The week leading up to the Christmas party was filled with nonstop preparations. Mamma and Papa were both busy overseeing the work of interior designers as they transformed the inside of the large house into a wonderland filled with hundreds of yards of garlands, poinsettias, candles, and lavishly trimmed evergreens.
Celestina wandered boredly through the rooms, gazing around at the festive decorations. She found a tray of peppermint macarons that had been set out for Mamma and Papa to sample and snatched one up to nibble as she continued to explore the rooms. In the distance, she heard the notes of the piano reverberating from the ballroom. It'd been a sound that had gone on nonstop for the past few days. Alessandra had long since mastered the piece to flawless perfection, though she was still frantically practicing like a worrywart amateur. Celestina sighed and turned her feet to follow the sound of the piano.
She stepped into the spacious ballroom, taking care not to let her footsteps tap too loudly against the polished wooden floor. Celestina needn't have worried, though—the notes from the piano covered any sort of separate noise as Alessandra's agitated fingers forcefully pushed them out.
She was over practicing. That made even the most skilled players revert back to mistakes, but Celestina hardly cared enough to warn her sister. Not that Alessandra would listen, anyway. She had always been like this before all of her past recitals.
Celestina herself had only practiced for a few days—just enough to polish out the mistakes. Both she and Alessandra had told Mamma which pieces they were playing and had her sit in for a few of their practices. But the piece she had named and let Mamma listen to wasn't the one Celestina would be playing that night, though no one was the wiser. Especially not Alessandra.
As she listened, Celestina leaned back against the wall. Alessandra, sat on the far end of the room with her back to her silent audience, continued to practice feverishly. The song was well played, though the tempo was slightly off. But then, towards the end of the piece, Celestina heard it. A slip of the finger. A wrong key.
A mistake.
The song was abruptly cut off. A loud, bursting discord exploded from the piano as Alessandra slammed her fists down on the keys. "No, no, NO!" she shouted.
The temptation was far too seductive, and Celestina gave in to the cruel urge to taunt. "Uh oh," she preened, her voice echoing in the wide space. "Imagine if everyone heard you do that."
Alessandra quickly looked back, her eyes emblazoned in a way that made Celestina's heart jump. "YOU!" Alessandra shrieked.
Quickly, Celestina pushed herself off the wall and raced out. She didn't stop until she had found the safety of Mamma, because whatever darkness Alessandra had could never seem to reach her then.
She found Mamma in the kitchen sampling a bottle of chardonnay with Papa. "This one is quite nice, Nicholas. We should definitely serve it," she was saying as Celestina hurried in.
"Mamma, Mamma!" the young girl yipped as she quickly pounced on her mother and threw her arms around the woman's waist.
"Oh!" Mamma cried softly, setting her glass down. "What is it, my little darling? Is Alessandra being mean again?"
"Mamma!" Celestina said, lifting her face to meet her mother's eyes. "I want to curl my hair before the party! Like Signora Isabella's hair!"
"Is that so?" Mamma knelt down, gently stroking Celestina's chestnut tresses. "You'd certainly look like a little angel with those flowing curls. Wouldn't she, Nicholas?" Mamma tilted her head slightly and smiled. "Are you sure, my darling? You and Alessandra have always worn your hair straight like this."
Celestina wrinkled her nose. "Just because Alessandra likes it," she pouted, "doesn't mean I do!"
"Okay, okay," Mamma soothed gently. "Don't you worry, Celestina. I'll have your hair just like you want it."
"Let me get a stylist to come in and—."
"Don't be silly, Nicholas," Mamma said. "I'll do it."
"Wh… Are you sure?"
"Yes," Mamma insisted. She lifted a hand and gently ran it against Celestina's cheek. "When I was a little girl, my mamma would always do my hair. I think it's important if I do it for my daughters too."
"Alessandra doesn't want hers curled," Celestina said. "Just me."
"Did you ask her?"
"Uh huh. She said she doesn't want us looking the same."
"Well…" Mamma paused, but only just for a second. "Alright then. Come on, cara—let's go try it out now, see if you like it."
"Okay!" Celestina chirped, taking her mother's hand. They went to the master bathroom where there was a big mirror for Celestina to watch her mother work in. Mamma took from one of the cabinets a curling iron.
"I used this for my own hair back when I wore it long," Mamma told Celestina as she plugged the device in and rested it on its stand. "It's been sitting forgotten for a long time—the last time I curled my hair was on my wedding day." Stepping behind Celestina, Mamma gently pulled the floral hairband from the girl's hair and ran a hand to smooth the locks. "I couldn't think of a more perfect way to bring this old friend out than for my little girl."
