The moment Elva took her seat, the heavy tension at the table seemed to lift, replaced by the polite hum of high-society chatter. Matthew's mother Elizabeth Salvatore leaned forward, her eyes bright with maternal pride as she looked at Elva.
"My dear," she said, her voice like honey, "you are truly a vision. The photographs did not do you justice."
One of Matthew's aunts, a woman draped in pearls, nodded in firm agreement. "The Rodriguez women have always been known for their elegance, but Victoria... she has a grace that is rare even in our circles."
"She fits the Salvatore name as if she were born to it," another relative added, raising a glass in a silent toast.
A soft murmur of approval rippled around the long table. Elva felt the heat rise to her cheeks, the tips of her ears burning. Every compliment felt like a tiny needle prick. They were praising a ghost; they were admiring a mask. Every kind word was meant for a woman who wasn't there, leaving Elva feeling more like a thief than a bride.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the clink of crystal. She kept her eyes fixed on the white linen tablecloth, her fingers twisting together in her lap.
Across the table, Matthew was a statue of dark silk and cold intent. He didn't join the conversation. He didn't offer a smile of agreement. He simply sat there, his blue eyes tracking every movement she made. He watched the way she shrank away from the praise, the way her shoulders stayed hunched as if she were trying to disappear into the sapphire fabric of her dress.
"Lunch is served," the head maid announced.
A small army of servants marched into the hall. They moved with ghost-like silence, placing heavy silver platters along the table. The air was suddenly filled with the rich scents of roasted meats, seasoned vegetables, and delicate creams. It was a feast that could have fed a small village, laid out just for a handful of people.
Matthew's father Philip Salvatore picked up his silver fork, the signal for the meal to begin. "Let's eat," he said simply.
Elva stared at the array of utensils beside her plate. There were three different forks, two spoons, and knives she didn't recognize. Her breath hitched. In her old life, a single fork and a chipped ceramic plate were all she had ever needed. Here, every bite was governed by a rule she didn't know.
She waited a heartbeat, watching Matthew's aunt out of the corner of her eye. She saw the woman pick up the outermost fork and followed suit, her movements stiff and mechanical. She tried to mirror the way they held their wrists, the way they cut their food without making a sound against the china.
But her hands were trembling. The silver fork felt heavy and slippery in her grip.
Across the table, Matthew didn't miss a thing. He saw the fraction of a second where she hesitated. He saw her eyes darting to the other guests, searching for a lead. He saw the nervous white-knuckled grip on the silver.
Confirmed, he thought, his jaw tightening. A girl born into the Rodriguez fortune would have learned these movements before she could speak. He took a slow, deliberate sip of water, his eyes never leaving her. He was dissecting her piece by piece, watching the imposter struggle to stay afloat in a world that was drowning her.
"Tell me, Victoria," Matthew's mother Elizabeth said, breaking into Elva's thoughts. "Are you finding the mansion comfortable? Is there anything you need?"
Elva nodded quickly, not daring to look up. "Yes... everything is very beautiful. Thank you."
"You must be exhausted after such a grand wedding," the aunt remarked with a knowing smile.
"Indeed," a younger cousin added with a playful wink. "But then again, newly married couples aren't exactly known for getting much sleep on their first night."
A light, sophisticated laughter broke out around the table.
Elva's face turned a violent shade of red. She stared down at her plate, her heart battering against her ribs. The shame was overwhelming. They were laughing about a romance that didn't exist, while she was sitting across from a man who looked like he wanted to exile her to the ends of the earth.
Matthew remained perfectly calm, his expression a mask of stone. He watched her blush, watched her struggle, and watched her lie. He knew the storm that was coming for the Rodriguez family, and as he looked at the fragile girl sitting in his dining hall, he realized she had no idea that the walls were already closing in.