Marie washed her hands once she got home and started to make dinner. Cooking was therapeutic to her and always had been. She had her favorite music on and hummed along to it as she prepared the food. She had decided it was time for something familiar and cooked the onions and bell pepper for a jambalaya that would start the dish.
A bell at the door told her she had a visitor. They rarely had visitors, so she wondered who it was. She looked out of the security hole in the door and had to take a deep breath to calm her suddenly racing pulse. With her hand on the knob, she exhaled and tried to tell herself to stay calm.
The very last thing Marie needed was to open the door and see Celeste with a sneer on her face, but there she was, sneering away. Marie schooled her features into a look of calm and tilted her head up slightly to look at the other woman.
“Hello, Marie, is Matteo home?” She waved her be-ringed hand at the doorway as if to tell Marie to move aside, but Marie stood her ground.
“No, he’s not, Celeste. Can I help you?” Marie leaned into the doorjamb, just to make sure the other woman was positively certain Marie wasn’t going to invite her in. Marie didn’t trust her any further than she could throw her.
She looked Celeste over, dressed in some kind of black 1920s suit, right down to the wide-brimmed black hat tilted to the left. Like some kind of gangster’s moll from back in the day, Marie thought. It was attractive, but the pencil skirt that flared out at the knees wasn’t for her.
Celeste took a deep breath, tilted her head to the right, which made the hat move in a way that amused Marie so much her lips twitched. “Look, I don’t like you. I don’t like the fact that my nephew married you. But you are his wife, so I have to tolerate you. Can we call some kind of truce?”
“I suppose we must.” Marie moved out of the doorway and stood to the side. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” Celeste waltzed in on black heels no woman in the 1920s would have been able to afford. Marie couldn’t tell which designer they were but knew they were if they were on those feet.
“Can I get you a drink?” Marie walked back to the kitchen and tightened the belt of the light-green full-length silk robe she wore. Beneath it, she wore a matching nightgown with thin straps and a short hem.
“Scotch if he has it.” Celeste followed her to the kitchen and sat at a stool at the island.
Marie moved to one side, poured a small glass of scotch, and a small one of gin with tonic for herself. She turned to the island and stood in front of it as if the barrier would protect her from Matteo’s aunt.
“Did you even go to a university, Marie? Do you have any kind of education?” Celeste looked her up and down and continued. “I can see why he’s taken with you, you are beautiful in that dark, gypsy kind of way I suppose.”
Celeste sniffed as if the air was bad and her upper lip curled with distaste. “You must be fun in bed, otherwise he wouldn’t be so in love with you. But your mother was, so I suppose you will have inherited her talents. Or your father’s, he was a good lover too.”
Marie stared at the woman, her eyes wide with shock. Who was this bitch to insult her like this in her own house? “Excuse me?”
“What else would explain Matteo’s adoration of you? Your intelligence? Your sweet nature? No, men fall in love with one thing and once it ages a little, well, you’re a prime example of what happens when you get older.”
Marie could have sworn the world blacked out for a minute as her blood pressure pounded in her ears. She gripped at the island, her knuckles white as she tried to contain herself.
“From what I understand, your mother said much the same thing to anyone that would listen, though, didn’t she? That men only wanted one thing and when they were done with you, they’d just throw you away? Yes, the report I got before I sent Matteo down told me quite a lot about you both. It just didn’t explain how well you’d seduce my nephew into your