Chapter 3

"Everything that looks too perfect is too perfect to be perfect.

- Dejan Stojanovic

IRIS

Mornings in the devil's playground are mundane. I wake up. I shower. I get dressed and then, downstairs to get breakfast. Breakfast is usually made by Rosie, one because I'm awful at cooking and two because she is an angel, one that was most likely stolen from the heavens by Luca. If there were any good things about living here, it would be Rosie. She's like the mother I wished I had. Though I am eternally grateful for my own mother, she simply could be quite...difficult at times.

Rosie, however, was a listening ear and didn't tut at me when I slouched. She was a calm woman, patient and wise. And it seemed she was the only person he ever cared to listen to. I suspected that's because she'd been his caretaker since he was only knee-high and bucktoothed. She did the majority of the work around the house, she cleaned up his stuff, she did his laundry, and she fed him his baby food when he was cranky.

Rosie really is the best. However, unfortunately, Rosie has yet to arrive at the house, this informed decision of mine was made after entering the kitchen to find it both empty of Rosie and her heavenly pancakes. Whenever such an unlucky event of her absence occurs, I have the task of sourcing my own breakfast. Though it is no foraging for berries in the wild, I walked over to the coffee pot and poured myself a mug of the fresh coffee that'd been French pressed by some unknown force.

It was decent.

The coffee, even just a sip, rejuvenates me, I feel swifter as if Hermes had strapped his winged sandals on to my feet. It was unusual for me to wake so groggily but today's exception was due to the cognac eyes that'd haunted my dreams and a baritone laugh which kept me tossing and turning in bed. The owner of said eyes and laugh was thankfully not a part of the mundane mornings of the house, as often he'd already left for work by the time I was up and about.

Something I was extremely grateful for, as seeing his face in the morning would only make mornings shit-

"Where's Rosie?" His satiny voice came from the doorway suddenly, scaring the twinkles out of me.

I spoke too soon.

"Good morning. She's not here yet." I greeted from behind my coffee mug. Observing and ripping him and his outfit apart.

Dressed in a black Armani suit and a plain red tie, he was attired like every man who costed more than a couple million. Usually, I was greeted with his hair after a day's trials, so messy. Now it was held neatly, quiffed by what could have been super glue. It was like he was asking the women at his company to lust after him.

He narrowed his eyes at me, doing the same thing I'd done to him.

"Iris, you aren't by any chance busy right?" He asked, sliding onto the island stool after opening the single button that held his jacket close.

Yes, I'm very busy. Very, very busy. So busy.

"No, not at all." I smiled, this one was fake.

"Of course not."

My teeth bit down on the ceramic mug.

"You're attending a party with me tonight."

"A party?"

"Yes, a social gathering where people drink and dance to music."

"I know what a party is."

He took an apple from the fruit basket and looked at me. "Good for you."

Irritating prick. Could he get anymore prickish?

Despite his sass, his request was intriguing. It was unseen that the Great Luca Donario would invite me out to any of the many social gatherings he attended so frequently. It was almost as if he didn't want to be seen in public with me.

I didn't mind. It was a mutual feeling.

"The party's going to be at Carmine tonight, you know the lounge in the city."

For rich snobs. I snickered inwardly.

"It'll be covered by press so my advice is wear something," His eyes trailed over my figure, taking in my black kitten heels, midi skirt and oversized wool knitted beige sweater with disgust. "not from the bargain bin at a vintage store."

It was getting harder and harder to keep the smile on my face. And if I didn't leave now I'd be in cuffs for murder.

"I'll try my best."

Dumping the rest of the coffee which I'd previously been savoring, I placed the mug in the sink. Almost bubbling with eagerness to get away from the oversized turd eating an apple. I decided to eat breakfast someplace else, a back alley even would be better than in the kitchen with him.

I went up to my bedroom inwardly raging as a teenager would. By mocking him. It was childish I admit but research has shown that if I don't do something like (internally) call out his stupid height I'll lose my mind. And I liked my mind.

At least one thing went my way as thankfully the mess of my room didn't make it hard for me to find my car keys or my bag which I'd absentmindedly tossed yesterday.

Some people see a mess whilst I see a disorganized system.