Celestina sat for about an hour, watching Mamma slowly transform her hair into a look she had never known before. She smiled, watching lock after lock fall in gentle curls over her shoulders.
Finally, Mamma put the curling iron down, gave Celestina's hair one more soft ruffle. She crouched down until her face was leveled with the girl's, and they both gazed into the mirror. Mamma's smile was dazzling. "Oh, cara mia," she whispered softly. "You look absolutely beautiful."
Celestina stared at her reflection. She looked almost different—in a good way, like a butterfly emerged from her cocoon. And she liked how happy it made Mamma.
But then a quiet voice from the doorway ruined that moment.
"Mamma?"
There stood Alessandra, standing just behind the threshold. Her eyes darted from Celestina to her mother. All was quiet. The confrontation had left Mamma without words, so Celestina spoke up instead.
"Look, Alessandra," she said, perking up a shoulder to push up her hair. "Look what Mamma did for me."
Her words did the trick. She saw Alessandra bite down on her lip. Her eyes grew glassy. Always the crybaby, Celestina thought.
Suddenly, she felt Mamma's hands leave her shoulders. "Alessandra, amata mia, come here. Let Mamma—."
"No!" Alessandra suddenly shouted, her hands balling into fists. She took a step back from the threshold. "Leave me alone, Mamma!" She turned and ran. From behind her, Celestina heard her mother pull in a shaky breath. Quickly, she knelt down to Celestina's level.
"Cara," Mamma said, gazing at Celestina with guilt-stricken eyes. "Why would you say something like that?"
"I'm sorry, Mamma."
"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your sister." Mamma stood up, stepping away to give Celestina room to get off her stool. "And tell her that if she wants her hair styled, I'll gladly do it for her. Be sure to tell her that, okay?"
"I will." As soon as Celestina left the master bathroom, she headed straight up to her room. She passed Alessandra's door without so much as looking at it and went to her own bathroom mirror to admire her hair.
Celestina finally got her answers as to why her sister was so high-strung about the upcoming Christmas party one afternoon while Alessandra herself was practicing her little heart out downstairs and left her room empty. Celestina had gone in there mainly out of boredom—and especially since it irked Alessandra whenever she did.
As she walked in, her eyes fluttered down to the patch of carpet where she had seen the grisly work her sister had made of that poor mouse. The beige carpet was spotless. Celestina wondered whether Alessandra had cleaned it up herself, or had coerced a servant into doing it for her and keeping quiet about it. To be honest, either seemed just as likely.
Celestina had found it a few days ago but hadn't gotten the window of opportunity to really sit down and read it until now. With Alessandra currently preoccupied, now was the perfect time.
Slipping a hand underneath the mattress, she found it just underneath the right side of the pillow. She pulled it out and looked down at the diary's leather face. The letters A.A. were dyed into the rich brown cover. Celestina took a second to trace the letters before opening the diary up and settling down onto the carpet to read.
Most of the pages were barely worth skimming over—oh, how boring they were. These mundane thoughts of Alessandra's, they could have put her to sleep. Celestina was mentioned a few times within these pages, and often furiously. These angry tirades made Celestina want to roll her eyes, and she continued on.
Within this diary, Alessandra frequently expressed how she saw herself as the black sheep of the family—a puzzle piece with no place to fit. At first, she fretted that perhaps it was her own fault. And then, with each turn of the page, each subsequent date, her views began to slowly change.
I am not the black sheep, Alessandra wrote. I am a different animal entirely. Of what, I do not know. One that Mamma seems to fear. Maybe that's why she doesn't love me.
The latest entry in the diary was dated a week ago. Mamma was true to her word in that she wanted us to perform at Papa's Christmas party. Performing in front of people, especially people Papa places such high importance in, always makes me nervous. I saw the list of invitees, and Francesco's parents were included. He'll be coming too, I'm sure. I'll be playing in front of him.
Cellie wanted to sing, and I was considering it too. But now I can't. We'll just get compared, and I know what always happens when we do.
I just need a complicated piece and play it well. Perhaps the singer Papa hired knows a good one. I heard she's famous. Loved. Maybe I'll be like that one day.
Whatever she suggests, I must practice it daily up until the party. This is farewell for now, caro diario, though only for a short while.
Celestina shut the diary and slipped it back under the mattress. Quietly, she stepped out from Alessandra's room and shut the door behind her. Ah, Francesco. So that was why Alessandra was so worked up.
