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“Don’t forget your drink, Savannah.”
Caught.
“‘kay,” I mumble my agreement. Then wait until he’s out of the bedroom, and the door is shut, before I dart back to the nightstand and grab the glass and pills.
* * *
I spotsome green paint on the side of my pointer finger, so I rub it off onto my flannel before pressing the button that will grind the espresso beans.
I made Cici show me how to use this fancy machine after having one of her lattes this morning.
The drink––that tasted like cherries––that King gave me this morning, plus painkillers and a hot shower, went a long way to making me feel human. But now, after spending a few hours working on a new canvas, I’m in need of an afternoon caffeine boost.
The grinder rumbles to life and the scent of freshly ground beans fills the air.
“It’s shit like this…” I murmur to myself with a wry smile.
Becauseit’s shit like thisthat could make a girl give up the fight entirely.
I mean honestly, what would I even do with my old life after all of this.
Just as I’m thinking that, the doorbell rings and my mind immediately jumps to Aspen.
Ah, yes, the downside of this new life––a sister-in-law that wants to murder me.
I stand still for a moment.
Is someone else going to get that?
Am I supposed to be answering the door?
But I know King said he’d be busy today. And I haven’t seen any of the staff in a while…
With a groan, I trudge through the house.
“Don’t worry, I got it,” I say to no one.
With King dressed down, I didn’t feel weird putting on my usual painting clothes–– leggings, bare feet––because it makes me feel grounded, a tank top with a built in support layer. I can’t be artistic while wearing a bra and an oversized black and white flannel buttoned most of the way up. I don’t like wearing aprons and I’ve found it’s just easier to have one shirt I can constantly wipe my paint-hands on, rather than ruining half my wardrobe. But now, as I approach the front door, I’m wishing I’d worn something else. Because it’s one thing to be hated. It’s another thing to be hated while looking like a slob.
Bracing myself, I unlock the deadbolt on the front door and swing it open.
And come face to boobs with…not Aspen.
I really gotta stop assuming it’s her. I’m zero for two.
“Um, hi,” I greet the woman.
“Hello,” she smiles, and I can’t help smiling back.
She looks like a politician, wearing a navy-blue skirt suit that hugs all her curves. And there’s a lot of them. Honestly, she’s built like me, only six feet tall.
I step back and hold an arm out to welcome her in. With a gated driveway and a crew of armed security, I figure she has to be a known person around here or else they wouldn’t have let her just come to the door by herself.
And with the professional way she’s dressed, I’m guessing it’s some sort of business meeting.
Hopefully King went up and changed while I was in the studio, or else this is going to be awkward for him.
But since I think King is still in his office, and I don’t know the protocol of bringing people to him or making them wait, I figure I can do mywifely dutyand entertain her.
