Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“What the fuck is that?” If I’d cut myself I would have noticed the next morning, even with a hangover and in a rush to get out of here.
I march back over to my computer to see who the hell was in my room while I was gone. I keep a camera on my door, for security reasons. There would have been an alert while I was gone if someone came into my room. I start to backtrack through the footage but don’t see anything. I go back further to the night I drank myself to sleep.
I watch myself stumble into my room. I fast forward to the next morning but stop when I catch sight of Cosima coming to my door. She knocks, tilting her head toward the door to listen. I had to have been out cold at that point.
Then she turns the knob, slipping into my room. I speed up the footage, watching the time keep going, ticking away, and her not exiting my room. What the hell? Finally, hours later, the next morning, in fact, Cosima slips from my bedroom.
I freeze the frame, zooming in on her. If this was anyone else leaving someone’s bedroom, I’d bet my life that person had just been thoroughly fucked. Cosima’s always perfect hair is a wild mess.
What the hell happened? I run my hand down my face before I keep watching the footage until I see myself leave with my bag and that note in my hand.
“Fuck me.” I glance back to the bed, a pit forming in my stomach. No, it was a dream. The best dream of my life. I go to rewind the footage to watch her enter and exit my room again, but before I can, I see her heading back toward my bedroom with a tray in her hand.
She enters my room again, this time not bothering to knock. A few moments later she is coming back out with the tray, an irritated expression on her face. Then she disappears out of sight. My guess is to return to her room and find that note.
My mind starts to race. I rush back over to the bed. “No, no, no fucking way.” I grab the sheet, ripping it off the bed to inspect it closer.
What the fuck have I done?
Chapter Seven
COSIMA
“Oh my God, she’s going to kill us!” I screech, grabbing a hand towel for myself and tossing another to Marks.
We fan the smoke detector, trying to get the beeping to stop. I pray Chef Marcello never finds out about any of this. If he does, I’ll never live it down, and he might never let me in the kitchen again.
“Karen is so mean to us.” Marks fans faster. Karen is mean to us, but her grouchy demeanor is somewhat endearing. It's safe to say she's grown on us. She has also fed us more than once, and that's a quick way to earn a number one spot for Marks and me.
As if on cue, Norina, who we call Karen when she’s not in earshot, comes bursting through the back door of the little villa we rented.
She’s speaking so fast that I’m almost unable to follow. “It is always something with you two. You are going to burn this whole town down. What am I going to do with you?” She visibly takes a deep breath, trying to get her frustration with us under control. The smoke detector stops going off.
“I only caught the words burn and town out of everything you said.” Marks doesn't speak a lick of Italian except for what she has been trying to pick up for the past couple of weeks.
"What will I do with you two?" Norina flips over to English for Marks, shaking her head at us.
"I have a suggestion." I hold up one finger like I'm trying to answer a teacher's question.
"Out with it," Norina orders me.
"You could teach us to cook."
"You think I have the time for that?"
"Yes," Marks mutters. I elbow her in the side. "What, she goes for runs, reads, and fiddles in the garden."
"That is what is known as retirement." Norina gives us a pointed stare like we’re ruining said retirement.
"You're too young to be retired," I point out. I would guess her to be in her forties, but I do know she was in the military at one point.
Norina shakes her head at us, muttering under her breath. We both stay quiet like two kids in trouble.
"Clean this mess and come over in twenty." Norina turns, going back out the door.
"Why does it feel like we're being ordered to do what we wanted to do anyway?" Marks picks up the muffin baking sheet, dropping it into the sink. The muffins are blackened and caved in. How are we both so bad at this?