The Rich Life

10

Adam and I became close friends. By some cursed miracle. After that dinner in Flowers in Rain apartment, which by the way was like a huge ghost from the past we took turns alternating making dinner at each other's apartments. It became a tradition and Tony sometimes joined us. But most of the time, we were alone. I preferred that way better.

"Do you not know how to cook?" I sighed exasperatedly. It was Adam's turn this week and I told him not to order takeout. I had threatened with either death or learn how to cook. Obviously, he chose to cook.

"This is my first time learning how to make pasta without the help of my chef," He told me, chopping mushrooms. There was a burning smell invading my nostrils and that definitely wasn't a good sign. His tomatoes were burning.

"Shove over. Let me help. I don't have a death wish tonight," Growing at the saucepan, I pushed his bubbling ingredients over. It can't be salvaged. I threw the contents in the bin, my nose wrinkling, "God didn't you learn how to cook at Uni?"

"Listen Sweetheart. You think heirs to billionaire fortunes would be caught cooking? That's the funniest thing since Tony learnt how to hack into my Twitter account,"

"Oh God," I giggled, "What did he do?"

Now it was his turn to smile. I loved those smiles. It was one that the world never saw and never will see. His smiles were rare, fleeting moments of beauty, a crack in his stone-cold armour. When Adam smiled, it was like basking in the rays of a thousand suns. And I liked to think that special smile was reserved for me and only me. But it wasn't and I know it wasn't.

"Wrote a bunch of rightist, pro-Mussolini stuff. Retweeted a bunch of gay porn. Mocked the Turkish and Italians. Started a Twitter poll to see which drug I should take and live-streamed me cussing him out when I found out,"

I guided his hands to cut the spinach and mushrooms into smaller pieces whilst I made a new batch of pasta.

"But on a real note. How did you survive at Uni? Did you eat take-out every day?" I asked, measuring tomato puree.

"I'm not that fucking dumb. Obviously, I got my roommate to cook for me. Which was Tony. But how did YOU learn sweetheart?"

I paused my stirring. Because I was in charge of having to cook a 4-course meal every day for my fussy family since I was 11 whilst I got no help from anyone and I was hit if I got even one thing wrong. Funny how quickly you learn to perfect a recipe when your older brother pokes toothpicks into your skin.

I'm not going to tell him that.

"Because it's a life skill. Any sane person should know how to cook."

"Did you learn at Oxford? Did you have a roommate?"

"God no. My parents would never let me live out. They got their chauffeur to drive me to and from Uni,"

Oh my God. Oh my god. Oh my God. How could I be so idiotic? Rule number 1: Hide every aspect of your old life. By any means necessary. I was already too careless by bringing up Zahra Khan and now, I've pretty much told him my family are loaded. He can't find anything out from that. He WON'T find anything out from that.

Adam finished the chopping with a flourish and leaned against the counter, "What should I do now Miss Mughal,"

"Just stand there. You're a walking hazard right now," I concentrated on straining the pasta. Adam however, had selective hearing. He stood behind me, putting his hands on top of mine, supporting the colander. I froze.

I've come to terms with the fact that I've fallen truly and irreversible with Adam. I've never loved someone like this before (Unless you count my school crush James Whitbread) and I was desperate for him to love me back and not in his teasing, flirty way. They filled me up with love and I couldn't stop myself digging into a deeper hole. I suffocated in those hours without him, becoming ruthless in every case I had. Unlucky for the people who dared oppose me but good for Worthington's who were becoming popular because of me.