Chapter 3: The Photograph
Alessandro took the photograph from his mother's hand.
It was small.
Creased down the middle as though it had been folded and unfolded many times.
The image was faded at the edges but clear enough in the center — two people standing close together outside a restaurant.
A man with his arm around a woman.
Both of them laughing.
The man was Alessandro.
The woman was not Bianca.
"Where did you find this?" he said.
"In the side pocket of her bag." Elena kept her voice steady.
"She left it on the chair when she went to get her veil.
I wasn't looking for anything.
It fell out when I moved it."
Bianca hadn't moved.
She stood near the window, her hands loose at her sides, watching Alessandro study the photograph.
"That's nothing," she said.
"An old picture.
It means nothing."
Alessandro looked up.
"Who took this?"
"I told you.
It's nothing."
"You told me you'd never met Carla." He held the photograph up.
"This was taken outside Carla's restaurant.
I know because I was there.
I remember that night." His voice dropped.
"I just don't remember you being anywhere near it."
Bianca's expression didn't break.
But something behind her eyes shifted — a small, fast calculation.
"You're going to cause a scene over an old photograph on your wedding day?"
"Answer the question."
"Alessandro." She stepped toward him, her tone softening.
"There are two hundred guests downstairs.
Your family.
My family.
The priest is already waiting.
You want to do this now?"
Rosalie had guided Livia to the small settee near the wall.
The girl sat with her knees together, one hand pressed to the shorter side of her hair.
She wasn't crying anymore.
She was watching Bianca the way a child watches something they don't fully understand but know to be afraid of.
Elena moved to stand beside Alessandro.
"There's something else," Elena said.
Bianca's chin lifted slightly.
"Of course there is."
Elena reached into the pocket of her jacket and produced a folded piece of paper.
She didn't unfold it.
She held it out to Alessandro.
He took it.
Opened it slowly.
It was a printed email.
The date at the top was eleven days ago.
The sender's name was a woman Alessandro didn't recognize.
But the recipient address was Bianca's — her personal account, the one she'd shown him once when they were setting up shared calendars.
He read the first two lines.
Then he stopped.
"What is this?" he said quietly.
"I don't know what she's shown you," Elena said.
"But I know what that says."
Bianca moved toward him.
"Let me see that."
Alessandro stepped back.
One step.
Just enough.
"It says," he began, then stopped.
He looked at Bianca directly.
"It says the transfer was confirmed.
Forty thousand euros.
Sent eleven days ago." He turned the paper slightly.
"To an account in her name."
The room was completely silent.
"Whose account?" Rosalie asked from across the room.
Alessandro looked at the bottom of the email.
His jaw set.
"Carla's," he said.
Bianca's smile returned.
Smaller this time.
Controlled.
"You have no idea what you're reading," she said.
"Then explain it to me."
She reached up and adjusted the strap of her dress.
Calm.
Deliberate.
As though the question had been about the weather.
"I want a lawyer present before I explain anything to you."
The word landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
Alessandro set the email down on the vanity beside the scattered cosmetics.
He set the photograph on top of it.
"Get one," he said.
"Because the wedding is not happening today."
Bianca's eyes went cold.
"You will regret this."
"Maybe." He walked to the door and opened it.
"But not as much as I would have regretted the alternative."
He held the door open and waited.
Bianca didn't move for a long moment.
Then she picked up her bag from the chair — slowly, deliberately — and walked out without looking at anyone.
May you like
The door closed behind her.
Livia let out a breath that sounded like it had been held for a very long time.
