Running from hell isnʼt easy. Especially when thereʼs someone dragging you back down into it.
Belligerent, brash and always in shades of black, Freya is hardly a lady. Hidden away by her father, sheʼs lived a normal life despite being born into the...
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I DO NOT DO as Torren Costa ordered and remove all my “shit” from his shower. Instead, I shed my black cami and sleep shorts, throwing it anywhere but his artfully arranged laundry basket, and use his shower like it’s my own.
He is my fiancé, after all. And sharing is caring.
By the time I make it downstairs, the devil is gone.
It’s a good thing, because I can’t take one more second of his insufferable presence. Seriously, how does he manage being such a gigantic asshole?
The smell of warm toast and coffee wafts from the kitchen, making my stomach rumble and effectively distracting me from my thoughts.
I pad over to the kitchen, finding Giulia busy at work, cooking enough breakfast to feed a small village. When she spots me, her stout face spreads into a bright smile. “Good morning, Miss Freya,” she says, “Please, come eat.”
Sunlight pours through the large windows. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this apartment. Our house back on Staten Island is huge — practically a mansion, but the building has an old fashioned, castle-like charm. This apartment is sleek and modern. But even with its beauty, it isn’t warm. It isn’t home. And with every moment I spend here, the glass windows feel less and less like freedom and more like prison walls.
I glance at the feast laid out on the kitchen oasis, taking a seat on one of the bar stools. There’s a stack of waffles doused in syrup, dusted in powdered sugar and topped with blueberries and strawberries. There’s also giant croissants, crispy bacon and a steaming hot heap of eggs.
My eyes widen. “Is this all for me? ”
“Yes,” Giulia says, “You must eat.”
I pass her a concerned look. “It’s too much.”
Her face crunches. “You model? You do…” She pauses to wave her hand as if trying to find the right word. “Come si dice… diet?”
“What? No. I’m not a model. This is way just too much for one person.” I pause, considering the amount of food laid out in front of me. “Have you eaten yet?”
She gives me a look like me simply suggesting it is preposterous. “No.”
Hopping off the barstool, I round the oasis to stand at her side before tugging at her arm. “Come eat with me, then.”
“Miss Freya!” Giulia yanks her arm away from me with wide eyes. “I cannot.”
“Why not?”
She gives me a pained look. “Please understand.”
I get it. She was obviously hired to do her job and stay out of the way, and it’s what she’s used to. It’s clear that my asshole fiancé isn’t the friendliest person in the world. So me talking to her must be awkward. I give up, sighing. “Okay… then what do you do with all the leftover food?”