Francesco Casale's father and Papa had been close friends since childhood. As such, their families often graced one another with visits and get-togethers. Francesco was two years older than both Celestina and Alessandra, and was the son of Signore Casale's second wife. His swept bronze hair and broad shoulders had already built him quite the fan base with the opposite sex by even the age of 12.
Celestina had never felt much towards Francesco. True, he was incredibly handsome. That, coupled with his passion for football, made him any girl's dream. But Celestina could tell that Francesco was becoming a chip off the old block, and there were plenty of rumors afloat claiming that Signore Casale was divorcing Francesco's mother on account of yet another mistress.
That Alessandra was part of Francesco's pitiable little fan club amused Celestina. She wondered how she ought to use this little nugget of information—because something this juicy just had to be used, didn't it?
On Christmas Eve, Mamma and Celestina were up bright and early to work on her hair. This time, Mamma spritzed the locks with hairspray to keep the curls locked in. "Stay out of the kitchen, okay? It's very busy today. Papa is also going to be busy. You and Alessandra can play together until lunchtime—afterwards, you'll both need to get dressed. Try not to mess up your hair, cara." She gave Celestina a quick kiss on the temple. "Run along now."
Celestina raced back upstairs to find Alessandra. Her sister was in her room, standing in front of the mounted full-length mirror with a dress held up to her front. Alessandra swayed from side to side, letting the dress's skirt dance around her legs. She had the look of someone who had finally come to a decision after a long deliberation. A stack of other dresses was piled haplessly on the foot of her bed.
"Red, huh?" Celestina said aloud. Alessandra ignored her, still admiring the dress in the mirror. "I'm wearing red too."
Alessandra stopped swaying. She turned around and threw the dress onto the bed, where it fluttered down with the other discarded clothes. "I was just looking," she said. "I don't like it."
Celestina shrugged. "Don't want people mistaking us for one another? I don't think they will." She gave her curls a little bounce with her hand. Alessandra stared at them with an almost disgusted look.
"Why did you do your hair already? The party isn't until tonight."
"I couldn't wait," Celestina admitted. Alessandra walked out from in front of the mirror to sift through the other dresses in her closet. With the space free, Celestina moved in and examined her reflection. "I like wearing it like this. I'm going to curl my hair from now on—what do you think, Lessy?"
"I don't care. Do what you want," was the response from the closet.
"Are you going to practice any more today?"
"No…" There was a pause. "I think I'm ready."
The rest of the day felt like simply a waste of time getting in the way of their party. The festivities felt especially set in stone once the girls put on their dresses. Celestina wore the velvety, dark red one she had chosen, while Alessandra opted for a midnight blue one. When the sun began to drop and the guests started arriving, Celestina felt bubbly with excitement. She quickly ran to find Mamma. As she appeared at her mother's side, Mamma would introduce her to whomever she was talking to. They would give Celestina sweet little compliments, which she happily took.
"And what of your other one, Emi? Alessandra, wasn't it?"
"Oh, she's somewhere," Mamma said with a glance around.
"I'll go find her," Celestina offered, dropping her mother's hand and hurrying away. After walking around for a bit, she found Alessandra standing close to the front door with her hands clasped as though waiting for someone. "Lessy, stop hanging around here like a weirdo. Mamma wants us to meet her friends," Celestina said, grabbing Alessandra's hand. She felt resistance when she tried pulling her sister away.
"No… stop!" Alessandra protested. "I don't want to meet them!"
Celestina huffed. "That's rude! It'll only take a minute!"
Alessandra pulled back again, though her sister was slowly tugging her along. "I don't like standing next to you!"
Celestina rolled her eyes. "I told you! It's just for a minute!" With a final yank, she tore her sister away from the doorway and headed back into the heart of the crowd gathered deeper inside the house. They found Mamma and her friends again. Though Alessandra stopped by Celestina's side, the girl refused to lift her eyes to meet theirs.
"Why hello there, Alessandra. You and your sister both look stunning tonight," they told her. Alessandra's brow furrowed, and she didn't respond. When silence was all they got, they looked at Emilia as though waiting for an answer to her daughter's rudeness.
Emilia smiled, thanked them for their kind words, and cheerily changed the topic by asking how their investment business was faring.
"Oh, some clients are nightmares," the woman closest to Emilia answered with an exasperated wave of her hand. "It's really just the few, but they're absolutely walking headaches. The returns they demand simply aren't possible!"
