Cassidy woke with a crooked neck, a back full of knots, and a smile.
The swivel chair was a lousy place to sleep, but she'd slept in worse. Stables, ditches, once on top of a dead cactus because there was nothing else. Compared to that, Sebastian's study was paradise.
She stretched. Her body cracked in six different places. Light came through the window, white and cold, and the house was silent.
First problem of the day: clothes.
The rags in Emilia's closet were out of the question. The hospital gown smelled of bleach and defeat. So Cassidy did the only logical thing: she crossed over to Sebastian's side of the walk-in closet.
Andrea's side was already empty -- ashes in the garden -- but his side was still intact. Cassidy surveyed it with a thief's eye. Shirts, pants, athletic wear. All oversized. All expensive. All useful.
She took off the gown and looked at herself in the full-length mirror.
"There you are, chubby."
Ninety kilos. Wide hips. Round belly. Thick arms. Thighs that touched. Soft double chin.
Cassidy tilted her head. Turned. Looked at herself in profile.
Not bad.
Seriously. It wasn't bad. In her previous life she'd been nothing but bone and muscle, dry as Arizona dirt, ribs showing and hipbones sharp. Useful for running, climbing, and dodging bullets. But this... this was something else. There was substance. Weight. Presence. When she'd backhanded Dorotea, the woman went flying. When she'd grabbed the poker, Andrea couldn't wrestle it away.
"This body hits hard. It just needs to learn how to move."
She grabbed a pair of Sebastian's boxer briefs. They were snug around the hips but they worked. A white dress shirt that reached mid-thigh. A pair of gray sweatpants she had to roll at the ankles because he was taller, but the elastic waistband accommodated her hips.
She looked at herself again.
"Men's clothes. Messy hair. Bare face. No makeup, no earrings, nothing."
Perfect.
She went down to the kitchen.
Sebastian wasn't there. Emilia's memories told her he left early for the office, so he'd probably already gone. Good. She wasn't in the mood to see his face yet.
Dorotea was there. Standing by the stove, her cheek purple and her eyes puffy, stirring something in a pot with mechanical movements. When she saw Cassidy, she froze.
"Good morning, Dorotea," Cassidy said, pouring herself coffee from a carafe she found on the counter. "You're fired."
"Ma'am, please, I've been here for six years--"
"Six years of treating me like garbage. Yes, you already told me. You have one hour to pack your things."
"I swear I'll change! I'll serve you well, I'll--"
"Forty-five minutes."
Dorotea opened her mouth. Closed it. Something in Cassidy's eyes told her there was no negotiation to be had. She set down the spoon, took off her apron, and walked out of the kitchen with watery eyes.
Cassidy drank her coffee. Bitter, hot, strong.
I like this era.
"Ma'am?"
A small voice. Cassidy turned.
It was the young woman, the one with the rag, the one who was always in the kitchen without making a sound. Short, dark-haired, her hair pulled back in a braid, with big eyes that looked at Cassidy with a mixture of terror and something else. Something that looked like... admiration.
Emilia's memories placed her: Lucia. Kitchen assistant. Twenty-three years old. Had been in the house for a year. Quiet, hardworking, never got involved in anything. And in the memories there was something more: Lucia had brought food to the servant's room when Dorotea ordered that Emilia not be given dinner. Lucia had left an extra blanket for her in winter. Lucia was the only person in that house who had treated Emilia like a human being.
"Lucia," Cassidy said.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you know how to use a phone?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you know where to buy clothes?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you know how to drive?"
"No, ma'am, but--"
"Doesn't matter. We have a driver. Starting today, you're my personal assistant."
Lucia blinked.
"Your... assistant?"
"My right hand. You're going to help me with everything because I don't know how to use half the things in this house and I need someone I can trust. Can I trust you?"
Lucia's big eyes filled with tears. She nodded quickly, several times.
"Good. Then stop crying, grab your things, and let's go shopping. I need clothes immediately because I refuse to keep wearing my husband's underwear."
Lucia let out a wet laugh, wiped her face with the rag, and ran to get her things.
The mall nearly killed her.
Not from danger. From overstimulation. Lights everywhere, music coming from the walls, giant screens with faces of people she didn't know, escalators that moved on their own -- ON THEIR OWN! -- and hundreds of people walking in every direction staring at their little glowing tablets.
Cassidy grabbed Lucia's arm like it was a lifeline.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
"Perfectly fine," she lied, her heart racing.
