Arabella

I had never seen Marco so rattled.

He was barking orders at the staff like a madman. “Wipe that again! My grandmother doesn’t like spots, do you hear me?”

His voice was sharp, but his expression looked almost… anxious. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead despite the cool breeze from the air conditioner, and he kept pacing from one end of the room to the other.

I sat quietly on the velvet couch in the living room, watching him. “Is the food ready?” he snapped. “It better all be fresh. Ma has a peculiar taste and a sharp nose. She’ll know if it’s not organic. Can you...