I'm loving this new Antonia. And i really dislike Sienna.
Malachi’s pov. “A call has come in for you Mr Finn.” I raise my head to look at the door and the wireless receiver in my new secretary’s hand. I ask coldly, “Did you learn how to forward a call when you had your orientation?” She nods slowly, a sheepish look in her eyes and an embarrassed blush o
Antonia’s pov. I thought the main conflict would happen when Malachi was back and I was prepared for it, but Sienna seems to have prepared herself for more than that because it isn’t even evening yet, and she’s already making me mad. She was going through my bags! Anger and rage boil and bubble u
Malachi glares at me and while he does so, I can't help but notice the well-defined sharp angle of his jaw. He’s never been with me in this garden and I always wondered when we would take a walk in here together as a couple. Malachi releases his hold on my arm and stalks off back into the mansion.
The living room is deserted when I walk past it again and I'm thankful for it. No doubt Malachi would have tried to keep me from stepping out of the house if he saw me. He’d have failed. No one can keep me from going anywhere anymore. I’m no longer his wife. I no longer have to live by his rules.
“I apologize for the delay, sir. I’m trying to gain her entrance pass. No one goes in without an entrance pass.” The male in front of me gives the officer at the checkpoint a look that says he already knows that, and from that look alone my opinion about him sours further. He’s the guy I met at the
The existence of two more cars behind me suddenly seem important. I’ve held up this line long enough. The officer nods and I look to the man at my side, “Thank you for your help.” I roll my window up and I drive in. I don’t trust that guy, and I don't know what would have happened if I actually
The doors open immediately and every activity in the hall stops. I freeze where I stand and I feel like asking to be shown the exit, but the fear and nervousness clenching in my stomach prevents me from doing so. I swallow to ease my suddenly dry throat and that low, ashy voice floats into my ears
My eyebrows furrow. A fabric. Bridget stares at me squarely when she speaks now, “Do you remember the Parisian coat you made for your grandmother?” A slow surge of sadness seeps into me, but I nod. I do. The design for it is still in my sketchbook, and I didn't draw it with an old woman in mind.