The door slammed behind me announcing my departure from his Royal Assness' Chateau. Heading for my car parked at the fountain, I promptly slipped inside, with my ring slipped off and tossed into its trusty place before even starting the ignition. Driving back to the city was like always, like a prison break. The moment I speed out of the gates every day, I feel as if today could be the day I never have to go back. Each mile away from the place, my spirit feels revived and refreshed as if it'd emerged from its cocoon.

And by the time I'd reached the intersection into the city, my wings were in full display. My stomach rumbled

At a stoplight on East and 52nd street, I use my cell to send a text to the only person who has understood the real me... It was an almost familiar message at this point, I'd invited her out to get breakfast since I was starving.

As if she'd been waiting for my message, there was a reply. A voice recording of her groggily cheering. It was likely she'd only just woken up as she was by no means a morning person.

We'd agreed to meet at the popular food chain Pancake Place. A frequent of mine.

I could taste the breakfast delicacy already.

If only I could taste it right now, unfortunately New York traffic isn't a morning person either.

Pancake Place is a warm little restaurant that gives the ambiance of waking up at home on a Sunday morning and coming downstairs to find fluffy circles of perfection laid out on the table. It's as if a home away from home, and it served as a bubble of harmonious peace from the chaos that ensued on the city's streets.

Perhaps that was a bit of an over-exaggeration of the place but regardless, the place is good. Far too good.

By the time I do get to the restaurant, the lazy bum I call my best friend has yet to have hauled her ass over even though she only lives a couple of blocks away. I'd already gotten us a table, the usual, a tiny booth, inside the restaurant, snuggled in the corner. Here we could look outside the window and watch people walk past as we sip coffee or have a bubble of privacy in a public place.

The bell twinkles with a new customer. Glancing upwards from my cellphone, I see her walking towards me, no not walking, sauntering. She's like a model as she glides across the checkered floor as if it were red carpet instead. The biggest smile on her beautiful face. The girl was beauty personified, with her hair that is as if each strand is hand painted a different shade of vivacious brown. Her kitty like emerald eyes aren't heavy with bags like they ought to be for being a party girl like her. She crinkles her nose in search of me, and my, what a nose it is. It's the type plastic surgeons charge big bucks for but her's was free. Her plump lips parted in recognition as she waves at me furiously with her slender hand that fits her slender body.

"Lila." I said, grinning. "I ordered for us."

"Thank you, I'm starving." She sighed as she sat down on the leather seat you could find in every small town diner. "I missed you babe."

"Of course you did." I laughed.

"Cocky aren't we. Your husband's rubbing off on you it seems."

"Ugh, can we not mention him? The guy's a big prick."

She snorted. "Babe, the bigger of a prick he is the bigger of a prick he has."

I make a face but before I can scold her on her inappropriate comment, the waitress came over and placed before us the order I'd made, for Lila the famous Bacon-Apple Pancakes and a cup of black coffee and for me, Extra Blueberry Pancakes with whipped cream and a cup of matcha tea.

"Do you think of anything other than sex?" I asked, scrunching my nose from both the steam of piping hot tea but also from her statement.

"Are you planning on dying a virgin? You can't masturbate your whole life, Ris. You will need some good ol' fashioned dick at some point."

"I was waiting on the right person, you know that. I don't just want to have sex with some guy I'll want to punch in the face the next morning. Ergo not him."

"Ya, but until you divorce his ass, which I still don't get why you won't just do, he's 'morally'," She does air quotes with her fingers and rolled her eyes. "your only option."

"You know why I can't divorce him."

"Why not ask him to file the divorce? You did say he hates you."

"He does but I think he can't. I think my dad might have some legal stuff holding him. I don't know."

"Well, then I hope you're enjoying Michael. I can get you some batteries if you're running low."

I said nothing.

We ate our breakfast and chatted about anything and everything like we always did since our days at the Hedgewood Girl's Academy, I told her about Luca and I's conversation a few nights ago and the invite this morning. She told me about the guy she was seeing and how much they could actually be something real. She boasted as a peacock does about the fancy dates he takes her on and the little trinkets he gifts her after returning from his travels.

If I was honest it made me a little jealous but largely, I was happy for her.

We parted ways after cleaning our plates and paying our bill, her off to her job as a Gynecologist's assistant and I, off to drown in the confessions of strangers.

. . . .

Like a fish who is dragged from the sea longs for water, so I flopped onto my bed, not longing for water but to become a potato cocooned by my covers. The longing to do just that was prevented by a note on my door from he who shalt not be recognized reminding me of the soiree I'd sadly agreed to.

