Clasping a champagne flute, I started to do the rounds. I checked in with our host, thanked them for organising the event, and let them know I would be happy to donate my time and resources to their next cause.
I crossed seamlessly to a group of society wives whose husbands moved in the same circle as Alessio. At first, it had been hard to crack into their clique. They were significantly older and viewed me as a somewhat young, frivolous trophy wife—despite my own father's status. But they eventually warmed up to me after I impressed them with my knowledge of art and politics. I was also sure Alessio had his hand in my ready acceptance; once they found out that he could buy and sell their husbands several times over.
I gossiped with them while we admired and discussed paintings by Anthony van Dyck and Thomas Gainsborough. I set up a squash game with one of the wives of an Olympic gold medallist and promised a wife with new money that I'd put in a good word for her and her husband to join a private members club.
I was delighted and relieved when I spotted a group of old girlfriends from prep school and spent a significant amount of time catching up with them. Neither of them was married, and I listened intently with envious silence as they filled me in on their university life.
While I laughed with an old friend about a girls' trip we had taken to Monaco, I glanced up and met the eyes of a woman who looked vaguely familiar, yet I had trouble placing her.
She was stunning and appeared to be around thirty, or thereabouts. But what piqued my curiosity was the expression on her face as her blue eyes assessed me. There was a silent judgement in the pucker of her red-painted lips. A quiet disdainin the narrowing of her eyes. Even though she was part of our group, although hanging around the edges, she made no move to introduce herself or be included in conversation.
It wasn't in my nature to exclude people, and I would usually find some way to draw in and welcome a lurker. Yet, something in me held back. A foreboding of sorts that had the small hairs on my neck pricking.
Despite my discomfort, I dismissed her and focused on enjoying my night.
By the time I needed a lavatory break, two hours had passed, and the first wave of silent auction winners were about to be announced.
As I made my way across the room, I spotted Alessio who was listening with a glazed expression as a business acquaintance chatted his ear off. He caught my eye and sent me a droll look that had me giggling. Once I was finished using the facilities, I would rescue my poor husband.
After washing my hands, I stood in front of the mirror to reapply my lipstick. Frankly, it was nice to have a moment to breathe from the exhausting performance of entertaining. But I had managed to cajole extra donations for the Wildlife Trust from bored wives with money to burn, so it was worth the fatigue if it meant more funding for a worthy cause.
I heard a flush, and the only occupied stall door opened. A brunette woman stepped up next to me to wash her hands, and I glanced at the mirror. My stomach clenched. It was the same woman who had been glaring daggers at me all night. She caught me looking at her, so I offered her a polite smile before I recapped my lipstick.
"You're Millie Ferrante, right?"
I glanced back at her through the mirror. She was watching me with an expression that touched on the side of smug.
"Yes. I'm sorry, have we met?''
She tilted her head, her icy blue eyes raking me from head to foot. "Not officially. I'm Annabelle Wentworth."
Ah. That was why she looked familiar. Her father had done business with mine in the past. I had probably seen her at some function.
"You're Alessio Ferrante's wife."
A cold trickle of unease washed over me. I had a sinking intuition deep in my gut since the first time I glanced over and caught her watching me like the cat that got the cream.
I refused to let her rile me, so I simply returned her coy smile with a coldly polite one.
"Yes." I tilted my head and met her stare head-on. "But something tells me you knew that."
I popped open my clutch and placed my lipstick back into its pocket. Cool. Calm. Unaffected.
The smile dropped from her face, and her lip lifted in a sneer.
"You know, I admire you."
"Thank you."
Her breath puffed out in indignant frustration. "It must be hard being married to such a virile, handsome, and powerful man." She paused. "And knowing you're not enough to keep his attention."
I kept my features schooled, not wanting to let her see just how her words affected me. At a leisurely pace, I produced a slim case from my purse and extracted a small mint from inside. I turned and offered one to her. When she continued to stare at me in furious silence, I simply shrugged and slipped the mint between my red lips.
"Your husband was in Manchester last month, wasn't he? On the 16th."
The sharp echo of my mint case snapping shut was the only answer I gave her.
"Ask me how I know."
