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“It’s so strange you’d say that,” Natasha said tightly. “I don’t remember that happening. In fact, I don’t remember you even being there.”

“Don’t be silly, Natty.” Victoria chided, laying one lie atop another. It must be growing difficult to keep everything straight. “I was there the whole time.”

More gaslighting. One of her specialties. The kind which could drive lesser minds to insanity.

“Pretty sure you weren’t,” Natasha’s tone snapped like a whip and silence fell around the table.

“Tasha, I need your help!” Ali called from the hors d’oeuvres table.

Charlotte hadn’t even noticed her slip away, but Natasha seized the lifeline and shot up, chair legs scraping across the floor before she stormed off, fists balled at her sides.

“Must be her time of the month,” Victoria hummed.

“Tori, leave my baby alone,” Sasha warned.

It held no bite, like she was correcting a sibling tiff, not a forty-six year old attention whore. The lack of real reprimand put a sour taste in Charlotte’s mouth, but she held her tongue. Her jaw clenched with the effort not to speak, or stand, and definitely not acquaint Victoria’s face with a fist, breaking her nose. The nose Charlotte—for some absurd reason—paid good money to have refined. A waste of money, as Victoria’s original nose had been flawless.

“What do you think of the color scheme?” Victoria pressed on.

Sasha’s smile returned, barely sparing the decorations a glance. Instead her gaze was glued on Lizzie like she was the only thing worth looking at. “Are you happy with it, my love?”

Lizzie took in the decorations and smiled back. “It’s just what I wanted.” Pointedly turning to Charlotte, “Thank you for all your hard work in putting this together, Twinnie.”

Charlotte threw her sister a wink.

When it came to Victoria, Sasha reminded her of a frog plopped into a pot of lukewarm water not realizing the imminent probability of being boiled alive. Charlotte once had the misfortune of meeting Sasha’s parents—the late Mr. and Mrs. Pryce. They made Victoria seem harmless.

“You don’t think it’s a bit tacky?” Victoria asked, all saccharine innocence.

That does it.

Charlotte made to rise, venomous words stinging the tip of her tongue, but her mother’s hand clamped around her elbow. Sasha’s warm eyes hardened into polished stone as she turned to Victoria.

“What are you implying?”

The room stilled as Victoria’s painted lips parted, her gaze darting for an escape route.

“Apologize,” Sasha ordered, her voice was polished steel and left little room for disobedience.

“Sorry, Lizzie,” Victoria stammered. “Must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Charlotte fought a smile as the silken strings in Victoria’s web began to snap under too much pressure.

Their eyes met across the table and Charlotte held her there with calm certainty. She’d never be caught in that web again. And even if it took years, she’d burn every last thread until no one else was trapped either.

Ali rocked up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m heading to the gallery. You’ll be alright without me?”

Charlotte looped an arm around Ali’s shoulders, pulling until the crown of Ali’s head fit beneath her chin.

“I will,” Charlotte said, breathing her in and letting all the stress from the acquisition melt away. “Do you need me to go with you?”

Ali’s fingers twitched, nails worrying at her cuticles until Charlotte caught her hand, brushing her lips across her knuckles.

“No. I’ll be okay,” Ali murmured, before whispering as her arms wound around her middle. “You’ll be there later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Charlotte assured her, not minding Ali’s tactile nature one bit. “I’m looking forward to seeing the show.”