Caitan grabs the bag out of Avery's hands and forces the zipper open. She rifles through the bag for a moment, and her forehead wrinkles. The blonde and brunette women crowd next to her, staring into the open bag. Avery smiles—she knows they see the double-wire seam and careful hand-stitched details. No fake bag has such careful details.

Caitan flips the bag over and shakes the contents onto the floor. A pack of tissues, Avery's phone, a credit card, and something wrapped in blue and red foil fall to the ground. Caitan nudges the pile with the toe of her shoe, and a nasty grin spreads across her face.

"Is that what I think it is?" Caitan asks. "I can't believe she brought that here!"

The crowd presses closer, but it's impossible to see what Caitan is talking about—the foil package is now hidden under the hem of her golden gown.

"What do you think I brought?" Avery asks.

"A pack of condoms," Caitan shouts. "I can't believe you'd bring condoms to a dinner with the president. Were you hoping to seduce some other man? Is that why Evan threw you out—because you're a slut?"

The women murmur and gasp. The old gray-haired lady looks pale, and the president's wife's lip trembles with rage. They back away from Avery as if she's carrying some sort of plague.

Avery points at the edge of the wrappers and asks, "You mean that? That's chewing gum."

"That's impossible," Caitan says. "I know what I saw."

"Well, it's easy enough to prove," Avery says with a shrug. "Bend over and pick it up."

Caitan purses her lips with uncertainty, and Avery's smile widens. She thought her plan was foolproof, Avery thinks. But I'm not an idiot—I can spot a fake bag. Besides, the condoms were a dead giveaway. Did she really think I wouldn't notice?

"Wait, let me see the bag," the president's wife says.

Caitan has no choice but to pass the bag to the older woman. The president's wife holds the bag close to her face. She runs her fingers along with the stitches and weighs the chain in her hand. She squints at the anti-counterfeiting label and then passes the bag to Avery.

"You know I'm good friends with the top designers at Hermes," she says. "This bag is definitely authentic. I can tell by the stitching and the labels."

Caitan's face turns bright pink, and she sputters and chokes. She points at Avery and then at the president's wife. Jessica reaches out and snatches her sister's hand out of the air and pins it down by her side.

"Why did you insist my bag was a fake, Caitan?" Avery asks, bending over to pick up her phone, credit card, and gum.

"This is absolutely disgraceful, Mrs. Clifford," the gray-haired woman says. "Your daughter is out of control. Why would she smear a nice woman like Avery in public for no reason? Is she really so jealous and petty?"

"And why would she assume an innocent pack of gum is condoms?" says the brunette with a giggle. "She must be really familiar with that brand of condoms."

The women all turn to Bella for an explanation. Bella's face goes white and then purple, she opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She closes her mouth and tries again, but it looks like she's having a stroke.

"Caitan, dear, did you forget your contact lenses?" Bella finally says. "Perhaps you had trouble seeing everything clearly. Apologize to Avery now, and be more discreet in the future."

Jessica throws her hands over her face and runs away from the table. Avery watches her run through the banquet hall—her long red wig weaving through the crowd as she makes her way toward the exit. Avery almost feels bad for her. Jessica has been cruel before, but she was acting out of love for her brother, she thinks. Caitan is just a jealous, petty-minded snake.

Caitain looks down at her shoes and mumbles, "I'm sorry I mistook your bag and your gum. I did forget my contact lenses."

Avery pats Caitan on the shoulder and says, "It's okay, Caitan—we all make mistakes."

"You're really generous, dear," the president's wife said. "It's kind of you to forgive her after such a terrible accusation."

Avery smiles sweetly and slings the purse over her shoulder. The bystanders leave in small groups to gossip about everything that has just happened, and Avery follows their lead. She nods politely at the president's wife and walks away from the table, looking for a quiet corner she can rest in.

"Hey honey, how are you?" Andrew asks, grabbing her as she passes.

"Honestly, I'm a little tired," she says. "This is a bit overwhelming for a pregnant woman."

"Would you like me to get you a room in the hotel upstairs?" Andrew asks.

"That would be great," she says. "But first, I'd like a glass of water."

As if he's overheard her, a waiter in a black tuxedo appears next to her. He bows his head and offers her a crystal glass of water on a large silver tray. Avery grabs the glass and drinks it in a single gulp.

Andrew leads her to the elevators and takes her up to an exquisite suite. He kisses her on the cheek and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Avery leans over to take her shoes off, but a wave of dizziness makes her stumble. She straightens up and leans against the door. Something inside her feels strange.

She staggers toward the nearest sofa and collapses into the soft cotton. The room seems to spin, and her palms prickle with sweat. She closes her eyes, but a strange sound makes her open them again. It sounds like there's someone at the door.

"Who's there?" she calls.

There's no response, but the door seems to open a crack. A dark, blurry figure stands at the door and then seems to come closer. Avery blinks, but she can't make out the face.

"Andrew, is that you?" she asks.

Her words sound slurred, and she tries to straighten up. The man gets closer and closer, but he doesn't say anything. She balls her hands into fists and forces her eyes open: it's the man she saw with Caitan at the Clifford house.

"You're Caitan's boyfriend, right?" Avery asks. "I'm sorry for what happened back there with Caitan, but you have to know I was only defending myself."

"Yes, I'm Mamai," the man says, towering over her.

"Why are you here?" she asks. "If Caitan wants to talk to me, she can do it herself."

"Oh, I'm not here for Caitan," Mamai says. "I'm here for you."

He puts his hands on his belt and looks her up and down. His eyes linger on her bare shoulders and the tops of her breasts. He smiles and licks his lips appreciatively. Lust fills his eyes, and she can see his erection straining against the front of his pants.

She struggles to stand, putting her hands on top of her stomach. He nudges her gently, and she falls back against the sofa. He glances down at her belly and raises his eyebrows.

"Are you actually pregnant?" he asks.

"That's none of your damn business," she says. "And keep your hands off me."

"Oh baby, I'm gonna have my hands all over you in just a minute," Mamai says. "Tell me, has it been three months yet?"

"Fuck off," she shouts.

"I think I'll stay," he says. "You know, I've never tried a pregnant woman before."

He reaches down and grabs her shoulder, pushing her until she's lying flat on the sofa. She squirms and struggles, but her arms and legs feel heavy as lead. His eyes brighten—he seems to like it when she fights. She goes still, and he climbs on top of her and unbuckles his belt. His dark hair falls over his face, and the smell of his heavy cologne overwhelms her.

"Aren't you afraid your girlfriend will find out?" she asks.

Mamai laughs and says, "Who said having a girlfriend means I can't fuck pretty women?"

Avery raises her hand and tries to slap him, but he grabs it and pins it above her head. With his other hand, he reaches to pull the skirts of her gown up.