Why don't you get a taste?
Golden girl Alison Rivers has it all: brains, looks, money, a father who adores her, and any man she wants... Or so she thought.
When she sets her eyes on Lorenzo Visconti, her academy's Italian, irresistible principal, sh...
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The sun shone brightly on that particular Sunday morning, its warm light seeping through the thin curtains that cascaded in front of my French windows and hitting me straight in the eye.
I turned on my left side in pure annoyance, squeezing my eyes shut so as to fall back asleep. But I couldn't.
The birds on the tree branches seemed to chirp louder, a sort of illusory static noise made my ears ring and even the sound of my own heartbeat disturbed me.
I kicked my legs in a childish manner, getting my sheets all twisted around my legs and thus fueling my rage. "You piece of shit!" I hissed venomously, moving my legs even more until I was able to free them from the silky prison. Deciding to take my anger out on those sheets, I hopped up onto my feet and stomped towards the end of my big king-sized bed, grabbing them and flinging them across the room.
My blood was boiling.
Lorenzo Visconti really thought that he could just treat me poorly and call me names because I didn't respect his stupid marriage, when he was the real idiot in this situation.
Every man who ever sets his eyes on me wants me, craves me, does anything in his power to catch my attention.
Yet I was offering myself on a silver platter to him, and he kept on pushing me away. That was fucking ludicrous.
I walked inside the en-suite bathroom to wash myself and then began my morning routine, obviously skipping the makeup since I was going to stay at home for the entire day. As I followed each step, I hatefully mumbled curses directed towards that damned man. To make matters worse, I only wanted him more after the previous night.
I then changed into a pair of white shorts and a baby pink tank top, since the flame that was blazing inside of me, combined with the typical warm temperature inside the mansion, was literally making me hot. And it was noticeable, too: I looked clearly flustered with my red cheeks and my lips all swollen and a few shades darker than usual.
I grabbed my iPhone and dialed Lydia's number, pressing the device to my ear after tapping on the 'call' button and not-so-patiently waiting for her to pick up.
"What's up?" She asked cheerfully, which only made me roll my eyes.
I took a deep breath, repeating in my head that the only problem was Visconti, not the other people around me. "Can you come over as soon as possible? I need to talk or else I might explode."
"Hmm... I'll be there in an hour, is that okay? I'm going to have lunch first, mom made lasagna."
I shrugged even though she couldn't see me. "Yeah, whatever. Just be here at about 1.30 or 2." And I cut off the call, without even giving her the chance to reply.
I tied my hair up in a high ponytail and walked out of my bedroom, but not before sending a last glance at the messy heap of cream-colored sheets on my floor. Thankfully one of our maids comes here to change the covers every Sunday afternoon, meaning that it wasn't my job to take care of them.
