Chapter 43 Painting - Lily
It's been two fucking days and I haven't seen my husband. I don't know where the idiot is sleeping or eating, but he'll hath no fury like a woman scorned. If I found out he was sleeping with some tramp, I will end him. I will seduce him, then slice his throat, catch him off guard.
Time is flying, and I need him to pose for me to prove to professor Bernard and myself that I can do this, that I'm an artist that they have to keep an eye out for and not just some girl who got into a college because her husband probably paid her way in.
"Have you by any chance seen Vincent?" I corner Lorenzo one morning at the crack of dawn.
He seems surprised to see me. I'm not exactly known to be an early riser, getting up just in time to make my way to college.
"He's in the gym this time of day."
"The gym?"
He raises his eyebrows. "You don't now where the gym is?"
Yeah, I haven't fully explored the monstrosity of this house yet. I have to admit that this is not the kind of house that I would choose for myself. It's old and huge, and seems like it holds generations of secrets in its walls.
"Follow me." Lorenzo doesn't necessarily look like he wants to escort me, but I follow him to the living room the furthest from my wing, opening a door that leads down to the basement. "The gym."
"Thank you, Lorenzo!" I call after him when he walks away and he waves his hand at me.
I can hear people breathing hard as I take the stairs down, and lo and behold, there's a fully equipped gym down here.
My absent husband is in the middle of a boxing ring with another guy that looks like he will eat me for breakfast in some kind of wrestling match of twisting and turning on the mat. I have to admit he looks hot as he tries to escape a much more muscular guy than him. If I wasn't too pissed off at him, I would've been a lot more appreciative of the scene in front of me.
I think its one of Vincent's life missions to keep me angry. Maybe he likes to only fuck me when I'm fuming. It could be one of his kinks or something.
He must sense me, because he looks my way and then the guy gets him in some kind of headlock, and I'm not worried at all at the way his face goes red until he taps out. Why in the world would people want to do these things to themselves?
"What the hell, Vince?" The very muscular guy gets up and holds out a hand for my husband. "You have to keep your head in the game, no matter what."
Both of them are breathing harshly, and Vincent leans over the ropes, smiling at me with a mouthguard on. "What are you doing here? Sonny, this is my wife."
The Sonny guy nods respectfully to me and gets down from the ring. "Nice to meet you Mrs. DiCassio. See you tomorrow morning Vince, bring your A-game."
He grabs a bag from the floor and heads for the stairs.
"Didn't know you were a MMA fighter." I deadpan, keeping my expression cool even though the muscles in his arms look really tantalizing, enough to salivate over.
"It's Krav Maga." he takes the mouth guard out and climbs through the rope to stop before me, sweat dripping from his brow. "Youre up early."
"You haven't been sleeping in bed."
He smirks, knowing he affects me, the assshole. "Did you miss me? So you decided to come look for me?"
"Not really." I pull up my nose and eye him up and down while folding my arms over my chest. "I have been instructed by my professor to paint you, so I need you to model for me."
"Oh, really." His grin widens, somehow making my stomach clench. "So you need me?"
"Where the fuck have you been?" I can't help but ask.
I hate that he has this effect on me. I hate that I fucking missed him in bed and that we're a mafia couple where I worry he will get hurt or killed at any time.
"So you did miss me." He steps into me until his sweaty chest meets mine. "I have to stay away from you because I have a lot of shit to do and you distract me."
"Well that can't be a good thing." I bite back. "Do I need to make an appointment to see you? Should I call your secretary?"
"Your smart mouth really turns me on." He looks down at my mouth. "I'll be in your studio after I take a shower, but I only have thirty mnutes."
I huff and turn away from him. What husbnad possibly only has thirty minutes for his wife? But I go to my studio and set up an easel and get my paint supplies ready. He strolls in looking like he just came for a fashion magazine shoot dressed in a suit.
"where do you want me?"
On your back while I'm riding you. But I don't say that. Instead, I point him to the chair in front of the easel.
"So why did the professor tell you to paint me?" He wants to know.
'He liked the sketch I did of you." I look at his face, at the five 'o clock shadow he didn't bother to shave, "Can you light a cigarette?"
"I thought you didn't like me smoking."
"Models don't talk, they just do as instructed."
He chuckles as he takes a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, his brown eyes curious on me as I just look at his face trying to decide how I'm going to paint it.
I eventually pick up a paint brush and start painting the outline of his face, but he again spoils everything when he abrupty gets up and walks over to me.
"I have to go, tiger." He kisses me quickly on the forehead. "Keep the bed warm for me tonight."
Like a dog getting a bone. I look at the almost blank canvas before me and sigh before retrieving the sketch of him.
Professor Bernard was right. It is a good sketch, if I could only have the real man around. We may be married, but at this point it feels like a part-time wedlock.