Children of Vice (Children of Vice #1)(80)
Wyatt put the drink on the table, picking himself off the floor. “I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”
With that he walked away, but Ethan being who he was, needed to give the final blow. “One day, brother, you’re going to find out that you are much more villain than hero. Where will you hide then?”
Wyatt didn’t answer.
“You’re relentless,” I said to him when Wyatt was out of earshot.
“Someone has to be.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“Have I played the part well?
Then applaud as I exit!”
~ Emperor Augustus
FOURTEEN DAYS LATER
ETHAN
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, it’s been another heartbreaking day in Boston, with twelve more deaths, three of those due to a shoot-out with the police in Hyde Park, while the other nine were again the outcome of heroin overdoses, bringing the death toll to a ground-breaking eighty-seven people in the last twenty-one days since doctors at Boston Medical reported there might be a bad batch of drugs on the street. That means on average this drug has claimed four lives a day. Despite the warning, there hasn’t been an obvious drop in drug use. This morning Mayor Takahashi, along with Governor Vieira in a joint press conference have called for the FBI to intervene. This has already come on top of the massive push for stricter policing, a measure that has left many minority communities feeling even less protected...”
“Bagels…bagels...” I muttered to myself, opening the cabinets as the television blared in the background. “Ivy, where the hell are the bagels?” I yelled up at the ceiling.
“They’re finished!” she yelled back down.
“What do you mean they’re finished? We just bought them!”
“Well, we are going to have to buy more—”
“The reason why we just bought them is because we wanted to buy more for not having bagels the last time I asked!” How the hell did we go through so much so quickly?
“Why do you want bagels so badly?” she screamed down at me.
I just stood in the middle of the kitchen, baffled. She was insane. My wife was insane. “Why? Why? ’CAUSE I WANT TO EAT A SANDWICH, IVY!”
“STOP YELLING AT ME!”
Clenching my fist and jaw, breathing in, I spoke softer, “You can’t hear me unless I yell.”
“WHAT?”
“YOU CAN’T HEAR ME UNLESS I YELL!” I hollered because obviously now I was insane. Just f*cking brilliant. Brilliant! Twenty-one days she and I had been on our own here. No, we weren’t locked. We went out, but still, every day it was just her and me. Some days it was paradise, while the next I was ready to pull my own hair out. This was how normal people lived? Fighting over food, the small as f*ck master bed, on top of the even smaller bathroom, having to get tissues and her damn tampons? No wonder spouses killed each other so often. They seemed small issues, but after dealing with them day after day, it really started to nag at you. If I ever wanted to eat something, the most effort I had to make was a damn phone call…apparently that made me spoiled, so be it.
“Don’t get your knickers all in a damn twist. Jeez,” she muttered, coming into the kitchen and when she did the anger I had melted away. That easy. She was stunning. The white dress she wore clung to her breasts perfectly before flowing out at her waist. She even managed to curl her blond hair at the ends. Placing her purse on the counter, she walked to one of the drawers and pulled out…
“You can’t be serious,” I said, looking down at the tortilla.
“Do not discriminate against wheat,” she replied, placing it right in front of me. “And we’re about to go out. Why do you want to eat now?”
Frowning, I undid the tie for the damn tortilla. “Isn’t it common to sneak food into a show?”
She rolled her eyes at me and then took a step back, spinning. “How do I look?”
“Like you don’t want to go out,” I said, placing the ham down.
“Perfect.” She giggled, kissing my check as she stole a piece of bacon. “This looks good! Make me one too!”
Again I paused and then looked down at her. “Society has progressed just far enough that I am now making my own sandwiches without bothering my wife. Don’t push it.”
“Fine, let me starve.” She had the nerve to say as she ate one of the tortillas by itself.
“I’m sure you’ll make it, somehow.”
Reaching me, she grabbed a slice of tomato, holding it over her mouth and saying, “You married your first love. You should be more loving, don’t you think?”
I bit the side of my jaw in order to keep my mouth shut as she ate. Rolling the tortilla, I grabbed the knife and slammed it down in the middle, placing one in a baggy for me and the other for her.
“Thank you!” She smiled, opening her massive purse—at this point it was like a backpack—to put both of our food inside.
“What are you doing—”
“You can’t hold the snacks when you go. You look uncool. You have to pull it out when the good part begins and then enjoy it,” she instructed, moving to grab some juice boxes, yes, juice boxes, because yes, she wanted them. When I told her it made more sense to buy the jug of juice she told me ‘when did rich people start warning about buying logically?’