Chiara
The scratchy blanket over my head is itchy as fuck, but I refrain from complaining as we pass through the gate. The security team doesn’t question Luka about where he’s going because, unlike me, he’s free to do what the fuck he likes.
When all the drama is over and Fina is home, safe and sound, I plan to give my husband an ultimatum: either he lets me live a normal life, or he can go fuck a cactus.
“You can come out now, cupcake,” Luka calls ten minutes later. “We’re clear.”
I throw the blanket off and climb over the central console to sit in the passenger seat. This is Luka’s car. A sporty little metallic purple coupe. No doubt it cost a fortune, but I don’t care about that.
“She might not be at home, Chiara,” Luka warns.
“She will be. It’s Saturday. She always has her friends over for lunch on Saturdays. I doubt she’s switched up her routine now that she’s remarried. My stepmother’s boozy luncheons are all about making sure the rest of her coven know she’s Queen Bee.”
“So we’re crashing lunch?” He laughs. “Sounds fun.”
I hum a reply and stare out of the windows as we drive toward my stepmother’s mansion, the one she inherited from her late husband, my father.
My great-grandfather on my father’s side built White Pines when he made a fortune on the railroads in the 19th century. The house then passed to my grandfather, and subsequently, to my father.
By rights, it should have then passed to me as his only child, but Vivian made sure she took everything meaningful from me when he died.
The security guard at the gate barely gives us a second glance when we pull up. He looks in, nods in recognition at me, and then opens the gate. Several cars line the oval driveway, all of them expensive models.
I recognize the custom pink Lamborghini. It belongs to Vivian’s longtime frenemy, Roxanne Palmer; the two of them have been rivals for years.
The sort of friends who air-kiss each other in public and whisper poison in private.
Vivian’s housekeeper, a dour woman in a gray uniform, opens the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here for lunch.” The woman seems confused, which is unsurprising as I’m not invited, and neither is Luka.
Luka gives her a megawatt smile, and the woman blushes fire engine red under his attention. Of course she does. Nobody between the ages of eighteen and ninety is immune to his charms.
“I love your lipstick, is that a Chanel new season color?” The housekeeper reaches up to touch her lips nervously.Dear Lord. She has to be at least fifty. “It’s pretty.” The asshole winks at the poor woman. She’s so flustered she steps aside without questioning us further.
“Good job I’m not the jealous type,” I hiss as I lead him across the hall toward the drawing room, which is where Vivian usually hosts her lunches. It’s a lovely room with faded silk wallpaper and delicate duck-egg blue upholstered chairs.
I loved to read there when I was a kid, and I have fond memories of my father sitting in his favorite chair by the window, reading a newspaper, while I devoured paperbacks like chocolate chip brownies.
The murmur of conversation filters through the open door. I peek in to see Vivian holding court while the other five women sit around a small table piled high with a delicious selection of tiny sandwiches and cakes. None of the women seated will dare take a bite of food as they’re almost certainly using weight-loss injections to maintain their svelte figures.
Roxanne’s chin snaps up when she sees us enter. Her mouth goes slack at the sight of my handsome boyfriend slash lover slash partner in crime. Luka’s phone stuffed in my indecently short denim cut-offs vibrates, telling me Angelo or Kane has finally returned my call, but it’s too late.
The wheels are in motion. For better or worse.
“Hello, ladies,” Luka purrs while biting his lip in excitement at the food on display. Vivian couldn’t look less excited if she tried. A server steps into the room with a tray of glasses and stops dead at the sight of two new guests.
“We need more drinks,” I call. “Hard liquor. None of the usual shit you serve these bitches.” The assembled women clutch their pearls and gasp, scandalized by my coarse language.
The only one who seems vaguely amused is Roxanne. I guess Luka’s arrival has turned a boring lunch into a major gossip event.
“You may as well eat some of that,” I tell Luka, “or it will go to waste. Can I have a word, Vivian?”
“What are you doing here, Chiara? This is no longer your home.”
“No, and why’s that, dear stepmother? Oh wait. Yes. It’s because you sold me off to a stranger while pocketing my inheritance.” I smile as Roxanne chokes on a laugh. This is better than even she imagined.
