Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 142640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 713(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 475(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 713(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 475(@300wpm)
I drag my eyes off him and try to focus on the show. Five minutes later one of the top models struts down the runway and I watch her in awe…now she is beautiful.
She oozes sexiness and confidence, I smile as I watch her strut her stuff, I have to admit she’s absolutely killing it.
Go girl.
She gets to the end of the runway and bends and blows a kiss to Giuliano, he smirks up at her and replies with a sexy wink.
What?
She’s with him?
Ugh…. It’s the model from the paper. Of course, this all makes sense now, the puzzle as to why he’s here clicks into place.
Asshole.
No wonder he doesn’t want to see me again, here I am worrying about his feelings after the funeral and he’s over there sleeping with the hottest woman alive.
Typical.
I clench my hands on my lap, I’m infuriated. I get overly hot and begin to perspire, I could literally stab someone right now.
Him. All him. It’s all about him…stupid, womanizing, criminal, fucking asshole.
“Oh my god,” Anna whispers as she sees him.
“Sshh,” I cut her off. “I saw.”
“They’re together?”
“Who fucking cares,” I snap.
“Oh God, can you imagine their babies.”
I clench my jaw so hard that my teeth nearly crack. “Wouldn’t want to.”
The rest of the show is a blur, I can’t focus, I can’t enjoy myself and relax. I just want to run.
Far, far away from him and everything he represents. My father’s infidelity, my family’s corruption and my desire for a man who turned out to be my brother.
Ugh, I can’t believe this.
All Giuliano Ferrara does is upset me, he goes and plants doubt in my mind about life and Marcel and then is so horrible that I cry myself to sleep, without a care in the world.
For what? Why would he even bother?
He has a girlfriend and not just any girlfriend, Amber fucking Lopez.
The finale starts and I can’t stand it for a moment longer, I lean over to Anna. “I’ll meet you outside.”
“What?’
“I have to see someone.”
“Who?”
I stand without another word and make my way outside, I burst through the doors and am met with sunlight and fresh air. I tip my head back and let the sunshine beam down on my face.
“What are you doing?” a deep voice says.
I snap my eyes open to see Giuliano standing before me.
We stare at each other and damn it, it’s there again. That swirl in the air that steals my breath.
Suddenly I feel unhinged, I want to punch him in the face, say something terrible, do anything to hurt him like he hurts me.
But I won’t, because I’m better than that and damn well too good for him.
Without a word, I turn my back and walk to my car, my driver opens the car door and I climb in.
He doesn’t deserve a reply, I owe him nothing.
Giuliano Ferrara is dead to me.
* * *
I stare at the blonde in the mirror and I readjust my wig, I pull the electric-blue cap low over my face and put on the dark-thick rimmed glasses. I’m wearing a baggy floral dress.
I’m unrecognizable, even to myself.
Giuliano told the guards that I wasn’t permitted to go to Rome under any circumstance and normally I would have confronted him and argued my case.
But I don’t want to see him, at all, ever. And I’ll be damned if I’m giving him the satisfaction of asking for anything from him ever again. Least of all his fucking permission to go somewhere.
I cried myself to sleep last night, mourning the loss of the beautiful boy I once loved.
I don’t even know why his nastiness of late has affected me so much. It shouldn’t matter and I most definitely shouldn’t care.
That damn funeral is all to blame, I should never have gone, it seemed to bring up unresolved feelings I have toward him, ones that I have pushed to the side and carried deep within my heart for years.
But anyway, screw him, I have better things to do with my life than cry over hurtful words from a criminal. Who is he to judge me?
When I was young, he hated how my family treated me, how I wasn’t allowed out.
It’s ironic that he’s one of them now and is trying to do the exact same thing.
Karma will get him; my conscience is clear.
I put my clothes into a pink backpack and I throw it over my shoulder and look at myself in the mirror, I giggle and take a photo of myself.
This outfit is the living end.
Okay, here goes nothing. If I get past the guards, I have free rein to go to Rome by myself. I’ve told them that I’m working from home for the next three days and I’ve bought a ticket on a commercial flight, a hotel and have downloaded the Uber app.