Turning to my right, I notice Vanessa looking smug as she wipes her lips with her linen napkin, her other hand going to her chest in mock outrage. “What? Don’t like your meal? I had it specially prepared. The chefs worked extra hard to make sure it would be up to your standard.”
Someone says something in Italian about “dog food for a b***h” and a wave of hot anger rushes over me so quickly that everything I see becomes an eerie red as I struggle to control my breathing.
I’ve been trying so hard to make this work, to play nice, to at least not make a scene, but this devil woman insists on pushing me closer to the edge. Normally, something like this I could just brush aside, but after the day I’ve had, it takes all of my effort not to stand and throttle her. Biting my tongue, I hold back
