Socks
Bras (size 32B)
Pants or leggings (size small or size four)
Shirts (size extra small)
Pyjamas (size small)
Tweezers
Hairbrush
Ponytail holders or a scrunchy
I stop writing for a moment, tapping the pen against my chin. He mentioned medications. I add a few more lines to the list.
Ibuprofen
Tampons and pads
I blink and draw back suddenly. I almost added condoms to the list. What the hell?
It’s just because it’s similar to pads and tampons, I tell myself frantically. Before any more batshit crazy ideas can pop into my head and nearly knock me off my stool, I shoot the pad across the island towards Curse. But I do it way too aggressively, and it’s going to go flying off the edge.
It doesn’t. Curse’s reflexes are too good for that. He catches it easily, then tucks it into a pocket without looking at it.
Once he has it, he finally leaves the kitchen.
Unsure what else to do, I stay sitting on my stool, watching the numbers on the stovetop timer tick down.
Chapter 13
Curse
With Aurora’s list, I head back through the house to my office.
Every lamp in every single room I pass is on. It’s like I’ve got some magical little fairy flitting around in my house, leaving twinkly lights in her wake.
I don’t turn any of them off.
In my office, I take out her list and scan the items. Her handwriting is impeccably neat but strangely compact. Like the letters are afraid of taking up too much space on the page.
The items on her list give me the same impression. That same feeling of not wanting to impose. It’s the most basic list of necessities imaginable. She even made sure to specify “any brand” on half of it. Like she’s practically begging me to buy her the cheapest, most generic shit possible. I know her family history. I know how filthy rich her papà was. She has to be used to the finer things in life.
Why is she so afraid to ask for them now?
Is it because she thinks she doesn’t have the money to pay me back? Because she thinks that Marco got it all?
I don’t know, but I don’t like it. I’ve got a credit card without a goddamn limit. I can buy her whatever she wants. Whatever she needs.
But I won’t know what the fuck that actually is if she doesn’t tell me.
For now, I’ll work with what I’ve got. She’s still overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and I doubt she wants me cornering her now and demanding exactly what luxury items will make her feel all cozy and at home in this big house I’ve trapped her in.
I take my phone from my pocket and type out a text to Magdelena.
I need you to pick up some items for the next time Valentina comes to visit me, I write. Magdelena has never met Valentina. She won’t know that there’s no way my curvy cousin wears a size extra small top or size four jeans.
