Page 65 of His Cursed Heart

"Boss." He bows his head in greeting.

I put my hand on the doorknob but Ivan stops me.

"Mrs. Moretti said you are not allowed in." He said with a guarded tone. I raise my eyebrows at him and I shake my head.

Just today. I'll let her stay mad at me just today.

"Guard her, she's not leaving the house." Ivan nods and I walk away.

The following days are worse. Althea isn't talking to me at all, refusing to even look in my direction.

She's stubborn, I'll give her that.

I'm in the garage, changing the battery on my BMW when I hear someone whistle.

I turn my head slowly without hitting the hood of the car and see Allan's blond hair. "Did you change its color?" Allan asks as he stares at the car. "

"Yes, that's after I fixed the scratch." I side eye him and he smiles.

Before the wedding, Allan borrowed the BMW for a

meeting and scratched the hell out of it. He thought the car was going to fit between other two.

I couldn't repair it until this week.

"So, how is married life?" Allan asks while sitting in the driver seat.

Good question, Allan. Let's see.

The first days we spent as a married pair we made a deal to be a perfect public couple so that I would get my position as Boos and then we completely ignored each other, and then we fought because I didn't tell my lovely wife that her sister's body was stolen, and after days, we're still not talking.

"None of your business." I choose to say.

"Hmh," He puffs. "So she's right."

"Right about what?" I ask while I check the oil.

"You're ignoring each other." He thinks about something.

"You've been talking with her?" I ask and I can feel the vein on my forehead about to pop.

So she can talk with him just fine, but can't even come to dinner.

I'm so fucking jealous, what's wrong with me?

"On a daily basis." Allan smiles and I motion him to start the engine.

How bad will it hurt him if I hit him with this car?

When I hear the beautiful roar of the engine I disconnect the pleats from the battery.

"You know, the cute good morning messages, a random song she likes. Just the other day she sent me a photo from your living room at dawn. Ah, so beautiful" I move quickly until I'm right in front of him and I take his collar and bring him closer to my face.

My dirty hands are messing up his shirt and I know that will make him mad.

"Not the shirt, man." He whines. His British accent too prominent for my liking.

"You want to bring me to despair?" I say low. "You want to leave this place with a bruised face?" I ask him.