Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Thought He Was Free
Rebecca did not sleep.
At seven in the morning, Emily made coffee strong enough to qualify as medicine and placed it on the kitchen table beside Rebecca's phone.
"You are not meeting that woman alone," Emily said.
Rebecca looked up. "What woman?"
"Camille. Because I know that face."
"What face?"
"The one you used to make when Mom said you couldn't climb onto the roof to photograph thunderstorms."
"I was sixteen."
"And you fell through the garage awning."
"Technically, it caught me."
Emily folded her arms. "My point stands."
Rebecca looked back at the message thread.
The unknown number had not responded to any questions. She had sent three.
Who are you?
How did you get this picture?
What does Vittorio want?
Nothing.
At 7:18, Rebecca called Camille.
The woman answered on the fourth ring, her voice tired.
"Hello?"
"Camille, it's Rebecca."
Silence.
Then, cautiously, "From the studio?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Is something wrong with the photographs?"
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Camille still did not know.
"We need to talk about Alessandro."
The silence changed.
"What about him?"
Rebecca looked at Emily, who gave a small nod.
"I'm his wife."
For several seconds there was no sound at all.
Then Camille laughed.
A confused, defensive little laugh.
"I'm sorry?"
"Alessandro Romano is my husband. We've been married for seven years."
The baby began crying in the background.
Camille did not speak.
"Camille?"
"No."
Rebecca heard movement, then a door closing.
"No," Camille repeated. "He told me you were divorced."
Rebecca's throat tightened.
"What?"
"He said the marriage had been over for years. He said you lived separate lives and that the legal part was complicated because of his family."
Rebecca sat down.
There were betrayals that arrived as knives.
Others arrived as mirrors.
This one forced Rebecca to look at a truth she had not considered: Alessandro had not only lied to her. He had constructed a different lie for Camille.
"We were not separated," Rebecca said quietly. "Not legally. Not privately. Not in any way that I understood to mean our marriage was over."
Camille began to breathe unevenly.
"He was at my apartment three nights ago."
Rebecca looked away.
Emily's hand closed around her wrist.
Camille continued, voice breaking. "He held Lucia for two hours. He told me he wanted to make a plan. He said once the situation with his family settled, we would talk about living arrangements."
Rebecca almost laughed again, but there was no humor left in her.
"He told me last month we weren't ready for children."
Camille started crying.
For a moment, neither woman knew what to say.
They had been placed on opposite sides of a story neither had been allowed to read.
Finally Rebecca asked, "Who referred you to my studio?"
Camille sniffed. "Vittorio."
"Did he tell you who I was?"
"No. He said you were the best newborn photographer in the city and that Alessandro was private, so it would be safer to use someone connected to the family."
Rebecca's eyes narrowed.
"Connected to the family?"
"That's what he said. I thought he meant you had photographed Romano events."
"Who paid for the session?"
Camille went quiet.
"Vittorio. As a gift."
Rebecca's skin prickled.
"Camille, I need you to listen carefully. Did Vittorio ever ask for anything in return?"
"No."
"Did he ever ask about Alessandro? His schedule? Where he stayed? Who visited you?"
A pause.
"Sometimes. But I thought he was helping."
"Helping with what?"
"Security."
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Of course.
Protection was the language Romano men used when they wanted access.
"I think you and Lucia may be part of something bigger than the affair," Rebecca said.
Camille's voice sharpened. "Do not call my daughter part of an affair."
Rebecca flinched.
"You're right. I'm sorry."
The apology surprised both of them.
Rebecca continued, "Lucia is innocent. That's exactly why I'm calling. I received a photograph of you with Vittorio. Someone is telling me he arranged yesterday on purpose."
Camille breathed in slowly.
"Why would he do that?"
"I don't know. But I intend to find out."
"And what do you want from me?"
Rebecca thought about it.
The easy answer would have been revenge.
She could have blamed Camille. She could have hated the woman whose baby had the eyes she wanted to see in her own child.
But Camille had just learned she had been lied to, too.
"The truth," Rebecca said. "Nothing else."
They met at noon in a private room behind a bakery in Chelsea.
Emily sat at a table near the front with an unobstructed view of the entrance and instructions to call Rebecca every five minutes if she disliked the look of anyone.
Camille arrived carrying Lucia in a gray infant carrier.
She looked different from the polished woman in the studio. No makeup. Hair twisted into a loose knot. Dark circles beneath her eyes.
She also looked terrified.
Rebecca stood.
For one awkward second they stared at each other.
Then Lucia made a tiny squeaking sound from the carrier.
Both women looked down at once.
The absurdity of it almost broke something open in Rebecca.
Camille sat.
"I brought the paperwork," she said.
She took out a folder.
Inside were medical records, a copy of Lucia's birth certificate, payment receipts, and a paternity report.
Alessandro Romano: probability of paternity greater than 99.99 percent.
Rebecca's eyes lingered on the report.
"Who arranged the test?"
"Vittorio's lawyer."
"Not Alessandro?"
