I know that look.
I've seen it on women who've lost something they thought was theirs.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Camilla's gaze slides to me. Assessing. Dismissing. All in one glance.
"My wife," Bruno says. His voice is flat. "Antonella."
"Wife." Camilla laughs. The sound is light. Musical. Completely fake. "How wonderful. And how did you two meet?"
The question is directed at me. But she's not really asking. She's testing.
I've dealt with women like this before. At charity events my mother used to drag me to. At school. Everywhere.
Women who smile while they sharpen their knives.
"Through family," I say. My voice is steady. Pleasant. "Bruno's brothers and my father have known each other for years."
"How sweet." Camilla's smile doesn't waver. "A family arrangement. How... traditional."
The implication hangs in the air. Arranged. Forced. Not real.
She turns back to Bruno. Leans closer. Her perfume is heavy. Floral. Suffocating.
"I was so worried about you," she says. Her voice drops. Intimate. "After the accident. I tried to visit, but they said you weren't seeing anyone."
Bruno's hands curl into fists on the armrests. "I wasn't."
"I understand." She reaches out. Touches his arm. "It must have been so hard. Waking up to... this."
This. The wheelchair. The word drips with pity.
I watch Bruno's face. Watch the muscle in his jaw jump.
He's going to explode. I can feel it.
"We should—" I start.
"Tell me," Camilla interrupts, her eyes still on Bruno, "do you remember our last conversation? Before the wedding? You said?—"
"Enough." Bruno's voice cuts through the air like a blade.
Camilla blinks. Her smile falters.
The silence stretches.
Camilla's face cycles through emotions. Shock. Hurt. Anger. All of it quickly smoothed away behind that polished mask.
"Of course." She straightens. Her smile returns, but it's brittle now. Cracked at the edges. "I just wanted to offer my congratulations. To both of you."
She looks at me.
"Good luck," she says. "You'll need it."
Then she turns and walks away.
I watch her go.
There's something almost admirable about women like Camilla. The way they carry themselves. The absolute certainty that they matter. That their presence is a gift. That everyone in the room should be grateful for their attention.