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“What do you have in mind?” I sneered.
If I could throw money at Francesca and send her off on a shopping spree in Europe to spend some time with her cousin Andrea and get her out of my hair, I would do it in a heartbeat.
At this point, I even considered Cabo as an option. It was still on the same continent, but far enough away from here.
“Take her to her parents.”
“Have you been drinking?” I stared at her blankly.
I hoped not.
Sterling and alcohol were a lethal combination.
“Why not?”
“Because the reason I’m celebrating Romeo’s birthday without Romeo’s presence is due to her father.”
“She is not her father!” Sterling darted up to her feet.
Her palm crashed on the table, producing an explosive sound I didn’t know she was capable of. The fork on my plate rattled and flew across the table.
“His blood is running through her veins. That’s contaminated enough for me,” I said drily.
“But not enough to prevent you from wanting to touch her,” she taunted.
I smiled. “Tainting what’s his would be a nice bonus.”
I stood.
A vase fell to the ground behind me, no doubt knocked down by my future wife. Bare feet jogged across the dark wooden floors, pitter-pattering as they slapped the stairs on her way back to her wing.
I left Sterling in the kitchen to stew in her anger and followed my bride-to-be up with deliberate leisure.
I stopped on the cleft between the west and the east wing when I reached the top floor, before deciding to retire back to my office.
No point in trying to pacify her.
At three in the morning, after answering every email personally, including replying to concerned citizens about the state of Illinois’ tomatoes, I decided to check on Nemesis.
I hated that she was a night owl since I had to wake up every day at four, but she seemed to like getting out of the coop at nighttime.
Knowing my quirky bride-to-be, it was not out of question for her to try to escape her cage. She certainly made a habit of rattling the bars.
I strolled to her room and pushed the door open without knocking. The room was empty.
Rage began to course inside my veins, and I bit down on a curse.
I moved to her window, and sure enough, she was downstairs, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her pink, pouty mouth, weeding a vegetable garden that wasn’t there before I threw her in the east wing and left her to her own devices.
“With a little bit of hope, and a lot of love, you will make it to winter,” she told the…radishes?
And was she talking about herself or them?
Her conversing with vegetables was a new and disturbing twist in her already awkward personality.
“Be good for me, okay? Because he won’t.”
You hardly make the cut for fiancée of the year either, Nem.
