Page 48 of Merciful Lies

Sure, the condo is awesome. And Nico even told me I could hire a decorator to change anything I want.

But really, I’m fine with the neutral walls, warm wood floors, polished marble bathrooms, and floor to ceiling windows.

Most of the furniture is decidedly masculine, but a little accessorizing can help with that.

I already ordered like three dozen throw pillows and a variety of materials with different textures and colors so I can sew cases for them.

I have a secret passion for interior design and sewing. I’m always looking up projects and plotting out things to work on.

Like the jewel-toned blue quilt I just finished for our king-sized bed. I spent about thirty hours on it. I ordered the material online and found a handy little sewing machine in the closet that the housekeeper uses sometimes.

Anyway, whenever he isn’t home. I work on things for the house. I ordered sheets to match, replacing all the old ones in our bedroom.

Our bedroom.

Warmth seeps into my veins as I bite down on a piece of perfectly buttered rye toast. I place one hand on my belly, and I chew slowly.

There’s no escaping the fact I am all in this. Conventional or not, I am really liking married life.

My phone chimes again.

Giselle

Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaaassssssssseeeeeee. I need to talk to you. This thing with Angel is making me crazy. I’m sorry for judging you. Heeeelllllllllllpppppppppp. I’m an asshole. You can call me a bitch. And I’ll let you blow a raspberry in my face. Just please please please please please please please please.

I can’t take it anymore. I hit call and connect to video.

“Oh my God, does this mean you forgive me?”

“No heifer, it means you can come over and grovel and maybe I’ll let you swim in my rooftop pool with me,” I say.

“You bitch, you have a pool now?”

“Uh huh. I do.”

“Are those boiled eggs? You never make those right! The shell always sticks,” she says suspiciously.

“I didn’t make them. Nico made them for me.”

“No, he did not!”

“Yes. He did. He cooks all the time. Actually, I think he’s kind of obsessed with what I eat, and um, feeding me.”

Now that I think about it, he is rather insistent about it. Every night since the day we made our marriage real in the swimming pool, which is also the last day I ever saw our old security guard, Nico’s been coming home early and cooking for me.

We eat together. We talk. Watch TV. We swim.

But of course, swimming leads to other things.

Not that I’m complaining. I completely love doing other things with Nico. But I also miss Giselle.

Six months apart is nothing, I mean she left for college and our friendship survived. I’m still kinda pissed at her insinuating I’m some sort of actual slut when we both know that’s not true.

But I could use a friend. Someone to help me sift through the feelings I’m having.

“Just get your ass over here,” I say, and she squeals, making me drop the phone.

It will take her at least twenty minutes to get here, so I go take a shower and I pull on a tank top and shorts.

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