What could I do to wipe that smug look off Maria’s face on Instagram? 

Maybe dig up an old photo of Luca and me, something intimate, just to remind the world who he married. 

But the truth? 

In seven years of marriage, I could barely find a single photo of us that looked romantic. 

Luca always said, “In this business, privacy keeps us alive.” 

So tell me, if privacy’s so damn important, why was he letting Maria post him all over her stories? 

My hands trembled as I picked up my phone. 

I thought maybe she’d already deleted the last post, as that’s what Luca always told me to do. 

Nope. 

Instead, she’d posted again. Just minutes later. 

This time, she was on the beach in a bikini, same color as her tight evening dress from earlier, draped over her arm. 

She had one heel hooked lazily on her pinky finger. 

Then she tossed a handful of water straight at Luca while standing in the surf. 

And he was smiling at her. 

Actually smiling. 

I blinked. Who the heck was filming this? My daughter? Dora? 

They looked like a real family. A picture-perfect one. 

And me? What was I?