chief of staff RSVP’d this afternoon," Vivien said, swirling her Pinot Noir and smiling warmly across the candlelight. "Every major maritime commissioner on the East Coast will be in the ballroom tomorrow night, Dominic. Once our families are officially joined, that federal port expansion contract in Providence is practically signed."
"Your family has certainly worked hard to set the stage for tomorrow night," Dominic replied smoothly, cutting a piece of herb-crusted sea bass without a tremor in his hand. "How was your afternoon in town after you left here?"
"Exhausting, honestly," Vivien sighed, taking a delicate sip of wine. "Three hours standing on a velvet pedestal while two French seamstresses argued over the hem of my reception dress. And to be completely candid with you, darling, I couldn't stop worrying about your mother."
Dominic paused, lifting his dark gaze from his plate to meet her eyes.
"Why were you worried about my mother?" he asked, letting a note of quiet concern enter his voice.
Vivien set her wineglass down and reached across the corner of the table, laying her manicured hand over his wrist. Her skin was warm, her pulse completely steady.
"When I went up to say hello to her around four-fifteen, before our call dropped, she looked terribly frail, Dominic," Vivien murmured with practiced sympathy. "Her breathing seemed much heavier than last week, and when I tried to ask Marin if Dr. Mercer had adjusted her blood pressure medication, Marin snapped at me and practically shoved me toward the door. I hate to say this on the eve of our gala, darling, because I know how protective you are of your mother, but I don't think Isabella’s heart can handle the excitement of a long summer engagement. And I really don't trust Marin’s temperament anymore."
Dominic looked down at Vivien’s hand resting on his sleeve—the exact hand that had yanked away a paralyzed woman’s only means of speech and bruised Marin’s wrist four hours ago.
"You think Marin is hiding something from me?" Dominic asked quietly.
"I think people in servile positions sometimes grow resentful of the women who enter a house as its mistress," Vivien said softly, giving his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "And as for Isabella, I just want us to be prepared if the stress of tomorrow night proves too much for her constitution. At her age, after a stroke that severe, a peaceful passing in her sleep is something the doctors always warned you about."
"You are remarkably farsighted, Vivien," Dominic said, sliding his wrist subtly out from beneath her fingers to lift his water glass. "In fact, I already called Dr. Mercer to come by tonight and run a full diagnostic panel on my mother, and I’ve moved additional security onto the upper floor so no one disturbs her rest before tomorrow evening."
For a fraction of a second—barely the length of an eyelash blink—Vivien’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass.
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"Tonight?" she repeated, her smile stiffening slightly at the corners. "Surely you don't need to wake the poor woman with blood draws tonight, darling?"
"For my mother," Dominic said evenly, "nothing is too thorough."
