Eventually, I’ll figure something out. Then it occurs to me. If I’m being allowed out to play the part of Angelo’s newly cured wife, perhaps I can use it to my advantage.
12
Chiara
Angelo walks into the kitchen as I sit at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. Dominic has tried repeatedly to make me eat healthy stuff, like fruit and yogurt, but my stubbornness prevails. With much gnashing of teeth, he agreed to add my preferred cereal brands to the shopping list.
I spent too many years listening to Vivian drip poison into my ears each time I picked the unhealthy option. From the minute I hit puberty, she refused to let me eat anything other than half a grapefruit for breakfast.
The minute I escaped, I found the unhealthiest kids’ breakfast cereals known to humankind and fell in love.
Some would say I’m addicted to all the e-numbers and sugar, but those people can go jump off a cliff.
Cocoa Puffs are the best thing ever. Way tastier than dry toast or cardboard granola.
My husband stalks across the room like a panther wearing Hugo Boss. I resolutely ignore him while slurping down the last dregs of the chocolate milk left in my bowl. It’s another blisteringly hot day, so I’m wearing as little as possible withoutscaring small children. Since the household staff ignores me, I usually wander around in bikinis.
I noticed a guard eye-fucking me the other day, but he hasn’t shown up since. Hopefully he’s on annual leave now and not lying at the bottom of the bay, stuffed into a hessian sack.
“For the sake of my staff, I’d prefer it if you wore more clothes,” Angelo remarks while pressing buttons on the coffee machine.
I still haven’t figured out how to work the damn thing. It has more buttons than the space shuttle. Dominic usually takes pity on me in the morning and makes me a cappuccino, but the rest of the time I resort to instant coffee.
“If you don’t like my bikinis, take it up with Luka. He bought them for me.” Angelo grinds his teeth but doesn’t retaliate. “Where is Luka anyway?” As much as I hate to admit it, I kind of miss him. He’s fun, and when he’s around, my days are less tedious.
This mansion may be luxurious, but it’s still a prison.
“Sleeping off his hangover, I expect. He went to a music festival.”
The bitter taste of jealousy floods my mouth. God, I’m stupid. Luka probably sees me as a pity project. An opportunity to piss off his older brother. The minute he gets a better offer, he leaves.
If I’d had a phone, I could have checked his socials and figured out where he was, but since my husband insists on treating me like a five-year-old, I’m not allowed internet access.
“Sounds fun.” I pick up my empty bowl and sashay over to the dishwasher, making sure to bend over so Angelo can admire my peachy ass. The ass he’ll never, ever have.
“I’m sure he enjoyed himself,” Angelo agrees. “He usually goes to these things with a bunch of models and influencers.”
I resist the urge to slam the dishwasher shut before standing and gifting Angelo a beatific smile. His gaze slides down overmy tits briefly before he looks away, jaw clenched. A small smirk escapes.
The pink bikini I’m wearing is a little on the small side. Dental floss offers more coverage, if I’m honest. Pretty sure Luka bought it from a stripper store.
“I’m glad he’s having fun. God knows one of us should enjoy themselves.”
Do I sound bitter?
Probably.
I pick up my drink and prepare to head outside for another long, taxing day of sunbathing. I found some trashy paperback novels in the living room, presumably left by Fina, and I’m halfway through one about a poor woman being forced to marry an arrogant duke.
A case of fiction imitating life. I’m taking notes in case the heroine finds a creative way to off the asshole duke because, so far, it’s fair to say he deserves it.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Chiara. We have an appointment this afternoon.” I freeze.
“Appointment?”
“Yes. At the fertility clinic.”
My blood runs cold.
