Monza (Formula Men #1)(20)
The loud knock on the door made me tense, half hoping that it was mother on the other side of the door, because I had some colorful words to say to her. However, as luck would have it—or lack of it—it was the last person I had expected to see, seeming worse for wear with red-rimmed eyes, as if she had been crying her eyes out.
I admitted, for a slight second, I stopped breathing. Then, remembering our last encounter, repulsion immediately flooded me, hardening my stance as I gave her a hard stare, hoping she would disappear.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her, not wasting time on propriety.
Remorseful, she sniffed before appearing as if she was about to cry again. “The news … There’s talk that you’re sick. They said the doctors—”
“Who gives a f*uk what the doctors think?” I barked out the words, unable to suppress how I loathed her and everything she represented. “Besides, it’s no one’s business but mine. You can go ahead and retrace your steps back to where you came from. You’re not welcome here.”
“Why are you taking chances? This is your life. How can you gamble with it? You know how dangerous this is, Luca!” she gave an impassioned speech, so much so that I almost, almost believed it.
She made a good actress; I could credit her for that. After all, she did fool me with her sweet and charming persona. Regardless, I wasn’t to be trifled with for the second time. I didn’t make a good enemy, so she better watch herself.
“What does it matter to you? You look so concerned that I can almost believe you, but come on, Kim. If you came here to lecture me about my life, you should go ahead and take a good look at yourself before you start looking into mine.”
It seemed that my chilling treatment of her was too much for her hormonal self. She was bawling as if she was in so much pain.
Sniffing, she hiccupped a few times before whispering, “It’s yours.”
Tensing, I frowned at her water work display. “I beg your pardon? What did you just say?”
Wiping her tears with the back of her hands, she lifted her chin, meeting my steady gaze. “The baby’s yours, not Anton’s.”
Horror filled me. It was as though she had doused me with ice cold water before someone threw gas at me and lit my body on fire.
“I don’t believe you.” How could I? She was a chronic liar, and a very good one at that.
“It’s the truth.” She somehow made herself appear dignified even though she was a mess.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
=-=-=-=
Monza: Book 2
May 2015
Monza: Book 3
June 2015
Barcelona (Andrés)
July 2015
Nice (Jacques)
October 2015
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