Nessa has dropped our gifts off at the reception table, and now she’s sliding into her seat next to Mikolaj, directly behind me. Miko had been silent and scowling up until that moment, his pale face and white-blond hair in stark contrast to his all-black suit. When Nessa sits beside him, his expression changes entirely. His sharp features soften into a smile, and a light comes into his ice-blue eyes, until he hardly looks like the same person. Now he seems almost approachable, and not like he might murder all of us. He lifts one heavily-tattooed hand, to tuck a lock of hair back behind Nessa’s ear. In his accented voice, he says, “You look stunning, moja mała baletnica.”

Across the aisle, I see a tall, trim black man in a navy tuxedo. He’s sitting with a slim blonde woman, with Henry sandwiched between them. Clearly that’s Yafeu Solomon, Simone’s diplomat father, and his wife Eloise. Henry is Simone and Dante’s nine-year-old son. He looks much taller than nine, with a head of soft, dark curls, and a gentle expression on his face. He’s quietly solving a Rubik’s cube while he waits for the ceremony to begin. Behind Henry is a pretty young woman who I believe is Henry’s tutor and nanny. She’s obviously been invited because she’s close to Simone, not because Henry needs to be supervised.

My parents come in next, taking a seat behind the Solomons because there’s no more room on Dante’s side. My mother squeezes my shoulder on her way to her seat. She came to visit me in the hospital every day, even though I told her it wasn’t necessary. She brought me clothes, toiletries, books and magazines, Brazil nuts, dried fruit, and chocolate. She brought treats for Raylan, too, until there was barely room for anyone to sit down anymore.

I think my parents feel guilty about Uncle Oran, though none of that was their fault. The funny thing is, whatever grudge I might have held against them when I felt like Callum was their heir, and Nessa was their favorite . . . it all drifted away in those moments when I lay dying on the carpet. In those last few seconds before I drifted away, I didn’t feel anger or resentment. I thought to myself, “I’ve been loved.” My only regret was that I hadn’t shown that same love strongly enough in return.

The last person to arrive is the youngest Gallo brother, Sebastian. He’s here alone, without any plus-one. He’s the tallest of the Gallo boys, taller even than Dante. He walks with a lanky kind of grace, having finally shaken off the persistent limp that plagued him after my brother smashed his knee. His face is somber, though, with dark shadows under his eyes.

I don’t know Sebastian well. I know he used to be a basketball star, with dreams of playing professionally. It was my family that ended those dreams. The Griffins and the Gallos called a truce, and Sebastian’s never shown any resentment toward us since. But I can’t imagine that it doesn’t burn somewhere deep inside of him.