His comment on my attire this morning coming back to me.

Sure, I wasn't one to stick myself into designer wear but I didn't not dress well. Perhaps it was a bit plain and monotonous. My closet reflected that sentiment better than any mirror could. But it was fine with me, until now.

What was I going to wear?

I didn't exactly spend my time much at clubs not even in my years of Uni. My closet consisted mostly of tiny cardigans and cutesy dresses. Not exactly clubwear more 'I attend my church's youth group.'

If I wanted to prove to 'Mr. holier than though' that I was more than a basic bargain bin dresser—not that I wasn't— I could do bargain bin sexy too.

Half an hour later, I'd still yet to find anything suitable or piece anything together and nightfall is pretty much knocking at the door and with it will soon come his Royal Assness. In my search, I'd created more of a mess to my disorganized system.

"I give up." I groaned, covering my face and copping a squat on the ottoman in front of my bed.

If this were a movie, critics would deem the following sequence far too convenient.

As if some mysterious power saw my plight, a piece of wrapping paper caught my eye sticking out almost suspiciously from an open drawer. Pushing my hair behind my ears and standing up from the ottoman, I investigate as if I'm Nancy Drew and not Iris Harding. What I find is no Hidden Staircase but it is equally as rewarding.

A wedding gift from Mary-Ann, my aunt who my mother very much disapproved of. Aunt Ann was wild and spontaneous. One minute she was in Florida getting a tan and the next she was in Boston having tea. Aunt Ann saw societal restrictions and gave it the bird.

She was my secret role model.

And it would seem she was my guardian angel too as she came to my rescue. Her gift was a bodysuit, it was lacy like drapery owned by your grandma and white and most importantly didn't show too much to earn me a penalty for indecent exposure.

"Thank you Auntie." I hugged the top to my body, my mind already racing to pair items.

I had it.

Hopping over my piles, I fell at my wardrobe and dug further into its deepest corners.

"It has to be here," I mumble like a hoarder. "Aha."

Triumphant, I pull the white legged pants I'd stashed away after returning from a shopping trip with Lila. I'd deemed that it would never be suitable for anything while she insisted on the opposite.

Looks as if I was wrong and she was right. Huh.

The two would pair well. Tossing the two items on my bed, I go off to the bathroom to grab a shower. It's no bath bomb, candlelit bath, it's quick and it's fast. I'm out in ten minutes, a towel wrapped around my midriff.

I can't decide whether to curl my hair or straighten it.

So I don't decide I call Lila.

"Straight hair or curled hair?" I ask as soon as she picks up.

"Straight." She coined in without thought.

Straight it was then.

"Are you doing your own makeup?"

"Nothing extreme, a little gloss maybe."

"If the paps are gonna be there shouldn't you do the full glam?"

"Regardless of paparazzi—"

Lila shifted interrupting me. "Come on Ris. This is your first official outing with him, don't you want to bling up his arm?"

I'm not doing this to bling up his arm, this is obligation.

"If he wants an accessory, I'm sure he can buy another Rolex." I snorted, massaging into my skin dollops of Shea butter.

"Red lipstick, contour, and some highlighter." She negotiated.

"No."

"Red lipstick and highlighter."

I thought about it.

"Fine but only that. I have to go now. Call you later when I get back." I said.

"Mhmm. Till then have fun." She mumbled and hung up the phone.

I placed my phone down and got to work on straightening my hair, I wish I could say it didn't take long but it did. Half an hour later and three YouTube makeup tutorials I'd done a half natural, half glam, half I wish I hadn't wasted so much time makeup look. It was a blessing dressing was the easiest part of getting ready.

Glancing at my watch I sigh.

What was he waiting for a dramatic entrance? Would I die before he came to get me? Or were we not going anymore? Was he such an ass he couldn't get off his romp to tell me that?

His tardiness had finally gotten the better of me. I grabbed my clutch and stomped in nude heels towards my bedroom door. If King Pompous wouldn't come to get me I'd get him and if he'd stood me up I'd....I'd beat him with my clutch.

I grumbled as I neared the door. "So I didn't want to go but he's taken almost two hours of my life I'll never get back.

Flinging the door open, a shocked Luca stands at my door his hand raised in a fist. It was almost as if he'd just been about to knock.

Oh.

"Hi."

.[]. []. [].

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