Page 6 of The Strength Of A Woman

“Yes. Describe her for me.”

Rory met her only once in New York.

We were grabbing a bite and having a cup of coffee when my aunt crossed the street.

Honestly, I was shocked she was on foot. I’d never seen that woman travel other than in a limousine.

She didn’t see me, yet I pointed to her and told Rory that she and I were related. I didn’t even think it would register with her.

My aunt was so hard to miss and forget.

“She looked all right. A car dropped her off. Only had a small suitcase with her.”

“Where did you get the mysterious vibe about her from?”

“Oh.”

She smiles.

“She wore her hair up and one of those elegant scarves wrapped around her neck and over her hair, accessorized with big sunglasses. Her hourglass skirt suit made her look like a midcentury model. You know… One of those women who graced the pages of a magazine. She only spoke in a quiet voice, and her manners were subdued. It was like she was up to something. To be honest, I thought it was all a setup, and someone wasrecording her to post on her social media account, or stuff like that.”

She laughs, amused, but I’m not entertained in the slightest. This is so not like Flavia.

She’s always been the poster girl for shy.

The person who sits in the second row, the one who is never fully caught in the frame of a photograph. The type of relatives people forget to invite over for the holidays.

That’s why, to this day, I don’t understand why my biological father boinked her like he just got out of a madhouse.

I couldn’t get her. I never connected to him either. But that’s another story.

Anyway.

Flavia has become an interesting piece on the family chessboard.

“What color was her suit?” I ask out of nowhere, fully aware that I sound more like a detective than a dotted niece.

“Umm… Light gray. She wore red shoes and a white scarf. She looked classy and made up. Soon after her arrival, I heard the staff talking about preparing breakfast for her. Apparently, she had special requests. And then, about taking it to her room.”

“Interesting,” I mutter, looking down and not knowing what to make of it.

Something is off about Flavia. Way off. And her presence here can’t be a good sign.

After hearing Nona’s story, I can’t think of anything other than that she must be connected to all this in some way.

I just don’t know how.

I push off the bed and walk to the window.

Tucked in the shadow of the trees, a lavish table is set for lunch next to the pool.

There’s Sylvia, and also a woman I don’t know who could be her accountant.

There’s an older gentleman who is too old to be a suitor––he has a cane propped against his chair.

They sit around the table and casually talk.

Giorgio and Flavia talk to each other a few steps away from the table, for sure not within earshot. They’re also standing, as if it’s an urgent matter.