Chapter 10: Count the Left Hand

By breakfast the photo had forty thousand views.

Fiorenza read the comments out loud in Italian and then closed the laptop with both hands.

"The Ravello gala is tonight," Matteo said. "I can cancel it."

"No," I said.

"Nora."

"Carmela wants me to hide in this house with the curtains shut. I'm not going to."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"Then you'll go as my wife," he said.

The dress was dark green silk. Fiorenza had taken it in at the waist and pinned the hem herself.

I wore no scarf.

At the ballroom door, Matteo offered me his arm, and I put my left hand through it.

Four hundred people turned to look, and phones came up all around the room.

I kept my chin level and walked down the stairs.

The Morettis were at a table near the stage.

Salvatore sat at the end, in a black suit, with his untouched glass in front of him.

Antonella was beside him in pearl-gray, and she gave me a smile with nothing behind it.

Carmela stood up in a red dress with a group of her friends around her.

"Poor Nora," she said, loud enough to carry. "She was always dramatic. I'm sure the bald look is a choice."

Her friends laughed.

I stopped beside her.

"Hello, Carmela," I said. "Was it hard to get the angle through the window?"

She flushed.

"I don't know what you mean."

"The photo. It's very good. You've got my best side."

Someone near us coughed to hide a laugh.

"Don't be rude," Carmela said. "I only worry about you."

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