| BOOK SIX | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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Martha Hughes loitered in the tapestried corridor right outside my room door, where I had relaxed and pampered hours prior, ready for my big brother's wedding.
I never thought, when heading out at the crack of dawn to squeeze a steady-paced jog into my hectic schedule, that I would return forty-five minutes later to see my mother's feet dragging along the lush red carpet in procrastination.
In a few hours, like any other guest, I will descend the grand staircase and progress to the magnificent chandeliered ballroom to watch the happy couple exchange vows.
I am not part of the bridal team, which is fathomable. I had only met Judith, the vivacious bride-to-be, last night, when Martin raised a glass and made a toast during dinner to compliment his future wife, the bridesmaids and the groomsmen.
Whether selected for the ceremonial party or not, I wanted to look resplendent in attire and beauty (for reasons undisclosed) to be confident in my skin and pleased with my appearance.
Preparation started with shaving off unwanted body hair, followed by a facial cleanse: exfoliation, toner, moisturiser and primer.
It was important to time organisational skills for today's itinerary, hence the mandatory yet comfortable jog through the manicured gardens at daybreak.
Whilst bridal preparations commenced, I had the perfect opportunity to prepare myself physically, mentally and emotionally for the predictable day of doom.
Well, I thought I had timed and executed preparatory activities until Martha Hughes reared her head.
Sweat trickled down my back and shoulders in hot droplets. I muted the Spotify App on my phone, tugged the headphones down from my ears, leaving the headband around my neck, and strode toward the woman dressed in carefully selected leisurewear.
With the crisp morning air in my lungs and dreadful heaviness in my stomach, I slowed down, waiting for my mother to notice me.
Even though I harboured feelings of resentment, I did not want to sneak up on an easily triggered woman with over-the-top startled responses.
Martha detected footsteps and flinched in surprise, slapping a hand to her chest and muttering words of relief. "Hello," she said shakily, and I could barely muster a grunt in response. "I, uh, went to the dining room for breakfast. I thought you would be there with the others, but, uh, Benjamin mentioned that you declined an invitation."
My back was to her whilst I unlocked the door to my room.
"Your father is a heavy sleeper," Martha prattled on at length about Hamish's monophasic sleep pattern. "I should have stayed in bed until he woke up."
Once the door creaked open, I stepped inside the room, keeping a hand on the wall to create a barrier between us, and levelled her with a cold, dismissive stare.
