Chapter 1
Becky sipped her wine and stared longingly at the olive-skinned waiter. She watched him move across the room as he charmed the customers with his dazzlingly white smile.
‘Oooh he is so sexy,’ thought Becky biting her bottom lip. The waiter began to clear the table opposite the room. She leaned forward and gazed at him intently. He was wearing a perfectly ironed crisp white shirt, his top button loosely undone, nonchalantly showing the spurs of hair that sprouted from his neck and uprooted towards his chin to eventually amass into a full, dark nest around his moist, rosy pink lips. Her eyes rested upon the waiter’s torso as he so conveniently bent down to pick up a cutlery that dropped on the floor. 'My God, just look at how well-defined his chest and arms are.' She sipped her wine slowly as she imagined her fingers progressively feeling for the delicate, deep dents that rippled across his warm, toned stomach.
After stacking all the plates, the waiter turned around and headed towards Becky’s direction. Becky quickly looked down and began to skim through her contact list on her phone.
The waiter walked passed her and went straight into the kitchen at the back of the restaurant. Becky sighed in frustration. She had been coming to Emilio’s for two weeks now and she felt as though she was getting nowhere. She was wearing a classic black Prada dress that she had bought in one of her daily shopping sprees earlier this week and she had been getting stares from men before she got there. Unfortunately, not from the one man she wanted them from.
Becky discretely scanned across the room. The waiter was nowhere to be seen. She was unsure as to whether she should wait a bit longer or head home disappointed again. Despite deliberately eating her meal very slowly and taking gradual sips of wine, she was down to her last drop; and she didn’t want to order another glass if he was not around.
Becky ran her fingers through her lengthy, blonde hair extensions, tugging at the roots in a hope to make her hair appear fuller and voluptuous. As her fingers wrangled towards the end of her golden strands, she noticed that she was the only one dining alone. She subtly wired her thumb underneath the side of her dress and pinched up her bra to give her petit chest more of an ‘umph’. She now felt incredibly self-conscious.
‘Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?’ Becky murmured under her breath as she tapped her French manicured fingertips on the glass. She was beginning to feel extremely impatient and it didn’t help that her damning conscious was wagging its finger and shaking its head at the library of inappropriate fantasies she had managed to form with this man despite being married.
She turned her neck around, hoping he would appear from the kitchen door. Still - nothing.
‘Okay this is getting silly now,’ she thought as she drowned down her last drop of wine and grabbed her Gucci bag from the backrest of her chair. In annoyance, she brushed back the strays of hair that tousled over her forehead and snatched her purse before it had a chance to hide beneath the pit of makeup, magazines and various clutters that made a home in her bag. After her second attempt to unzip her purse was successful, Becky gallingly yanked opened her purse and paused. Between the bundle of notes and her credit card was her wedding ring.
Becky got married when she was twenty-one and has been married for five years now. From the outside, Becky lives a picture perfect life. Her husband Aaron owns a multi-million property business and with that came a life of luxury and opulence: flashy cars, designer shoes, expensive clothes, week-ends away on private jets, night outs at London’s plushest and elitist nightclubs. Anything Becky wanted, Becky got.
However, Becky was not happy. She knew that Aaron loved her with all his heart and that she should count herself lucky that she wasn’t just a ‘trophy’ wife unlike her wealthy married female friends. It was just that she never really was in that in love with him, and she had felt that way from the very beginning.