Celestina felt Alessandra leave her side. She turned, but her sister had already disappeared into the crowd. She had a feeling she knew what—or rather who—was making Alessandra so restless.
Quickly, Celestina shrugged it off. What was more important now was strolling around, casually brushing and bumping against people and being seen. Then they'd recognize her as Papa's little girl—the daughter of the reason why they were here in the first place. And they'd have to say nice things to her. It was the attention she so rightly deserved.
She found Papa by the fireplace surrounded by a circle of loud men. Celestina dodged between two and impatiently tugged on her father's sleeve. "When do I get to play?" she asked him.
"Later in the evening, amour. Let everyone settle down and have a few more drinks," Papa answered. "I'm sure the kitchen is about to serve another helping of sweets and canapé. Go around and mingle. There are plenty of children here your age. Where's Alessandra?"
"I don't know," Celestina said. Her eyes fell on one of the men standing near Papa. "Is Francesco here?" she asked Signore Casale.
The man chuckled deeply and, instead of answering Celestina, said to Papa, "Looks like it's time for you to stay on high alert, Nicholas. That is, if you want your daughters to stay pure. I'm saying it now—I hold no responsibility over what my boy does. Couldn't stop him if I tried."
Papa snorted like Celestina had never heard him do before. "Had we this conversation five years ago I would have clocked you right in the nose for that, Antonio."
"Fine. I'll say it again once you've had a bit more to drink."
Celestina huffed, though the overall drone of the crowd hid the sound. Just because she'd asked about Francesco, didn't mean she was interested in him! But she couldn't say that to Signore Casale because he was an adult, and she was supposed to act like a lady. Instead, she turned to go find Alessandra. It was then she remembered Papa's words about the sweets from the kitchen and changed her mind.
But as she neared the swinging doors that led into the kitchen, she found a peculiar pair standing by them. Oh that silly Alessandra had her hands clasped behind her back as if she didn't look enough like a lovesick guppy. Leaning on the wall in front of her, dressed in a light blue dress shirt and red silk ascot, was Francesco with one hand pushed deep in the pocket of his gray chinos. The other held a champagne flute.
Celestina's eyes fell on the glass and golden liquid within as she approached the two. "Is that alcohol? You're drinking?" she asked. At her words, Francesco turned his head. He saw Celestina and quickly straightened up from the wall.
"Yeah? Papa's been letting me—says it's best to acquire the taste early. Here, try." He offered the flute to Celestina. She could practically feel Alessandra's stare as she watched their hands exchange the glass.
Celestina lowered her eyes to the golden, bubbly liquid. Papa had never expressed the same sentiment, and Mamma didn't allow them any alcohol. But whatever—they weren't watching now. She took a sip, felt the fizz on her tongue, and then wrinkled her nose at the taste that quickly followed. After swallowing, she said, "Bleck! Tastes like medicine—but worse!"
"What kind of medicine are you taking that tastes like champagne?" Francesco asked, taking the flute back. Then, he offered it to Alessandra who eagerly snatched it. She took a quaff from the flute, and then announced, "I like it!"
Francesco laughed lightly. "No one really likes the taste of alcohol at first."
"I do! Really!"
"Okay," Francesco accepted with a shrug. "To each their own. Hey." He beckoned around. "Your dad sure knows how to throw a party."
"Just you wait," Celestina replied enthusiastically. "Later on, we'll—."
"Shh!" Alessandra quickly hushed, throwing her sister a glare.
"Later on what?"
"Nothing," Alessandra said quickly. Suddenly, she grabbed Francesco's hand. "I'm hungry. Let's go see what's on the table."
"Er…" Francesco looked hesitant.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing—it's just that…" Giving up, Francesco said, "Never mind. Let's go." Before Alessandra managed to pull him away, he looked back at Celestina. "I like your hair."
That compliment stuck with her, and she continued thinking about it until Mamma approached her and told her that she and Alessandra would be performing after Signora Isabella's next song. They found Alessandra still with Francesco and pulled her away.
Isabella, the piano, and the string quartet were nestled in the corner of the ballroom, though the music was able to reach the entire room. Just on the outskirts of the clearing, the twin girls stood anxiously. Celestina turned and quietly said to Alessandra, "You can go first."
"Me? Why me?"
