Chapter 19
WILLOW
So Amber’s mum wasn’t just a lush, she was a convicted criminal. Talk about a plot twist! Didn’t see that coming. Don’t think anyone did, especially Dom. He looked like someone had just tapped him on the shoulder and told him his winning lottery ticket was counterfeit.
As juicy as her revelation was, I couldn’t help admiring Amber for telling us.
It would have been so easy for her to keep it on the down-low.
She must’ve known she’d be judged, especially by uber snobs like Simone and Victoria.
Barney’s a pompous prick, too. I can just imagine the bitching sesh they’ll be having the moment they get the chance.
I pick up my phone and scroll idly through my Instagram and TikTok feeds. I check my messages, reply to a few and ping off some more. I’m debating whether to stay in my room and watch Netflix or head down to the pool to grab some rays when my door flies open and the Wicked Stepmother storms in.
Outraged, I shriek, ‘Do you mind? I could have been getting changed!’
‘Well, you’re clearly not.’ Simone’s hands are on her hips, her eyes narrowed. ‘Where are my Tiffany earrings?’
‘What Tiffany earrings?’
‘The ones your father gave me to wear at our wedding. They’re not in my jewellery box. I assume you’ve borrowed them?’
‘Why would I want to borrow anything of yours?’ I try to sound as scathing as possible, but Simone just gives an angry shake of her head.
‘Don’t make me laugh. What about my black Louboutin biker boots?’
She’s got me there and she knows it. Yes, I did borrow her precious bloody Louboutins for a party and, yes, I was sick over them and she had to sell them because she couldn’t get rid of the smell, but I sure as hell haven’t touched her earrings.
‘OK, apart from the boots. Why would I want to borrow your Tiffany earrings? Give me some credit.’
‘Your father’s lost his Rolex, too.’
‘He’s always losing his Rolex,’ I point out.
She sighs, because she knows it’s true. ‘Well, if you see either my earrings or your father’s watch perhaps you can let me know.
’ Her gaze flickers over my shoulder to the clothes on the bed, the coffee cups on the bedside cabinets and the make-up and toiletries strewn over the dressing table.
‘And, in the meantime, clear this mess up, for Christ’s sake.
You’re seventeen, Willow. You can’t expect Maria to clean up after you forever. ’
Simone turns on her heels and flounces out, leaving me seething.
Firstly, what gives her the right to barge into my room without knocking, like she owns the place?
Fact: she doesn’t. Dad does. I’ve seen the deeds.
Secondly, accusing me of nicking her earrings?
Please. They might have cost over ten grand, but they look like something you’d buy on QVC on a Saturday night after too many glasses of wine.
I wouldn’t be seen dead in them. Not unless I was auditioning for a part in Real Housewives, anyway.
And then the Maria thing. She’s the one who treats Maria like her personal skivvy, not me.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s classic Simone, twisting the truth to suit her narrative. Even so, I spend ten minutes shoving clothes under the bed and sweeping the clutter on the dressing table into the top drawer. Not because she told me to, but because I like proving her wrong.
It’s tiny as acts of defiance go, but I’m playing the long game. I have a surprise up my sleeve for my Wicked Stepmother. A big juicy surprise that’ll knock the self-satisfied smile off her face once and for all.
I pull on my bikini and sarong, grab my phone and my Kindle and head down to the pool with a spring in my step.
Reaching an empty sunlounger, I shade my eyes and look back up the steps.
Villa Paradiso looks as pretty as a postcard.
The blue shuttered windows, the lipstick-pink bougainvillea, the white walls shimmering in the heat.
I snap a pic for my Instagram and caption it, A little slice of Grecian heaven.
It might look like some kind of perfect idyll. Only I know the cracks are already showing.
Not long now before everything comes crashing down…