Lucia guided her to a large store with mannequins in the window. Elegant clothes, pretty colors, fabrics that shimmered. Cassidy eyed the mannequins: all skinny, all tall, all with impossible waistlines.
"We'll see about that."
They went in. A sales clerk looked them over from head to toe. Her eyes lingered on Cassidy's body, on the men's clothing, on the hospital flip-flops she was still wearing. The clerk's smile froze.
"Can I help you with something?"
Before Cassidy could answer, a voice cut across the store like a knife.
"Emilia?"
"You've got to be kidding me."
Andrea. Standing by a clothing rack with three shopping bags in her hand and a dress draped over her arm. Hair perfect. Makeup perfect. Viper's smile perfect.
"Oh my God, Emilia. What are you wearing? Is that Sebastian's clothing?" Andrea's laugh was sharp, cruel, designed for everyone in the store to hear. "Oh, sweetheart, I get that you burned my clothes out of spite, but wearing his? That's pathetic even for you."
Two clerks turned to look. A customer glanced up. Lucia shrank at Cassidy's side.
Cassidy did not shrink.
"Andrea," she said, with the same calm she'd use to talk to a nervous horse. "You're a shameless whore. You might have a pretty body, but your soul is so black and rotten it doesn't do you any good. No expensive dress is going to cover that up."
Andrea's smile cracked.
"How dare you--"
Cassidy ignored her. She turned to the nearest sales clerk.
"Get me the manager."
"Ma'am, I don't think that's neces--"
"Manager. Now."
The manager appeared in forty seconds. A short, bald man in a suit and tie. He looked at Cassidy with the same doubtful expression as the clerk. Then Lucia whispered something in his ear.
The manager's face changed as if he'd been electrocuted.
"Mrs. Montero? Emilia Montero? Don Aurelio's daughter?"
"The very same."
The man nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Ma'am, it's an honor. An honor. What do you need? Anything at all. I can close the store for you if you'd like, give you private service, bring whatever you--"
"Close the store."
"I'm sorry?"
"Close the store. I'm going to need time, space, and a glass of something with fruit. And show that young lady out" -- she jerked her thumb toward Andrea -- "she has no credit here."
Andrea turned red. Then white. Then red again.
"You can't do that! I was here first!"
The manager looked at Andrea. Looked at Cassidy. Made the calculation any merchant with half a brain would make: Aurelio Montero's daughter could buy the entire store. The blonde throwing a tantrum could buy three dresses.
"Miss, I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but we'll be closing temporarily for a private appointment. You're welcome to come back in an hour..."
"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!"
Andrea stormed out, bags slapping against her legs and her dignity dragging three meters behind her.
Cassidy watched her leave. Smiled.
"Two-zero, sweetheart."
Over the next hour, Cassidy discovered something wonderful: the clothes of this era were incredible.
No corsets. No ten-kilo skirts. No ankle boots that destroyed your feet. There were soft fabrics that stretched, pants that hugged the hips without squeezing, blouses that draped over curves like water. And colors. God, the colors. Deep reds, rich blues, emerald greens.
Lucia brought her garment after garment and Cassidy tried them on without a shred of modesty, stepping out of the fitting room to look at herself in the big mirror with her hands on her hips.
"That one looks incredible on you, ma'am," Lucia said, her eyes shining. "It defines your waist and--"
"It defines everything," Cassidy said, turning to check out her backside. "And everything's right where it should be."
She bought twelve outfits, comfortable shoes -- no heels, she wasn't crazy -- underwear that actually fit, a red coat she loved, and a pair of sunglasses that made her feel like she owned the world.
Because she did. Or at least, a considerable part of it.
She walked out of the store with six bags, a new outfit on -- black pants, emerald-green blouse, flat shoes -- and a half-finished fruit cocktail.
Lucia walked beside her carrying bags, beaming.
"Ma'am, you look beautiful. Your husband isn't going to be able to resist."
Cassidy made a face.
"Lucia, I don't give a damn about that idiot. And sooner rather than later, I'm going to deal with him."
"I can't shoot him dead because I'd go to prison,* she thought as they walked to the car. *But there are plenty of ways to get rid of someone. Plenty. And I know most of them."
She got in the car with her bags, her new clothes, and her new assistant. She gave the driver an address. Not the mansion's.
The address for Castillo & Associates.
"Time to find out what my darling husband is hiding."
***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***
Updated 66 Episodes
Download
Like this story? Download the app to keep your reading history.
Comments