11 · pasta and secret glimpses

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I NEVER GOT ALONG with Margaret, Daniel's mother and the devil in disguise

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I NEVER GOT ALONG with Margaret, Daniel's mother and the devil in disguise.

Work wasn't so bad today, and Dominic hadn't phoned me yet. I should be happy, but I kept checking my phone to see if he called or left a text. I drove home with dread running in my mind. I hated to admit but I missed Dominic.

I intended to spend my day reading a book from my TBR and take a nap. I had yet to finish drinking water when my phone rang.

I didn't hesitate to pick it up, and I couldn't help but sound disappointed when Daniel's voice greeted my ear. I was suddenly annoyed, because he called me. But he was my boyfriend and had the right to call me whenever he wanted. I needed to be rational and not act like an ungrateful bitch.

Daniel told me Margaret had informed him that she was coming over tonight to meet us. I took as a sign that she was here to probably stick her nose in our relationship, encourage him to break up with me, and cause some stir between us, because, in her standards, I was no match to him. I was a college drop-out, didn't have a real job with good income, and lastly, I was half-French.

That occurred to her that I was unfit for her son.

Even amidst Daniel's reassurances and a twenty-five minutes yoga session, my mind was a fumbling mess. The idea of spending an entire evening with her sounded distressing enough that Layla's rude mails to me didn't seem so terrible to my eyes.

I called Tina and bitched about her to repress myself from physically harming her. I was glad Margaret lived 3-hour drive away from us and she rarely came here. As usual, I ordered take-out and set the tables and everything.

I scoffed and put white lilies in ceramic vase, it was a must to get on her side which Daniel insisted me to do, but I could care less about it.

Painting my lips with lip gloss, I scanned myself in the mirror and I hated it. Maroon cardigan that covered my wrists and faded jeans. I looked like a good girl. Who was I kidding, trying to pretend someone I wasn't?

The door bell rang and the devil herself appeared at our porch. When she spotted me, she gave me a tight smile, but I didn't miss the distaste in her hazel eyes.

She was a bitch, but she knew how to dress. Her white dress that ended at her knees matched her slender frame. Her straight, sandy blonde hair was tied into an impeccable bun, not a strand sticking out. She was forty-something years old, but her face didn't hold a wrinkle in sight. She used to be a prestigious lawyer and graduated from Harvard, same as her husband who passed away six years ago.

She was a good five inches taller than me and she reminded me of strict college lecturers, intimidating and hard to get along with.

"Mrs. Harris, please come in." I offered her the same fake smile and gestured her to follow me.

She didn't reply and settled herself on the couch and leaned back on it, her leg on the other, her gait regal and composed. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through it, making it known I wasn't worth a glance.

𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬  [18+] Where stories live. Discover now