Emperor of Mayhem

f i f t y - f i v e

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YOU LOVE HIM NOT
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Mrs T doesn't seem to like Mikhail for some reason I was still trying to figure out. She always found one reason or the other to introduce him in a topic just so she could throw insults at him or degrade him.

This, of course, appeared rather strange to me. Because what I was told was that she was hired to teach Putin some Nigerian cuisines for reasons I chose not to dig into. If she hated Mikhail or disliked him this much, why did she accept the job offer?

Okay, let's believe it could be the money that was her focus. I mean, they did say never mix business with personal feelings, right? 

But what could Mikhail have done to her that she hated his sight? Did they know each other in the past? I mean, before Mikhail hired her? Or was the dislike just because of the kind of life he led? That shouldn't be enough reason to hate him since he had never physically assaulted or hurt her, right? Should it be her business whatever some random man decides to do with his life? Why was Mikhail's very existence seeming to affect her so much?

"I'm telling you this Gracie," there she goes with calling me a strange name, "A man writing your name on a stupid rocket flag and flying it across the moon just for a couple of minutes isn't regarded as standard."

Um, okay?

"But I really thought that was super thoughtful and cute, though." I mumbled, trying not to get pissed. She was devotedly trying to deflect the excitement that had been in my chest for the past three days now and it wasn't the nicest feeling at all. For someone to continually try to condemn something that made you feel extremely happy and loved.

Mikhail's gesture was too grand to be considered the bare minimum and I never wanted to forget it. In fact, luckily for me, a video of the rocket circling the moon with my name was even recorded in their headquarters or whatever, so a copy of it was sent to Mikhail. I had been watching it every day on the big screen and even copied it to my cell phone at some point.

I really didn't understand why she wasn't seeing what a great man he was besides his virulence. What else was a man supposed to do to make his woman feel special? Walk through a flame? Or did she expect him to bring down the moon for me?

"Don't get brainwashed by trivial things, Gracie." she rang the word in my head, and I winced when the comb she was using to comb my hair hooked a tangle and almost uprooted the hair from my scalp.

I was busy reading a book earlier when she sent Riccardo to call me. I had thought she wanted me to watch her cook again, because apparently, in Nigeria, I could be kicked out of my husband's house within the first two months of marriage if I didn't know how to cook for him. Yes, she said she didn't see a future where I married Mikhail. So she was trying to hook me up with her bestfriends' son named Wealth Collins, heir to some oil company in Nigeria. I even had the dude's Instagram handle but we had never spoken before. He was kinda cute though. But nope, not my type. Apparently psychopaths with guns, tattoos and the tendency to fuck me to oblivion were my type. Anyway, I got downstairs and realised she just wanted to apply the homemade ointment she prepared to treat the dandruff on my hair. So she forced me to sit on the hard floor while she massaged the substance into my scalp.

"Building a library and writing my name on the moon isn't something trivial." I found myself desperately defending my man, "I don't think any girl has ever been treated like that." I added with pride. Maybe that was why she increased the pressure of her hold on my hair as I felt a sudden jolt of pain from another spot.