Page 2 of Porcelain Lies

Is something wrong?

Did he miss his flight?

An accident, maybe?

God, not that!

I shake my head, pushing aside my increasingly irrational thoughts. Then, I slip into the quiet alcove near the service entrance, away from the bustle of preparations. I need to pull myself together. I never let myself get this frazzled… and over nothing. Because this is nothing.

I’m certain of it.

I am.

My fingers trace over the diamond on my left hand, remembering the night Gianni proposed. The way his eyes sparkled in the candlelight at Spago, how he’d arranged for the violinist to play our song.

“You’re my forever,” he’d whispered, sliding the ring onto my finger.

Just last week we’d toured that brownstone in Pacific Palisades, planning where we’d put the nursery. Gianni had lifted me onto the kitchen counter, kissing me as sunlight streamed through the bay windows.

“Two kids,” he’d said. “A boy and a girl.” His hands had settled on my waist, hazel eyes full of promise.

The memory warms me, but something cold slithers through my chest. That morning he’d seemed distracted, checking his phone constantly during breakfast. When I’d asked about his business trip to LA, he’d changed the subject.

No. I’m being paranoid. Gianni loves me. He wouldn’t miss this — not when he knows how much the children’s cancer foundation means to me. Not after all the work I’ve put in.

My fingertip traces over his contact photo — us laughing on the beach in Malibu, his arms wrapped around me from behind. The anxiety churning in my stomach pushes me to try one more time. I press call, holding my breath as it rings.

My steps echo through the grand foyer as I check the entrance doors for the hundredth time. Any moment now, Gianni will burst through those gleaming brass handles, armsfull of white roses — my favorites. He’ll have that crooked smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Traffic was insane,tesoro,” he’ll say, kissing my cheek. “But I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

A delivery cart rattles past, yanking me from the fantasy. I turn back to the ballroom, where Maria waves frantically from across the room.

“The projector’s acting up,” she calls out. “And the silent auction items need final pricing.”

I nod as I weave between tables to the offending projector. The tech team huddles around the temperamental equipment while I adjust bid sheets, but my eyes keep drifting to those doors.

Maybe his car broke down. He could be stuck somewhere without service. Or there was an emergency at work — those venture capital deals can be unpredictable. But he’d find a way to let me know, wouldn’t he?

“Ms. Fermont?” A volunteer holds up tangled strands of fairy lights. “Where should these go?”

“Around the stage pillars.” I demonstrate the spiral pattern with my finger, before glancing down at my screen yet again.

Alright, I’ll try one more time. Then I really need to stop acting like a hysterical girlfriend — scrap that; fiancée — and get down to work.

I hit the call button. The screen lights up — “Call Connected.” My heart leaps into my throat as Gianni’s number finally connects after hours of silence.

“Gianni, thank God—” The words catch in my throat as an unfamiliar female voice cuts through the speaker.

“Who is this?” Sharp. Cold. The hostility in her tone makes my spine stiffen.

“I’m calling for Gianni Maranzano.” My voice stays steady despite the tremor in my hands. “This is his fiancée.”

A harsh laugh crackles through the line. “His fiancée? That’s interesting, considering I’m in his bed right now.”

The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet. I grab the edge of a nearby table, knocking over an empty champagne flute. It rolls across the white tablecloth but doesn’t fall.

“I don’t know who you are,” I say, heat rising in my cheeks, “but this isn’t funny. We have an important charity event tonight and—”

---