Page 3 of Porcelain Lies

“Oh honey, I know all about your little party.” The woman’s voice drips with condescension. “Gianni mentioned it this morning, right before he told me how suffocating you’ve become with all this wedding planning.”

My free hand clenches into a fist. “Put him on the phone. Now.”

“He’s in the shower.” She pauses, and I hear rustling sheets. “But I’ll tell him you called. Again. And again. And again.”

The rage building in my chest surprises me with its intensity. “Listen to me very carefully. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but—”

“No games.” Her voice hardens. “Just truth. Maybe ask yourself why he’s been ‘working late’ so often. Or why he always takes calls in the other room.”

The memory of Gianni stepping onto the balcony last week during dinner, phone pressed to his ear, flashes through my mind. I push it away.

“You’re lying.”

“Check his Instagram. The private one, not the public profile he lets you see. Under ‘g.maranzano2’. Then we’ll talk about who’s lying.”

My hands begin trembling so violently I nearly drop the phone. The woman’s next words echo in my skull: “Leave my boyfriend alone.”

Boyfriend.

The ballroom spins around me as black spots dance at the edges of my vision. My legs wobble, and I stumble backward until I hit the wall. The cool marble against my spine does nothing to stop the violent shaking that’s taken over my body.

“I…” The word comes out as a whisper. I clear my throat, try again. “I don’t—”

“Understand?” She laughs, the sound like broken glass. “Let me make it simple. Gianni’s been with me for months. The ring on your finger? It’s just for show. Something about keeping his investors happy with a stable image.”

My stomach heaves. I press my palm flat against the wall, focusing on the solid surface as my knees threaten to buckle. The diamond on my left hand catches the light, sending prisms across my blazer — mocking me.

“Ms. Fermont?” Maria’s voice seems far away. “Are you alright?”

I blink several times, then nod at her mutely, hoping she’ll leave me be. I can’t answer right now. All I can do is listen to the mocking voice of the woman on the phone.

My legs give out, and I sag into the nearest chair, gripping the edge of the table to steady myself. The woman’s voice continues, each word a knife twisting deeper.

“The apartment you toured? He’s already signed the lease. For us.” She pauses, letting that sink in. “Those business trips to New York? I went with him. Check the Four Seasons reservation history — suite 1242. You’ll find my name right next to his.”

The room tilts sideways. Suite 1242 — where Gianni always insisted on staying. Said it had the best view of the city.

“Stop,” I whisper, but she continues.

“The jade pendant he gave you for Christmas? He bought the matching earrings for me.” Her voice softens with false sympathy. “Oh, and that private wine tasting in Napa last month when he was ‘stuck in meetings’? I still have the photos.”

My stomach lurches. The morning after that “business trip,” he’d kissed me goodbye, pressing a bottle of cabernet into my hands. “A souvenir,” he’d said. “From the distributor.”

My chest constricts, each breath shorter than the last. The phone slips from my trembling fingers, clattering onto the table.

“Ms. Fermont?” Maria’s voice breaks through the fog. “The caterers need—”

“Not now, Maria!” I choke out. I bolt from the chair, shoving past her. My heels catch on the carpet as I stumbletoward the nearest bathroom. The door barely closes behind me before I’m retching into the toilet, my body rejecting everything — the lies, the betrayal, the months of deception.

The cold tile bites into my knees as I grip the porcelain bowl, my engagement ring clicking against the surface. The sound makes me gag again.

Pushing myself to my feet, I stumble to the wash basin and splash cold water on my face, watching droplets trail down my neck and onto my silk blouse. My mascara is smeared beneath my red-rimmed eyes, my lipstick smudged across my chin.

“Get it together,” I whisper to my reflection. “Those kids need you tonight.”

My hands still shake as I dig through my purse for concealer. The diamond catches the fluorescent light, and I yank the ring off, shoving it deep into my bag where I won’t have to look at it. The indent on my finger feels like a brand.

The bathroom door creaks open. “Stella?” Maria’s voice is tentative. “The first guests are arriving.”

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