"Your clothes. They bother me. 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐟𝐟."
~
Marriage was not for love -it was for business. It was a strategic move that one had to make wisely. For the Lombardis and the Morettis, this marriage was the most calculated, showstopping...
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She had been awake since four a.m., an hour before she normally woke up on weekdays. Normally, she would've done her workout, had tea, got ready, and read a chapter of a book before she started working but apparently, her office in London couldn't wait for a healthy hour in New York to call.
She was already in a sour mood after an impromptu conference call from a partner who "forgot" to make an appointment but now it was well into the evening and the email staring back at her made her want to throw something.
At the top of her screen was "fwd: Invitation". Forwarded from who, you ask? Her dear husband. What was this invitation for, you say? A new nightclub opening with one of Moretti Holding's new partners. When was this opening? In two hours.
Roman only notified her of this now when, from the looks of the invitation, he had known for almost three months. Below the attachment, were the typed-out words, "Be ready at 8."
She was going to kill her husband.
After a much-needed two-month-long break between the two of them, the fear turned into hatred. She was no longer ready to take the criticism and his demands; she had recharged from social engagements and she wanted to put up a fight.
Taking a shuddering, murderous breath, she looked at the dress code. What even was, "Nightlife attire"?
Rolling her eyes, she copied and pasted the owner's name into her search engine and did some digging. The man was a wealthy investor, his money spanning back generations. She looked at his other properties and some of the restaurants and casinos he owned; she gathered that this man valued class but was an enthusiast of a lot of skin on women. One of his other nightclubs even had a two-inch heel requirement and absolutely no jeans.
She looked at the clock, noticing she had less than two hours to get ready, and finally made the trek into her closet, wondering if she owned anything appropriate. Sighing, she dug up clothes from her early college days and tried to find anything modest yet...exciting.
Lifting a dress that looked like a t-shirt she cringed; would this thing go over her hips anymore? Her 19-year-old body looked very different from her 24-year-old one. For one, her ass had grown and changed for the better thanks to her new diet and exercise plan but in turn, her thighs had...grown.
She stretched the material. It stretched. She would be fine, then right?
An hour and a half later, her hair was freshly blown out and voluminous and her makeup was full glam with a smoked-out, foxy liner with a black tightline. She put on some lipgloss and reapplied her highlighter in her inner corner before she put the little black dress over her body.
She strapped on her matching black ankle-strap platform heels and didn't get to look in the mirror before a knock sounded at her door.
"Coming!" she shouted, thinking it was Rory telling her that Roman was here. On her way to the door, she passed the mirror and did a double-take when she saw how tight it was then it dawned on her.
