ten.

Cora

“Cora?”

I turn and find the camera guy motioning for me to join my parents on the sofa. Alessandro and his dad stand behind it. I squeeze in between my parents, and Mom slides her hand in mine. I don’t have to look at her to know her face radiates with a large smile. It makes my own smile form on my face, though it vanishes when hostility pricks my skin from behind.

The cameraman instructs us where to face, where to place our hands. “Smile wide,” he says.

This whole process takes about twenty minutes and by the time we’re done, my jaw throbs from all the smiling.

Mr. Beckham thanks the crew before they leave the room, the man hauling his equipment with him.

Despite my commanding them not to, my eyes shoot to Alessandro. He stands there with his hands in his pockets, gaze on the man and woman’s retreating forms.

His dad sweeps his hand toward the doorway. “Marcus, Lori, Cora. Please follow me to the dining room for dinner.”

Dad and Mom trail him, with me and Alessandro lingering b