Page 70 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
23
"These damn things are as hot as a stiff cock!”
—Julie & Julia, Director: Nora Ephron
Summer
"Cruel." Stab. "Sadistic." Stab. "Twat." Stab, stab. "Alpha-fucking-hole." I bring the knitting needle down toward the cushion again, only for Karma to pull it away from me.
"That bad, huh?" She pats the pillow and places it behind her neck.
"Swine. Pig. Horseshit." I fume.
"Manure." She holds out her palm and I place the knitting needle in it.
I spring up and begin to pace, "Bastardo."
"Is that Italian?" She loops the wool around the needle, drags it out in that rhythmic fashion that makes my head boggle.
"Does it matter?" I walk toward the other end of the room, turn, head toward the other side.
"Guess not. He’s certainly helping you expand your vocabulary."
"It was already quite extensive, thank you very much."
"You talkin’ to me?" Her needles clack.
"Taxi Driver." I toss my head.
"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." She tugs wool from the yarn.
"Godfather." I smirk. "Is that the best you can do?"
Her eyes gleam, “You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.”
"What are you trying to tell me, huh?" I throw up my hands. "I always know when you are trying to manipulate me."
"Moi?" She coils wool between the needles. "As if I’d ever try to get you to do anything you didn’t want."
"Yes, you. You’re every bit as scheming as that nasty jerkface."
"Thought you liked his features." She frowns at the wool.
"What’s that got to do with anything?" A headache begins to drum against my temples.
"You can’t handle the truth."
There’s silence, broken by the clack-clack of the needles.
I turn, flounce to the front of the settee where she’s sprawled out.
"What are you trying to say?" I frown. "And that line is from A Few Good Men."
She doesn’t answer. Her fingers flex, the wool is eaten up in the space between her needles to be spat out on the other side, woven into a perfect design. Unlike my life, which is as messy as a knotted, all-over-the-place, dirty, cast aside, bag of unwanted thread. This must be a new low for me, comparing myself to fabric… Not even—the raw material that goes into making cloth. Ugh.
"How do you enjoy knitting?"
"It’s calming, helps me focus on something other than what’s going on in my mind."
