I was ten years old when I realized that I needed to be a good actress in order for me to get what I want. I needed to cry real tears if I wanted my father to get me something that I wanted. I needed to pretend like I'm having a panic attack when I wanted to withdraw from school. The key to being a good actress is to always be a thousand steps ahead of everybody, and always be prepared in case anything would go the other way. That and always know how to fake the waterworks. Works like a charm.
When my father was rushed to the hospital during my last night in Italy, I knew why. I knew what caused it. So when Lucas admitted that he, too, was slipping something in his drink, I got scared. He was tampering with my plans and if he was, and my father overcomes his coma, then he'll wake up knowing I did something. And I'll get more than a hole in my arm.
Sitting acros
By dinner time, I emerged down the stairs wearing a white accordion skirt, a sleeveless top with a scoop neckline and a pair of neutral pumps. The top exposed the bullet scar my father gave me and a few healing ones from my lovely trip to Mexico. For whatever reason, I wasn't embarrassed to show the battle scars all over my forearms. In fact, tonight might just be the first time that I felt this confident since the incident.Lucas wasn't on the table when I arrived in the dining room, so I decided to wait for him while I'm sending out the invitations from Theresa. In a span of a few hours, Theresa and I had planned almost half of the event. She was good, I'll give her that. The florist will arrive tomorrow morning and the organizer will check the venue in the afternoon. It was just quick work, which was why I didn’t understand why others needed months to do it. Perhaps they don't have Theresa with th
Gregorio Fabuccini had long gorgeous blonde hair that curls just below his shoulders. He had a looped-jabot scarf on his neck, a tight top and trousers that emphasized his fine behind. He looked like a mime I once saw in France. It scared the fuck out of me. He's the florist who Theresa hired for my wedding. He's French who speaks so little English we looked like aliens talking in the backyard garden.The day was perfect for my pink sundress with butterfly sleeves and a pair of nude slingbacks. Thankfully, the garden had a paved walkway that directed us to the fountain. Flowers bloomed everywhere and the grass was beautifully mowed. It seemed almost the perfect day to celebrate the wedding."I want white roses and lilies along the aisle with something navy," I said, fixing my
"I said gold utensils," I pressed when Emily pushed for me to go classic and stick with the silverware. I didn't want classic, I wanted gold knives, spoons, and forks, flutes with golden rims and a silk navy tablecloth. We were done with organizing the ceremony and when I told her I didn't want any rehearsal, she tried to convince me, in which at the end, I won. Now we were in the petty part of organizing. Colors, fabrics, arrangements. Blech! "And I don't care if the tablecloth is too dark, this is my wedding, Emily. So do as I say and list down that it should be gold." "Yes, ma'am," Emily finally nodded, crossing out something from her list and scribbles. "A-and sitting arrangements? Have you planned those or do you want me to—" "I don't give a fuck where the guests sit.
"God, no," I said as Lucas showed me a picture of a man who had grown a red beard, perhaps trying to hide his double chin, from his iPad. He looked almost like a criminal with the burn on his left temple running down his cheek, and the piercing on his lower lip. His face is smug, with bored charcoal eyes and a crooked nose. Lucas and I have been lying on my bed, me in my white cotton robe and him still in his white shirt, sipping my third and his fourth whiskey. A stick of cigarette hung between his lips, the butt a glowing orange. Suddenly my room smelled like the back alley of a cheap bar but I didn't tell him to get rid of it because we were comfortable like this; like messed up people with only alcohol and cigarettes to entertain us. And I've missed the scent of nicotine in the air. In fact, I wanted to grab a stick from the pack but I decided against it. No good will come out of that."His name is Ben
I stared at Lucas, my breath shaky and deep. I stared at him like he just slapped me across the face with his strong, calloused palm as my skin crawled and the world around me suddenly froze. Why would Lucas tell me this? Of all the things he could have said, why did he tell me that he was half Russian? Like me. But even worse, Aurelia’s bastard son. The enemies' blood runs in us. He's one of the most respected men in the Mafia; young men looked up to him and the old ones pat him on the back wishing they were as righteous and notorious as he was. But he had been faking it. Gerlando, the father he grew up knowing, hid it. So did his mother. Did Harriet know, too?And in that moment, hatred rose in me from the surface like a boiling kettle. I hated it that he was just like me, yet he and his family were spared from humiliation and did not become outcasts. Lucas De Marchi should have had the same
The house was buzzing again when I arrived downstairs the following morning in an olive green blazer dress and black ankle strap heels. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, grumpy and pissed. Why? I had a few reasons in mind. One of which was Lucas spilling unwanted information about his family's secret. And the other reason was because I hadn't had much sleep overthinking about it. That and I woke with a splitting headache from the whiskey. I always had low tolerance with men, but with alcohol? Never.So when I woke up at 9, I threw a pillow across the room, knocking a few picture frames off the table across my bed simply because I could. It broke and hit the floor, glass going everywhere. I also took my time in the shower, rubbing off the scent of whiskey from last night and the shadow of Lucas' touch from my hair.I took two aspirins when I left the showe
The rest of the morning, Chase escorted me as I entertained the decorators as they organized the chairs in the garden and the gardeners cleaned the fountain. I yelled at one of the florists when I found him behind a tree, smoking instead of fixing the first few batches of lilies that arrived. Theresa decided to grace us with her presence just a few hours before lunch. She arrived with the golden utensils I wanted and with an apology I shrugged off. But she left immediately to meet another client. I told her I needed her full attention if she doesn't want her career to end, and she promised me she'll spend the entire morning with me tomorrow. It made me more annoyed but I guess it was better than not having her here at all. Chase left to check on things at the rehab facility, and I was alone at the house once again. Lucas was late. Which only made me want to curse the day more than I already have in my head. Refusing to eat alone, I retreated to my roo
Lucas grunted on the floor, pressing his palm against the bullet wound on his thigh I just gave him. Sweat started to bead on his temples and above his lips as he hiss through the pain."Stronza." Fucking bitch, he sneered, saliva coming out of his mouth. Although his tone said he was in serious pain, his eyes, however, glinted with amusement. "Lo hai fatto di proposito." You did it on purpose."Suck it up, Lucas," I said standing and putting away the pistol and the gear. I picked up a clean towel on my way back to Lucas and pressed it onto the wound, catching him off guard."FUCK!" he yelled, throwing his head back in pain. The veins on his neck bulged as he struggled. "What the hell?"