Page 12 of Porcelain Lies

“Were they? Or were they just protecting themselves?”Boyana’s tone turns sharp.“Like Gianni was protecting himself by not telling you about his other woman.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it? Lies are lies, sestrichka. Whether they’re about a secret sister or a secret lover.”

The fluorescent light above me flickers, casting strange shadows on the service corridor’s walls. “At least Mom and Dad loved us.”

“Did they? They lied about me. About why we left Russia. About everything.”

“Stop it.” I press my palms against my temples. “They did their best.”

“Just like you did your best to believe Gianni’s excuses? The late nights at work? The mysterious business trips?”

“Ms. Fermont?” A staff member’s voice breaks through my spiral. “We need your approval on the final auction arrangements.”

I straighten up, smoothing down my skirt. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

“Run away,”Boyana whispers.“That’s what we Fermonts do best, isn’t it?”

“Not anymore,” I mutter, squaring my shoulders as I turn toward the main hall. “Not this time.”

I move through the final auction arrangements on autopilot, checking off items on my tablet. My fingers tap across the screen with practiced efficiency while my mind spins with darker calculations.

“The Carters’ bid on the Aspen getaway needs processing,” Maria says, hovering at my elbow.

“Right.” I swipe through the forms, my signature flowing across dotted lines. Each stroke reminds me of the contracts Gianni and I signed to secure venues and wedding specialists. Was he laughing at me all along?

The thought stops my pen mid-stroke. Nick’s involvement in Gianni’s business dealings suddenly takes on a sinister edge.All those late-night meetings my brother claimed were about investment opportunities…

“The catering staff needs direction on breakdown timing,” another coordinator interrupts.

“Schedule it for midnight.” My voice stays steady even as my stomach churns. “Make sure they document everything for the invoice.”

Invoices. Like the ones Nick showed me last month, claiming Gianni was helping him start a legitimate import business. Was any of it real? Or just another smokescreen for whatever they’re actually doing?

Mrs. Abercrombie catches my eye across the room, raising her champagne glass in appreciation. I return her gesture with a smooth smile, the same one I’ve worn in countless photos with Gianni at events like this.

“Interim numbers for the silent auction are ready for review,” Maria says.

I nod, scanning spreadsheets while memories surface of Gianni’s laptop screen, quickly closed whenever I entered his office. The way he’d brush off my questions about certain business partners. How he always handled Nick’s paperwork personally.

My fingers tighten around the tablet. The numbers blur as questions pile up behind my professional mask. How deep does this deception go? What else don’t I know about the man I almost married?

One thing’s certain — I need answers. And I know exactly where to start looking for them.

Chapter Four

Aleksei

The engine revs in response to my shift in gears.

For a brief moment, Olga’s hollow cheeks and sunken eyes flash through my mind. She’s lost at least fifteen pounds since my last visit. The makeup-free face, the way her clothes hang from her — she’s hiding something.

Traffic crawls to a stop on Wilshire Boulevard. A construction crew blocks two lanes ahead, forcing cars to merge. I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, remembering how she dodged my questions about her health. Kept changing the subject to Bobik’s progress with the new wheelchair.

“Blyad.” My jaw clenches. That woman has helped raise my son for years, never complained, never asked for more than I offered. The least I can do is ensure she stays healthy enough to continue caring for him.

The line of cars inches forward. A horn blares behind me, some impatientmudakin a Tesla. I ignore him, pulling up my phone’s contact list. Boris answers on the first ring.

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