Chapter 13 Chiara
Chiara
The sun sinks low over the trees behind the mansion. The sky is a canvas of pink and orange streaks. It almost inspires me to pick up a paintbrush. My mother apparently painted, or so my father once told me after I’d found a bunch of oil paintings stacked under a dust sheet in the attic.
When I’d asked why there were none displayed on the walls of our home, he’d shaken his head and told me not to mention them again.
It had seemed a shame to leave such lovely paintings covered. Even though I was only a kid, I could see my mother had talent, so the next day I went back into the attic, chose my favorite painting—a vase of pink roses—and dragged it downstairs.
Vivian caught me trying to hang it in my bedroom and lost her shit. She snatched it from me and slashed the canvas to shreds. I’d cried for the rest of the day and well into the evening.
Fucking bitch.
Dad installed a padlock on the attic door after that.
I stretch my legs out and wiggle a little to get more comfortable. There’s an open bottle of Muscat on the side table and a half-empty glass. I raided the wine cellar before coming in here. After this morning, I figured I deserved it.
Compared to the humid heat of the last two weeks, the air feels cooler, fresher this evening. I’m wearing a cozy lounge set made from the softest cashmere wool.
A bunch of new clothes appeared in my closet the other day. All of them in my size, the sort of casual garments I love. A handwritten note told me they were from Fina.
She might be Angelo’s sister, but I like her. Any woman who gifts me cashmere lounge sets is a friend for life.
The wine slides down my throat as a warm breeze licks my skin.
Being here is a massive head-fuck. While I hate my new living arrangement, I don’t dislike my new clothes and the delicious food.
As the daylight fades and the sky turns from pink to navy blue, I sip my wine and let my thoughts wander. Almost inevitably, they slide back to Angelo. Or more accurately, how on earth I’m going to get out of this marriage contract.
Since I haven’t actually seen the contract, I don’t know the terms agreed other than I’m to produce an heir. Which is complete and utter bullshit.
I still don’t understand why the mother of Angelo’s heir has to be me. I’m the least suitable option. Fuck, he’d have been better off knocking up a lap dancer in a club and paying her off.
The sound of voices distracts me from my morose thoughts.
A second later, the door swings open, and Luka strolls in looking like a million dollars in well-loved jeans that hug his butt paired with an old, faded tee.
His hair hangs in loose waves over the nape of his neck, and he has a supersize bar of chocolate in his hand.
“For you,” he says with a grin.
“Why?” He pouts at the coolness in my voice.
“To cheer you up?”
“A divorce would cheer me up.”
The flirty little pout turns into a scowl. “If I could smuggle you away from this house with no consequences, I would, cutie.”
My eye roll says I don’t believe him. He’s a good-time guy. In it for the fun. I know his type all too well. I served guys like him at Mack’s bar a million times. They flirted all evening, talked the talk, and as soon as shit got real, they bailed.
A girl I worked with, Mila, hooked up with a guy just like Luka. She thought the sun shone out of his ass until she had a pregnancy scare. The minute she confided in him, he packed his bags and left town. Didn’t even hang around for the test result.
Luckily for Mila, it was negative, but still.
What a douche.
Luka’s no different.
“Seriously, Chiara. I don’t agree with this patriarchal bullshit. Just like I don’t agree that my sister can’t be with the man she loves because he’s not good enough in my father’s eyes.”
I wonder if he means the guard who seemed very overprotective of Fina the other day.
My eyes roll skyward again. “Being born female sucks.”
“I might not be female but trust me when I say Dad was less than thrilled to learn I existed. I think he’d have drowned me at birth if my mother had dared tell him she was pregnant.”
He drops the chocolate bar onto my lap and steps back, raking his fingers through his hair. There’s a hint of pink across his straight nose, where he’s caught the sun. From the scruff on his jaw and the faint shadows beneath his eyes, he’s had a busy few days partying.
My abandonment issues reignite, but I will never turn down chocolate. Especially not artisan dark chocolate with hints of salted caramel.
“Thanks,” I say while tearing into the foil.
“Look, I’m sorry I pissed off without an explanation. I had to go. A brand deal meant they needed photos and shit.”
“Brand deal?” I have no clue what Luka actually does for a living.
“Yeah. I have a big social media following, so I occasionally work with brands in return for things I want.”
“Sounds fun.” It sounds fucking awful, but then, I’m an introvert at heart.
“It can be. But I really didn’t want to go this time.” He moves my legs out of the way and slumps down on the sofa, his hands curled around my calves. It feels intimate. Like we’re in a relationship and catching up on each other’s day.
I don’t hate it, even though I’m still mad he fucked off without telling me. Sensible me knows I really shouldn’t care. He isn’t obligated to tell me anything. Or even hang out with me.
“I’m tired of acting like my life is one long party,” he says out of the blue. “It’s exhausting.”
“I bet. Must be hell hanging out with gorgeous women and going to music festivals.” He snorts at my sarcasm.
“Okay, so I sound like an entitled douche. But seriously, it’s all so shallow. Everyone’s too busy trying to get the perfect shot for their socials to actually enjoy the event.” He huffs out a sigh. “But as long as the brands are happy, that’s all that matters.”
“I’m surprised the family lets you do it.”
“I’m the black sheep, so not really involved in our family. Dad ignores me as long as I don’t attract the wrong sort of attention.”
“Like getting caught with drugs or banging an underage teen sort of attention?”
“Yeah, exactly. Being in the public eye is fine. It ties in with the philanthropic work the family does.” His obnoxious air quotes at the word philanthropic tell me exactly what he thinks of the family’s charitable endeavors.
“Fina told me about the women’s shelter,” I say.
“She did?” He reaches for my wineglass and tops it up before guzzling a generous mouthful.
“Makes sense. She’s proud of that.” Silence fills the air between us as he closes his eyes and says nothing for a few minutes.
Then he continues. “The only reason Dad lets her take on projects like that is to divert attention from the shadier stuff. It’s fucked up.
On the one hand, the family helps abused women, and on the other, they sell the drugs that exacerbate dysfunctional relationships and cause desperate people to succumb to addiction. ”
He’s right.
And now I’m part of their world.
“Anyway, I don’t want to talk about my fucked-up family and pointless life. Let’s watch something fluffy on TV.”
“Don’t you have a home to go to?” Surely he has his own place. I can’t see Angelo wanting him here full-time.
“Yeah, but I hate living on my own. It’s too quiet. I’d rather be here with you.” His puppy-dog expression is so pathetic that I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s not my house, but if you want to watch Love Island with me, I’m game.”
I reach for the remote control, but he snatches it from me. “Nah. I need to catch up on Southern Charmed so settle in, cutie; we have a whole season to watch.”