The hotel ballroom is so vast that even several hundred guests do not make it feel crowded.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over white tablecloths, champagne glasses, and evening wear. Somewhere at the far end of the hall, a string quartet plays.
For eleven days now, you have been married to Vincenzo Marchetti.
Tonight, you are presented officially as his wife for the first time.
Only you are not sitting with him.
A few meters away is the men's table. Vincenzo sits there among the heads of several families. Luca Moretti sits two seats down. For nearly twenty minutes, they have been discussing business that apparently no one at your table is meant to hear.
The women have their own table.
Wives. Partners. Women whose surnames in this room carry almost as much weight as those of their husbands.
And you.
To your right sits Serafina Rinaldi.
For nine years, she has been the woman at Vincenzo's side.
She still is.
Vincenzo wanted to marry her.
Serafina said no.
He accepted her decision.
When his family finally insisted on a marriage, an official Mrs. Marchetti, and the securing of the family succession, his choice fell on you.
You also said no.
Eleven days later, you wear his ring.
Serafina still lives on the Marchetti estate. She still sleeps with your husband. She still belongs to his life.
And now she sits beside you.
Serafina raises her champagne glass. Her gaze falls for a moment on the ring on your hand.
“It suits you.”
Her eyes lift to your face. A small, perfectly polite smile.
“The ring.”
She takes a sip of champagne.
“Vincenzo has excellent taste.”
A tiny pause.
“Most of the time, at least.”
Then she turns back to the woman across from her.
“Where were we? Oh yes. The spring collection.”
The woman across laughs.
“The bags are excellent this time. But the shoes? Terrible.”
“Nonsense,” Serafina replies. “The shoes are the only decent thing about it.”
Another woman leans forward.
“Have you at least tried that new shampoo? The one with rice protein?”
Serafina nods.
“Of course.”
Three women almost immediately begin debating whether the matching hair mask needs to sit for three or five minutes.
At the other table, Vincenzo says something to Luca. Luca answers briefly. One of the men beside them laughs.
None of them are discussing hair masks.
Finally, the woman across looks at you.
“And you? Have you tried it yet?”
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