Playboy Billionaire

“Stella Lunette Lombardi! You better watch your mouth or—”

“Or what?” Her eyes go wide at my defiance, but anger is burning in my chest, egging me on. “You’ll trap me here for the rest of my life? Oh, wait.” I lower my chin, and the chef sucks in her lips as my mother steps toward me, evil in her eyes that I recognize too well. She raises her arm when she’s close enough and smacks me across the face with the back of her hand before I know what’s happening. It's a sharp pain, followed by the sting of hurt that her cruel mood swings often evoke. Next, she brings her face so close to mine that I have to force myself not to cower.

I don’t show that I’m hurt, don’t blow up on her for smacking my face after just getting a nearly two-hour facial. Instead, I stand my ground as she growls.

“Get out. Now.”

I raise an eyebrow and turn down my lips as I jut out my jaw in fury.

“Gladly.” I grit just above a whisper, beat myself up internally for sounding so weak, then turn on my heel and head straight to the elevator before she can see me cry.

I hate crying after a facial; I didn’t just spend all that time only to cry it off a moment later. I let it all out in the elevator, despite the fight inside myself to stay strong. Tears pour from my eyes, and I slump to the floor. The elevator takes me to my room level, and I cross straight to it, bleary-eyed, short raspy breaths that refuse to steady themselves as I close my door gently. Even if I slammed it, and she could hear from where she was, I wouldn’t. She doesn’t deserve to know how deeply she infuriates me.

I cross to the bathroom and inspect the damage she’s done. Besides my red eyes and puffy lips, it doesn’t look too bad, a little red and raised, but I can cover that. Despite my mother hiring people to do my hair and makeup, I’m quite skilled at it, if I do say so myself.

I grab a cold spoon from my mini-fridge that I normally use for puffy eyes in the morning, and press it onto my cheek, tears continuing to stream, despite my best efforts to hold them in. As I cross to the window, I get a call from Antonio, so I quickly collect myself and clear my throat before answering.

“Hi,” I say with a smile, so it sounds genuine.

“Stell?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“What? What do you mea—“

“You don’t sound… Nevermind.”

“Why’d you call?” My smile fades as I sit by the window, looking out at the barn that reminds me of my psycho mother. Not quite able to turn my eyes in the other direction.

“Oh, right. Um, well, I figured it might be easier if you stayed with me. You know, since we live two hours apart, and we’re meant to be spending every day together.”

“Every other day.” I correct for no real reason.

“Right. Every other.” It’s silent for a moment.

“So, what do you think?” He asks, and I consider it. I want to get away from here, but I don’t know if I’ll be allowed. Perhaps if I ask Gran, her approval will override my mother’s craziness. I would ask Mother; usually, she’s easy to sway when she’s in a good mood. But on her bad days… I avoid her like the plague.

I touch my cheek as Antonio speaks up again. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He quickly responds.

“I would like to.”

“Apologize?”

“No. I would like to stay with you for a bit.”

“Oh. Great. But no more apologizing for shit you don’t need to.”

“Okay. Sorry- I mean-” he chuckles, and I crack the first genuine smile of the day.

“I’ll pick you up tonight if you’d like? I’ll be in Malibu for a meeting-”

“Where at?”