"Alessandro asked for it. Vittorio said he knew a discreet lab."
Rebecca took out her phone and photographed the report.
"Do you have the original email from the lab?"
"No. The results came through the lawyer."
Camille's face changed.
"You think it's fake?"
"I don't know."
Camille pulled Lucia closer.
"She looks exactly like him."
Rebecca remembered the gray eyes.
"I know."
Camille looked at her sharply, then looked away.
"I didn't know about you."
"I believe you."
"You don't have to."
"I said I do."
Camille pressed her lips together.
"He told me the marriage was finished. He never wore a ring when he came to see me."
Rebecca's hand went unconsciously to the bare place on her finger.
"He wore one at home."
That sentence hurt in a new way.
Camille closed her eyes.
"God."
"When did you meet?"
"Fourteen months ago. At the Harbor Foundation dinner. Vittorio introduced us."
Rebecca froze.
"Vittorio introduced you?"
"Yes."
"And Alessandro?"
"He seemed annoyed about it at first."
Camille looked ashamed.
"Then we started talking."
Rebecca did the math.
Fourteen months ago.
The Harbor Foundation dinner had taken place three days after Rebecca and Alessandro's sixth anniversary.
He had told her he needed to stay late because Vittorio had mishandled a donor dispute.
Rebecca slowly sat back.
Camille saw the realization on her face.
"I'm sorry."
Rebecca nodded once.
Then her phone rang.
Alessandro.
She declined the call.
It rang again.
She declined it again.
A message appeared.
DO NOT GO BACK TO YOUR STUDIO.
Rebecca's pulse changed.
Another message came immediately.
VITTORIO'S MAN WAS SEEN OUTSIDE IT THIS MORNING.
Then a third.
I AM NOT ASKING YOU TO TRUST ME. I AM ASKING YOU TO STAY ALIVE.
Camille read Rebecca's face.
"What happened?"
Rebecca turned the screen toward her.
Camille went pale.
At that exact moment, Lucia began to cry.
And from the bakery's front room, Emily appeared in the doorway.
"Rebecca," she said quietly. "There are two men outside asking the cashier if you've been here."
Before leaving the bakery, Camille asked Rebecca one question that neither of them had wanted to touch.
"If you had known about me before Lucia was born, what would you have done?"
Rebecca looked at the infant carrier between them.
"Left him."
Camille swallowed.
"Immediately?"
"I would like to say yes."
Rebecca was quiet for a moment.
"But seven years is a long time. I probably would have demanded explanations. I probably would have believed promises I should not have believed. I probably would have hated you before I understood what he told you."
Camille nodded, eyes wet.
"I think I would have hated you too."
"For being his wife?"
"For being proof that I was not who he said I was."
That honesty settled something between them. Not friendship. Not forgiveness. Just the recognition that both had nearly been manipulated into blaming the easiest woman available.
Camille reached into the diaper bag and took out her phone.
"There are messages you should see."
She opened a thread with Alessandro.
Rebecca's stomach tightened at the intimacy of it, but she forced herself to read.
I wish I could give you a normal life.
Soon we will make decisions.
I cannot explain everything yet.
Trust me a little longer.
Rebecca almost laughed at the last line. Trust had been the currency Alessandro spent most freely when he had least earned it.
Then she saw another thread.
Vittorio.
His messages were different. Practical. Reassuring. Almost paternal.
The hospital suite is handled.
Do not worry about press.
Alessandro is under pressure. Give him time.
The photographer is discreet and connected to us.
Rebecca pointed at the final message.
"When did he send that?"
"Two days ago."
"He chose the studio after Lucia was born."
"Yes."
"Did Alessandro know where the session would be?"
Camille frowned. "I told him the address yesterday morning. He went quiet, but I thought it was because he was worried about being photographed."
Rebecca felt anger rise again.
Alessandro had known before walking through the door.
Maybe only minutes before, but he had known.
He still came.
"Why didn't he cancel?" Camille asked, reading her face.
Rebecca had no answer.
The answer came later, when Alessandro stood in the bakery and admitted the truth.
After the police left, Rebecca asked him directly.
"You knew it was my studio before you arrived. Why did you come inside?"
Alessandro looked at the floor.
"Camille had already driven there with a seventeen-day-old baby. I knew Vittorio had recommended the place. I suspected he wanted me photographed. I did not realize he wanted you behind the camera until I opened the door."
"Then why not turn around?"
His voice dropped.
"Because the second I saw you, I knew running would be another lie."
Rebecca stared at him.
"So you decided to confess by letting me photograph your daughter?"
"No. I froze."
It was the least powerful sentence she had ever heard from him.
And perhaps the most believable.
"You always know what to do," Rebecca said.
"Not that day."
"That does not make it better."
"I know."
Camille watched them, her expression shifting from anger to exhausted disbelief.
"You know what is unbelievable?" she said. "Both of you spent years thinking he was the person who had answers."
Rebecca looked at her.
May you like
Camille adjusted Lucia's blanket.
"Maybe that is the problem."
