Chapter 3: The Woman in the Doorway
The voice belonged to Elena.
Marcello's sister stood in the doorway of the guest room with her arms crossed and her jaw set.
She was still wearing her coat.
She had not even been at the party downstairs.
She had come specifically for this moment.
Diane turned slowly.
The prosthetic belly was still in Marcello's hands.
"Elena." Diane's voice came out like a question.
"Don't say my name like we're friends," Elena said.
She stepped into the room.
Her eyes moved from Diane's face to the silicone belly to Marcello.
"Put that on the bed, Marcello.
She's going to need to explain it."
"I don't need to explain anything to you."
"No," Elena said.
"You need to explain it to him."
Marcello set the prosthetic down on the white duvet.
Under the bedroom light it looked almost grotesque — perfectly shaped, skin-toned, designed to be invisible under fabric.
It had a weight to it.
A purpose.
This had not been purchased on an impulse.
"How long?" Marcello said.
Diane didn't answer.
"Diane.
How long have you been wearing this?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
She looked at the window.
Her chin lifted slightly, the way it always did when she was buying time.
Marcello had seen that gesture a hundred times across dinner tables and boardroom meetings.
He had always thought it meant she was thinking carefully.
Now he understood it meant she was calculating.
Elena moved further into the room.
"Tell him what you told the lawyer, Diane.
Tell him what you told my father's estate attorney four months ago."
Marcello's head turned.
"What lawyer?
What does my father's estate have to do with this?"
Elena kept her eyes on Diane.
"She went to Benedetti's office in March.
She told him she was pregnant.
She said the child was Father's.
She said that meant she was entitled to a share of the inheritance under the terms of the family trust."
The room felt like it tilted.
Marcello looked at Diane.
"My father has been gone for six months."
"Yes," Elena said.
"She moved fast."
"That is not what I told him," Diane said.
Her voice sharpened.
The composure she had worn all evening — the ballgown, the perfect posture, the practiced smile — was cracking at the edges now.
"I told him I was expecting.
I told him it was a private matter.
I never said anything about the trust."
"Benedetti's assistant took notes," Elena said simply.
"I have them."
Diane's mouth closed.
Marcello placed both hands flat on the bed, either side of the silicone belly, and stared at it.
He was doing the arithmetic in his head.
He could see it on his face — the months, the dates, the timeline of his father's illness, the timeline of Diane's supposed pregnancy, the timeline of the meetings nobody had told him about.
"How far along did you claim to be?" he said quietly.
Diane said nothing.
"Elena."
"Five months," Elena said.
"As of March."
Marcello straightened up.
"Then you would be eight months now."
Diane stood completely still.
"Show me your stomach," he said.
"Marcello —"
"Take it off.
The dress.
Show me."
The silence in the room lasted four full seconds.
Then Diane reached behind her neck and unclipped the top of her gown.
She turned slightly.
Let it fall.
There was no pregnancy.
There had never been one.
Her stomach was flat and smooth and entirely real and there was nothing there at all.
Lily, still holding Marcello's hand, looked up at him.
"See?" she said.
"I told you."
Marcello picked his niece up and held her against his chest.
He didn't look at Diane again for a long moment.
When he finally did, his voice was very quiet.
"Who else knows about this?"
Elena reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone.
She set it face-up on the dresser.
The recording app was running.
May you like
The timer read fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds.
"They do now," she said.
