Expect The Unexspected

TheDinnerparty

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and purple. Grace and her husband, Richard, sat on their patio, glasses of wine in hand, the barn and stables bathed in the fading light.

Richard sighed contentedly. "Isn't this beautiful, darling?"

Grace smiled, her gaze drifting over the landscape. "It is, Richard. Absolutely beautiful." She took a sip of her wine, the sweetness a stark contrast to the bitter taste lingering from yesterday's argument. Maria their housekeeper, had heard it all. Grace hoped, desperately, that the peace was holding.

"I've been thinking," Richard continued, his eyes sparkling with excitement, "about that dinner party. I've managed to secure a few more confirmations."

Grace managed a bright, "Oh? Who else?" Inside, she felt a familiar tightening in her chest. Another one of Richard's extravagant gatherings.

"Well, naturally, Liam O'Connell will be there – you know, the one from 'Crimson Tide'? And Senator Hayes is confirmed, along with a couple of others I've... helped out over the years." He chuckled, a self-satisfied sound.

Grace forced a laugh. "Wonderful, darling. Liam O'Connell! I'll have to brush up on my movie trivia."

Richard beamed. "And I was thinking... a theme. Something a little… extravagant. How about a Gatsby party? Think roaring twenties, flapper dresses, the works."

Grace raised an eyebrow, but kept her expression neutral. "A Gatsby theme… sounds… ambitious."

"Ambitious is my middle name!" Richard declared, swirling his wine. "And to really set the mood, I've been looking into getting a swing band. A really good one – the kind that gets people dancing."

"A swing band," Grace echoed, trying to sound enthusiastic. The image of coordinating a Gatsby party, along with the inevitable stress, already loomed.

"Yes! And after dinner," Richard continued, his voice dropping conspiratorially, "we can open up the games room. Gambling tables, perhaps? A little friendly competition."

Grace swallowed, the thought of managing a casino-like atmosphere in her home adding to her mounting apprehension. But she played along. "Gambling tables... sounds... exciting."

Richard leaned closer, his hand briefly resting on hers. "So, what do you think, darling? Can you pull it off for the weekend?"

Grace considered her options. Another fight would be far more exhausting. "Yes, Richard. I can manage a Gatsby party for the weekend. Swing band, gambling tables… the whole shebang."

Richard grinned, relieved. "Wonderful! You're the best, Grace. I knew I could count on you." He clinked his glass against hers. "To a roaring success!"

Grace raised her glass, a forced smile plastered on her face. The sunset was beautiful, yes, but the weekend ahead felt anything but. At least, for now, the peace was holding.The phone rang, sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet hum of Grace's morning. She answered on the third ring.

"Maria? Good morning. Listen, I need you to start getting the house ready for Richard's party this weekend. It's a Gatsby theme, so think roaring twenties – lots of gold, feathers, and Art Deco."

A pause. Grace could almost hear Maria's mental gears grinding into action.

"For the dining room, I want a rich, deep burgundy tablecloth. We have those gold chargers, right? Use those. And the crystal glassware. Everything needs to gleam. Think old Hollywood glamour."

"Yes, Señora Grace." Maria's voice was calm and efficient.

"And the flowers," Grace continued, "I want something dramatic. Lots of deep red roses, maybe some white orchids for contrast. Think opulent, not fussy. And no daisies, Maria. Absolutely no daisies."

"Understood, Señora Grace."

"Okay, the living room. I want to create a lounge atmosphere. Those low velvet sofas, the antique cocktail table – everything needs to be arranged for comfortable conversation. And plenty of cushions. Think plush, luxurious textures. And scatter some of those gold sequinned throws around."

"Señora Grace, I will ensure the throws are evenly distributed for optimal aesthetic effect." Maria's precise tone amused Grace slightly.

"Perfect. And the games room. We're setting up gambling tables, so clear the space. I'll send over the details for the table setup later. But think green felt, maybe some dimmed lighting – a bit of a casino vibe, but elegant, not seedy. Got it?"

"Yes, Señora Grace. Elegant casino, understood."

"Good. And Maria, one more thing. I need to find those flapper-style feather boas. Remember the ones I bought for that New Year's Eve party a few years ago? They're somewhere in the attic. Could you search for them? They'll be perfect for adding a touch of whimsy."

"I will locate the feather boas, Señora Grace. Can I expect any further instructions?"

"For now, that's it. Just make sure everything is sparkling clean, and that the house smells divine. Perhaps some subtle jasmine scent? Not overpowering, just a hint."

"Jasmine, Señora Grace. I will ensure the appropriate fragrance is diffused throughout the house."

Grace smiled. Maria was a lifesaver. "Thank you, Maria. You're a star. I appreciate your help."

"It is my pleasure, Señora Grace. I will ensure everything is prepared to your exacting standards." The line went dead, leaving Grace with a sense of relief. At least the party preparations were in capable hands. Now, she just needed to survive the weekend.Grace stared out the window, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. The setting sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn, but it did little to soothe her simmering frustration.

"Another weekend," she muttered to herself, swirling the wine. "Another Richard-orchestrated extravaganza."

She sighed, the sound heavy with weariness. The Gatsby party was just the beginning. Richard wasn't just showing off his wealth; he was showcasing his possessions – his beautiful wife and his equally stunning daughter, Veronica.

"Veronica," she murmured, the name a bittersweet ache in her chest. "He'll parade her around like some prize pony." The thought stung. Richard's pride in Veronica was genuine, but it often felt performative, a display for his guests.

She ran a hand through her hair, already feeling the pressure building. "The dress," she groaned. "I have to find the perfect dress for Veronica. Something that will make her look effortlessly elegant, but not upstage *me*. It's a delicate balance, that."

She paced the room, the wine glass forgotten on the table. "And the hair! And the makeup! He'll expect her to be picture-perfect. As if I'm not under enough pressure already."

She stopped pacing, her gaze falling on a framed photo of Veronica, laughing radiantly. A pang of guilt hit her. It wasn't fair to resent Richard's pride in his daughter. But the pressure, the constant performance, the need to maintain a flawless façade… it was exhausting.

"It's not just the party," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "It's the whole charade. The constant need to impress, to be perfect. For him. For his friends. For everyone."

She took a long gulp of wine, the bitter taste a reflection of her mood. "And what about me?" she asked the empty room. "When do *I* get to be more than just a beautiful accessory? When do *I* get to be seen, not just admired?"

She set the glass down with a decisive clink. "This weekend," she declared, a spark of defiance flickering in her eyes, "I'm going to survive. I'll make it through. But next weekend? Next weekend, things are going to change." The resolve in her voice was a fragile thing, but it was there, a small flame in the gathering darkness.