Page 16 of To Hell

“Two hundred and fifty bucks,” he doesn’t waste any time answering as if he had that exact amount on his mind for something else.

“Two fifty?” My eyes pop. “That’s robbery,” I stab one finger at him.

“This contest doesn’t mean that much to you?” He slips the key into the pocket of his burgundy track pants, then zips up the sweater with our school logo to conceal the sweaty, plain white shirt he had while training.

“It does, but two-hundred and fifty bucks is too much, don’t you think?” I try to reason with him.

“Then leave me alone, Zoe.” He shrugs.

“Fine,” I can’t leave him alone. It’s him I want, now more than ever, because putting my money into it makes me feel like I’m onto something. “I will give you the money.”

“You have it?” He twists the side of his lips.

“Deal or no deal?” I won’t tell him about my savings and make him ask for more.

“Deal,” he shrugs, “Whenever you need me…” he turns and saunters off.

Paying him and getting the things I will need for the contest will cost me all my savings and some, but it’s an investment I’m willing to make to see my dreams come true.

Chapter Nine

ZOE

Iplant my bare feet on the floor, coming down from the staircase and feeling drips of my wet hair gliding down on me.

I cleaned up well and chose a sequoia dress instead of the black I was swooning after because of him.

The dress is simple, but, like everything in this house, including the owner, it doesn’t lack elegance. It also reflects the same glow I had captured from the sun when I stepped out earlier to meet him.

I strut with my shoulders as straight as I can get them, fighting against the intimidation of everything in here and the person waiting for me.

It’s a short walk over to the breakfast room, but it evokes an image I will look further into later when I’m alone.

To have models dressed in casual house wear, walking the runway barefoot. Who said doing chores and having breakfasts cannot be as enchanting as getting dressed for dinner or running errands at work?

I stop at the entrance of the breakfast room, the food splayed on elegant platters.

Despite the array of delicious smells, the one that fills my nostrils above all is his own, all freshened up and clean.

He lifts his eyes from his phone and pokes them at me, “Hi,” his voice is no different from the glacial tone he left my room with, but the stiffness is melting away. “Good morning,” he chirps like he’s just seeing me for the first time today.

Like we hadn’t just had sex.

While taking my bath, I made an effort not to think about it, but every time I felt my hands brush over my skin, I was reminded of the weight of his body on me.

Although my body has experienced other men, I have never knowna man quite like Ettore. I'm still not sure how he differs from the others. Somehow, it feels like I have known him all my life.

“Good morning,” I swallow and take a step closer to the table, trying to pretend I’m not at all feeling the emptiness from when he left me when he pulled out of me earlier.

“Sit,” he commands, and I obey.

I nod, “Thank you,” I rip my eyes away from him and drop them to the table, “I don’t eat that much,” I mutter, staring at the unbelievable quantity of food only for the two of us.

“Eat,” he picks up his cutlery with grace and begins to eat from his plate.

There are two large platters on the table. Both contain a full-course meal in smaller bowls: toast bread, waffles, slices of bacon, French fries with tomato sauce beside them, sausages, baked beans, white and red grapes, slices of watermelon, and a small jug of orange juice.

One piece of toast will fill me up.

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