Not A Trophy Wife

Chapter One

13 May 2022

I woke up as usual at 8:30 a.m., removed my sleep mask from my eyes, and sat up in bed. After an excellent night's sleep, quiet, contented sounds slipped from my mouth as I stretched.

I gave myself a few seconds to adjust my eyes to the dark room, then got out of bed. With the press of a button, I opened the thick brown curtains in front of the bedroom's panoramic windows to allow the sun to fill the room. I loved to feel its warmth first thing in the morning—which is why I was unpleasantly surprised when I saw the gray clouds that covered blanketing the sky. But despite their stubbornness to spread their grayness, here and there, some rays of sunshine tried to sneak in quietly.

My lips turned slightly to one side. But regardless of the weather, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

I went into the bathroom to freshen up and complete my morning beauty rituals. I applied a hydrating toner to my face. A few drops of my favorite Diamond Illuminating Oil made my skin silk-soft with a delicate glow.

Looking at myself in the big mirror lined with ice lights, I smiled, admiring the result.

It was almost 9 a.m., so I wrapped myself in a golden silk robe and descended to greet Valentino, our family hairdresser.

After he followed me back up to the bedroom, I settled in the chair in front of the dressing table, and he got to work.

"As usual, Mrs. Lewis?"

"Yes."

He loosened my long chestnut hair from its braid and ran his fingers through it. Although he probably told all his clients the same thing, I never failed to be flattered when he said I had the softest, silkiest hair he had ever touched.

Valentino enjoyed his work, and the results were always stunning. Only he could style my curls in the elegant shape I was looking for.

In contrast to using the services of a professional hairdresser daily, I preferred to apply my makeup myself.

I never agreed with the makeup artist that my mother-in-law had appointed as the family makeup artist. She always made me up in heavy evening makeup, which looked unnatural and even ugly during the day.

My skills were pretty good, so I only used her services for events.

I opened my makeup box, applied a light, medium-coverage foundation, contoured my cheekbones with a subtle bronzer, and highlighted my gray-green eyes with eyeliner and delicate shimmer eyeshadow. My mauve lipstick gave my lips a glossy finish.

The dreary weather allowed me to wear my new black velvet trench coat over the sleeveless black polo dress. The skirt of the dress—stopping just above the knee—discreetly accentuated my slender legs, encased in fine black translucent pantyhose.

I selected a black compact bag, black sunglasses, and ankle boots from my vast closet.

Just before I left the bedroom, my phone rang.

"Good morning, Mom."

"Good morning, Savi. How are you, dear?"

"Perfect," I told my mother, already heading down the stairs. "How are you and Dad?"

"We are fine too. Savi, are you going out?"

"Yes. Why?"

"You know what day it is today, right?"

"Friday?"

"Savi, it's not just Friday! It's Friday the 13th! You shouldn't go out!" Mom sounded perturbed.