Forced to Love (Original Version)

Chapter 11 - His Jealousy

Trigger Warnings:
~ Explicit language
~ Blood

Matteo's PoV <3
........................................

I gently throw the handful of flour towards Isabella expertly, and it collides with the side of her cheek. Although I'm not firing a gun, target practise comes in handy in these situations.

Like throwing handfuls of flour at my fiancé.

Her face is completely covered in the dust, and she struggles to see where she's walking. Her hands grasp onto the hem of my shirt as she coughs and heaves down her throat.

I chuckle at the sight and reach out to steady her as she slips, stopping her from falling backwards into the counter. My hands are placed awkwardly on her hips, and I hesitantly let her go.

Isabella brushes the flour out of her eyes and stands there for a moment; still. Almost as if she's taking in the sight of her own kitchen.

The cupboards are coated in a white blanket of snow, the floor is covered in piles of white confetti, and Lucas' hair is just sprinkled with dandruff.

He's stood there laughing at us like a maniac, Lexi and Aurora beside him. They're all leaning forward and clutching at the stitches in their stomachs, looking like a rare species of polar bears.

Without any warning, Isabella squirms away from me and lunges towards another bag of flour. Before I can stop her, she launches it at me and explodes across my shoulder.

For a few seconds, all I can see is the white dust hanging in the air like small clouds. Then Isabella's amused face comes into view, along with her smiling mouth and two dimples.

I must look like a clown from the circus.

"Qué está pasando aquí? Isabella, te dije que pelear con harina no es apropiado para una jovencita!" I almost jump at the sound of yelling, and I turn to see the owner of the voice.
[Translation - "What is going on in here? Isabella, I told you that fighting with flour is not appropriate for a young lady!"]

It's an old lady. She looks to be in her sixties, with short, grey hair and a daring look in her eyes.

She's wearing a pink apron and carrying a wooden spatula, which informs me of her job as a maid in this house. Although it shocks me that Isabella allows her maids to yell at her like that.

"No fui yo, Annie! Todo fue su culpa. Tiró la harina por todos lados!" Isabella replies to the old lady, pointing a finger in my face. They're speaking in Spanish, and I have absolutely no clue what they're saying.
[Translation - "It wasn't me, Annie! It was all his fault. He threw the flour everywhere!"]

The maid turns her eyes to me, and if looks could kill, then I'd be dead. Six feet under the ground. Buried.

She looks like a bull about to charge. If I so much as breathe too loudly, she might chase me out of the front door. My fight or flight instincts are almost about to kick in if she stares at me for any longer.

"Es una suerte que sea un invitado, señor Romano. De lo contrario, tendrías un paño de cocina en la cara." The maid Annie gives me one last glare before hobbling off, and I release a sigh of relief.
[Translation - "It's lucky that you're a guest, mister Romano. Else you would have a tea towel in your face."]

The second she closes the door behind her, Isabella's face scrunches up as she laughs. "You should have seen your face." She giggles, exposing each one of her dimples that I so rarely get to see.