"I'm… I'm still nervous," Celestina lied. She saw suspicion waver in Alessandra's eyes, but it passed and she agreed. As soon as Isabella's song was finished, she and the quartet exited the little space to make way for Nicholas. The man made way for his daughters by not-so-humbly bragging about their musical talents, the private lessons they had been exceling even at early ages, and how the esteemed guests tonight would be graced by their performances. Finally, when they came to the cue for one of the girls to step up, Alessandra shot Celestina one last nervous glance as she broke away from the crowd.
Celestina joined the rest in applauding politely, shooting the people around her a smug look that she struggled to conceal.
As soon as fingertips touched to ivory keys, even the whispers dampened. Gone was the panicked girl from days prior, frantically rehearsing herself to breaking point. The one who was there now touched the keys as though born to—as though the instrument itself was a being for her to command.
Celestina, of course, had to admit that what she heard was spectacular. But the song itself deserved some credit—it would've sounded beautiful even played from a novice's hands. She waited quietly for the song to end. When it did, she clapped with the rest only because people were watching. Alessandra looked quite pleased with herself. She seemed to drink in the ovation, basking in its warmth while it lasted.
The piano bench seemed to beckon her as Celestina approached it—a magnetic pull that was inescapable. Silently, she lamented the fact that she would be blind to the audience's reaction as soon as her first notes hit the air. Oh well, her imagination would have to suffice.
Guests that night had expected two songs—each dazzling in their own right—but what they found after listening to the preluding chords was a performance that mirrored its predecessor. There were confused looks exchanged. No one, however, spoke up out of courtesy. Among them, one little girl's face slowly darkened.
Alessandra's song, of course, had originally been written as a piano piece. But years later accompanying lyrics had been added by a separate artist to compliment it. Voice had been married with piano notes into a duet. And it was with voice that Celestina outshined her sister using her very own song.
But the audience didn't see it that way. Perhaps, they reasoned, they had planned to play the same piece as a sort of tribute to the fact that they were twins. Perhaps Nicholas and Emilia had put them up to it. Whatever the reason, the Amonte girls were now in a place to be compared.
And one thing always happened when they were compared. One would always outshine the other.
Celestina was finally able to look out towards the faces at the end of her song. Alessandra was no longer where she had been standing. But Francesco was.
Mamma, of course, came up to her when enough of the crowd had meandered away. In a low voice, she confronted Celestina about the song. "That wasn't the one you told me you would play."
"So?" Celestina countered. "That's the one I wanted to play."
Mamma stared. "Why do you keep doing this to your sister?"
"Doing what?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Celestina. She has trouble enough getting along with anyone. Don't make it harder for her."
Celestina glared up at Mamma. She didn't know what overcame her at that moment, but the words sprung out before she could even consider what she was saying. "I'm not afraid of her," she said defiantly. "Not anymore. Not like you are."
She saw the authority drop from Mamma's face. "Why would you say—I'm not—."
"Celestina!" bashfulness peeked from Francesco's voice as the boy quickly hurried up to them. He looked between her and Mamma, suddenly hesitating. In that instant, Mamma smoothed her expression over and walked away.
Francesco watched her retreating back, and then looked at Celestina. "Is everything okay?"
"It's fine," Celestina assured. "Mamma was just asking me if I wanted to play another song. But I'm done for tonight."
"You should have said yes," Francesco said. "You were amazing. I'd love to hear you sing again."
"Oh really?" Celestina purred. She smiled. "You're sweet. So you liked my version better than Alessandra's?"
"Well…" Francesco quickly glanced around, and then continued in a low voice, "A little."
"I knew it!" Celestina suddenly exclaimed smugly, making Francesco jump. Without another word to him, she turned away and headed into the crowd. She knew everyone here thought the same as Francesco. That truth was what had upset Mamma. But why should Celestina be ashamed of what was simply a fact? Should she have to apologize for the way the sun always rose in the east and set in the west? Besides, it wasn't like Alessandra would ever—.
"You hardly ever practiced it." The voice was soft, filled with a quiet, white rage that Celestina heard above even the cacophony of chatter across the room. She stopped. Standing in her way was Alessandra. Thin locks escaped from her hairpins, now having fallen forward into her face. "And you played it just as well as me."
"Well," Celestina replied. "Maybe you wouldn't be stuck in my shadow if you tried stepping out of it for once."
Alessandra took a step forward. At that moment, Celestina caught a glimpse of something in her eyes—something that wasn't her sister. Something that didn't even seem human. A different animal entirely.
"You better be careful, little mouse," Alessandra uttered softly.
Celestina froze, her eyes widening. "What did you just call me?" she demanded frantically, but Alessandra had walked past her and disappeared into the crowd.