Affairs Of The Heart

🌺T R E

Chapter 3

"Everything that looks too perfect is too perfect to be perfect.

- Dejan Stojanovic

IRIS

Mornings in the devil's playground are mundane. I wake up. I shower. I get dressed and then, downstairs to get breakfast. Breakfast is usually made by Rosie, one because I'm awful at cooking and two because she is an angel, one that was most likely stolen from the heavens by Luca. If there were any good things about living here, it would be Rosie. She's like the mother I wished I had. Though I am eternally grateful for my own mother, she simply could be quite...difficult at times.

Rosie, however, was a listening ear and didn't tut at me when I slouched. She was a calm woman, patient and wise. And it seemed she was the only person he ever cared to listen to. I suspected that's because she'd been his caretaker since he was only knee-high and bucktoothed. She did the majority of the work around the house, she cleaned up his stuff, she did his laundry, and she fed him his baby food when he was cranky.

Rosie really is the best. However, unfortunately, Rosie has yet to arrive at the house, this informed decision of mine was made after entering the kitchen to find it both empty of Rosie and her heavenly pancakes. Whenever such an unlucky event of her absence occurs, I have the task of sourcing my own breakfast.  Though it is no foraging for berries in the wild, I walked over to the coffee pot and poured myself a mug of the fresh coffee that'd been French pressed by some unknown force.

It was decent.

The coffee, even just a sip, rejuvenates me, I feel swifter as if Hermes had strapped his winged sandals on to my feet. It was unusual for me to wake so groggily but today's exception was due to the cognac eyes that'd haunted my dreams and a baritone laugh which kept me tossing and turning in bed. The owner of said eyes and laugh was thankfully not a part of the mundane mornings of the house, as often he'd already left for work by the time I was up and about.

Something I was extremely grateful for, as seeing his face in the morning would only make mornings shit-

"Where's Rosie?" His satiny voice came from the doorway suddenly, scaring the twinkles out of me.

I spoke too soon.

"Good morning. She's not here yet." I greeted from behind my coffee mug. Observing and ripping him and his outfit apart.

Dressed in a black Armani suit and a plain red tie, he was attired like every man who costed more than a couple million. Usually, I was greeted with his hair after a day's trials, so messy. Now it was held neatly, quiffed by what could have been super glue. It was like he was asking the women at his company to lust after him.

He narrowed his eyes at me, doing the same thing I'd done to him.

"Iris, you aren't by any chance busy right?" He asked, sliding onto the island stool after opening the single button that held his jacket close.

Yes, I'm very busy. Very, very busy. So busy.

"No, not at all." I smiled, this one was fake.

"Of course not."

My teeth bit down on the ceramic mug.

"You're attending a party with me tonight."

"A party?"

"Yes, a social gathering where people drink and dance to music."

"I know what a party is."

He took an apple from the fruit basket and looked at me. "Good for you."