Tears Like Acid: Corsican Crime Lord, Book Three by Charmaine Pauls

Author:Charmaine Pauls [Pauls, Charmaine]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter

Fifteen

Sabella

* * *

My husband doesn’t give me a chance to tell him someone—I suspect a child—broke into the house. He slams the door behind him and goes without locking it, leaving me used and naked and drenched in his cum in the kitchen.

I feel a mess.

I am a mess.

I don’t get it. Last night, when he asked for my advice, he gave me the impression that my opinion mattered to him. He gave me the idea that we could have peace if not happiness, but that notion now lies shattered at my feet.

I should’ve known better than to hope for something less ugly than the hate between us. I’ve been stupid and naïve. It’s not a mistake I’ll repeat. I won’t make myself that vulnerable again.

When I’ve scavenged the energy to peel myself off the table, I shower and cook pasta for dinner. My grumbling stomach insists that I feed it. After eating, I dress in warm clothes and go outside to look for the child that climbed through my window, but I don’t have a torch, and the night is moonless. I almost break my neck twice by falling over the rocks. When I nearly walk over the edge of a cliff, I admit defeat and turn home. I make sure the windows are closed but leave the one that was forced open a crack. Then I settle on the sofa with a blanket and wait.

After spending a sleepless night in the lounge, I get up early and resume my search.

Soon, I’m despondent. There are no traces of a child or anyone else for that matter. The soil is too hard and the terrain too rocky for shoes to leave prints. I follow the river for most of the morning but find no other houses or signs of life.

By the time I reach the village, I’m exhausted.

Mrs. Paoli looks a lot better when she answers her door.

“My dear, you look like you walked ten miles,” she says with a hand pressed over her heart.

She’s not far off.

“Would you like a glass of water?” she asks.

I show her my water bottle. “I’m good, but thank you for the offer.”

“Corinne told me there are kumquats at the market. Do you mind picking me up half a kilo while you walk Diva?”

“Of course not.”

“You better go straight away. Most of the vendors will be gone already. They only stay until late morning, but a few hang around until the afternoon.” She takes an envelope from her pocket. “Here. You can buy Diva a treat with the change. There’s a lady that sells homemade dog biscuits at the market. Diva loves them.” She clutches the edges of her robe together as she leans outside for a glance down the street. “Oh, and before I forget, Mr. Martin needs a little help with house cleaning. He’s a retired widower. If you’re interested, he lives in the old mill next to the river.”

“I appreciate that you thought about me.”

“You’re welcome, my dear.” She hands me Diva’s leash before addressing the dog in a sing-song voice.

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