Painfully Sweet

Chapter 5

Luka POV

I watched Zophisa as she dabbed makeup on her face and neck, concealing the tattoos that were there.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" She asked, not taking her eyes off of the small mirror in her hand.

"What are you doing?" I asked. She cut her eyes at me raised an eyebrow.

"Trying to teach pigs to fly," she answered, sarcastically, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I know what you're doing-" I started but she quickly cut me off.

"So why'd you ask," she interrupted, snapping her mirror thing shut. When she turned to me all of her tattoos were covered with brown makeup that matched her natural skin.

"Why did you do it?" I asked. She pulled her makeup out when the pilot announced we'd be landing in two hours.

"I do my research Mr. Ricca," she said as she applied makeup to the backs of her hands. "I know you're a big business man in Italy, practically famous. What would it look like if you stepped off of a plane with your soon to be wife covered in tattoos? We are not a couple, we're a business investment. So what's bad for you is bad for me and I will not be out here looking bad." She stood up with her carry on and went to the bathroom.

I sat back and ran my hand down my face. I knew this girl would be a piece of work since she walked into her father's house making demands. I'll have to admit though, she's not the diva I thought she'd be.

It didn't take her long to come from the bathroom wearing a different outfit. She had on a black shirt with an oversized wool sweater draped over herself, jeans, and black boots that came up to her thigh. Her thick red hair was pulled into a slick ponytail to back of her head.

"I don't like it," I spoke. She didn't stop digging through her bag but I knew she heard me.

"You better like it, because this is how I'm walking down the aisle," she replied.

"What do you mean?" I asked, irritated. This woman gives me a headache.

"I can't wear the dress," she answered.

"You can and you will," I demanded. I have to be hard on her, she's too independent. My father always said "a woman who isn't trained to stay will leave." I didn't believe him, until my mom left when I was seventeen.

"What the fuck did I just say?" she snapped, "I'm not wearing it!" I noticed she hadn't sat down since she came from the bathroom. I stood up and walked over to her.

"Why not?" I asked.

"That's none of your business," she said, defensively.

"Yes it is, you are going to be my wife and you are my business," I said.

"What did I tell you at the house? I'm not the one you want to go rounds with," she said stepping to me.

"You little disobedient bi-" I was cut off by, what felt like a rock, hitting my face. I leaned forward and pinched my bloody nose. When I looked up she didn't have anything in her hand, just a smug look on her face. I was fuming, I can't believe she almost broke my nose. I stood up straight, my nose still oozing blood. I cocked my hand back and threw my open palm toward her face. But was caught off gaurd when it didn't hit her.

She laughed maniacally, like she did in the house before she snapped on her dad but this time was different, deeper. She grabbed the hand I tried to hit her with and twisted my pinky. I groaned in pain and fell to my knees. She left my hand go and punched me in the eye.

She bent down to my level and whispered, "I could sure go for a cigarette right now. But since I can't, maybe I'll wait until we get off the plane with all of your precious workers watching. Let's see how long it'll take me to wipe out your little gang." I looked up at her with hate in my eyes.

"I should've killed you when I had the chance," I said, standing up.

"You never had the chance," she smirked, "and you never will."

"You got lucky," she spoke as she watched me get up, "if I weren't wearing red bottoms, I'd stomp your dumb ass out."

The pilot announced we'd be landing soon and we needed to take our seats. We sat down and strapped our seatbelts in. After I sat down a felt a pair of sunglasses fall in my lap, then a pack of baby wipes.

"Clean yourself up," she demanded, "you look a mess."

She's going to be the death of me.