The tension in the room was suffocating as Imogen pressed the call button, her eyes locked on mine with vindictive triumph. Everyone at the table leaned forward, waiting for the decisive moment when my phone would ring and expose me as either a liar or the true Mrs. Ricardo.
Nothing happened.
Imogen's brow furrowed. She checked her screen, then pressed redial with more force, as if that would make a difference. Again, nothing. No familiar buzz from my purse, no ringtone breaking the tense silence.
"It's turned off," she announced, frustration evident in her voice. "How convenient."
I kept my expression neutral, though inwardly I was relieved. I'd switched my "Dr. Emma Bella" phone off before the dinner—a standard precaution I took during social gatherings. That number wasn't public knowledge, and I intended to keep it that way.
"Maybe it's because there is no 'real Mrs. Ricardo' besides me," I said calmly.
