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 Tommaso Grieco.
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. Tommaso sits there among the heads of several families. Emilio Cattaneo 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 Nadia Colosimo.
For nine years, she has been the woman at Tommaso's side.
She still is.
Tommaso wanted to marry her.
Nadia said no.
He accepted her decision.
When his family finally insisted on a marriage, an official Mrs. Grieco, and the securing of the family succession, his choice fell on you.
You also said no.
Then the Grieco lawyers found what your father had been doing with the shipping accounts, and you said yes to a contract with a date on it and a door you are allowed to use. Eleven days ago, you signed it.
Tonight, you wear his ring.
Nadia still lives on the Grieco estate. She still runs his New York office. She still belongs to his life.
And now she sits beside you.
Nadia 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.
"Tommaso 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,"
Nadia 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?"
Nadia 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, Tommaso says something to Emilio. Emilio 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?"