Novel & Cerita Monica Shameless Thanksgiving

Thank you' Oh Shit.

Monica’s laughter boomed behind her, loud and delighted. Stacey’s legs trembled. She knew she couldn’t handle this. She did the only thing she could think of. “Monica, please,” she said, breathing shakily. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t ever get on your bad side again. I can’t do this.” She gestured helplessly at the filth. “Give me something else. Not this. Please.” Monica placed a hand dramatically over her chest. “Awww, I’m soooo touched.” She wiped imaginary tears. “But it’s too late. If you had begged ten minutes ago, I might have listened.”

If Monica wasn't wrong, inside that bread, there was Iberico pork cutlet, caviar, foie gras, and truffle which made it very expensive. Monica was, of course, quite curious and also bought the same bread. Nana looked at Monica with bewilderment and apologized. "Sorry for not telling you about the special bread before, here's the money." "....Seeing you apologize honestly makes me quite uncomfortable for some reason," Monica said while looking at Nana weirdly. "What did you say?!" Nana was annoyed. "In this situation, you should say thank you, not sorry," Monica said with a smile. Nana looked at Monica for a while then there was a bright smile on her face. "Thank you, Monica."

Tony felt his stomach grumble at the mention of food. "Comin'!" They called in unison as the old man disappeared around the corner. On the way back around the house to the front door, Tony had an extra pep in his step. It was Thanksgiving, he was with his brother, they were about to eat a ton of delicious food, and there was a shit-ton of things for them to be thankful for. Not only that, he had a family, an awesome boyfriend that didn't get bent out of shape if he wanted to spend a holiday elsewhere, and a beauty named Marla to admire. Tony couldn't have been more at peace with the world if he tried and he hadn't even eaten yet.

After all these years, it was hard to believe that everything we had could be overshadowed by Zara’s presence. I said, “Okay, go eat. I still need to head back.” Monica nodded, her voice softening. “It’s Thanksgiving in a few days. I want to spend it with you.” “Thanksgiving is in a few days?” I asked, surprised. “Yes.” “But, Monica, the Marshall family always goes on a holiday during Thanksgiving. I’m afraid I can’t spend it with you.” Her anger flared again. “Fine! Then you must make it up to me next time.”

Casinos, docks, private clubs, and off-the-record deals could call him away at any hour, so a sudden emergency sounded reasonable enough. My mother only squeezed my hand and said that as the future Donna, I would have to get used to the weight of his position. I had barely sat down when my phone lit up. Cassia had updated her story. Nine photos. One caption. [Someone remembered I hate spending Thanksgiving alone. Thank you for the surprise.] In the photos, the custom basket I had picked was already open. The pumpkin pie sat in neat slices. The turkey roll lay on a silver platter. The nut-free cookies sat beside a glass of red wine.

He arrived in a few seconds and stood with the empty tray on his hand. Monica left the two glasses on the tray as she took the microphone from the host with a bright laugh, touching his arm briefly which made him give her room to use it. Just then, A spotlight found Her and she started speaking. “Merry Christmas friends,” she said in a warm and rather calm tune. “Tonight has been… extraordinary.” Applause rippled through the room. I stayed still but every muscle in my body was tight. Monica continued, pacing slowly across the stage.

“Where the hell are you? We’ve been knocking.” I pushed myself upright slowly, my body still heavy from last night. Then a loud knock hit the door downstairs before I could even stand fully. Another one followed. Harder. Impatient. I limped down the stairs and opened the door. Monica slapped me before I properly saw her face. My head turned with the force of it. Heat spread slowly across my cheek. “You shameless woman.” She pushed past me immediately. “Dancing with my son in front of everyone like some desperate little whore—”

I questioned back. Monica glared at me with baffled disdain. “Excuse me? I’m worth millions—” “Maybe on paper.” I took a step closer. My vicious glare never left her. “But what about your actual character actually makes you valuable, Monica? Because I can’t seem to think of a single goodman thing. I know it was you who tried to sabotage the press conference. How did that turn out for you by the way?” “That joke of a press conference doesn’t matter anymore. All that anyone will be talking about is how you were offered money to leave James alone. All anyone is going to ever see you as is a common whore,” she spat out.