Chapter 2 - Your Mistress is Not Me

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          Aunt Marcella's house can be called a boast if you ask me

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Aunt Marcella's house can be called a boast if you ask me. The big - no - huge fancy house looks just like those you normally see in Beverly Hills complete with a swimming pool. This one however has a touch of old Renaissance taste, all elements of it including the building, the main facade and the interior. They were all designed into perfection. The marbled floors, the high ceilings, even the furniture were eye-popping. It doesn't fail to surprise me though considering that her late husband, my Uncle, was a filthy rich man.

When I visited here for the first time, I remembered playing house on my own, treating myself as a princess inside a big castle. I enjoyed it very much, especially when my Auntie plays with me, acting like the queen of the castle. They also had a ranch located a kilometer away from the main house. This was where I learned to ride a horse, taught by Uncle Michael Winner himself.

By the time Aunt Marcella saw me in the foyer, she immediately fell in tears.

Gods, such a theater drama queen.

I did mention she acts like an eccentric right? But eccentric in a good way. She wears mostly flashy clothes - ones that involve neon colors and sequins - but at least on my arrival, she has tuned it down a bit, wearing just maroon flare pants and a bolero knitted blouse.

"Oh Andrea! It is so nice to see you again!" she exclaimed, giving me her famous well-endowed embrace. Yeah. For a fifty-eight year old woman, she sure looks younger - I guess from using Botox cream?

"Auntie! How have you been?" I asked, resigning myself to be embraced tighter.

Once satisfied, she dabbed the small water beads in her eyes with a handkerchief and stared cheerfully at me.

"I'm good! A bit bored but I'm good!" she replied.

Yeah. Bored-my-ass Aunt Marcella. I know you won't be when you have a freak'n hot butler near you always! That's what my crazy little side was saying. I lightly shook my head, dismissing the thought away.

Speaking of butler, I happen to glance at that particular man-in-suit crossing our way towards an awaiting young woman wearing a French maid outfit. He handed my stuffed bag to her to which she dutifully accepted. When he whirled around to face us, I was already smothered by my Aunt's second embrace. I noticed, was it just my imagination or was he really directing his eyes only on me?

"Come, Andi, let's head to the dining room. I'm sure you're hungry. Oh! I get the chef to cook your favorite carbonara spaghetti a la Marcella!" she squealed delightfully, then hooked her arms in mine, pulling me to where the dining room stood. I smiled again, happy to see her rambunctious personality. It felt good to know that she has finally accepted her husband's untimely death due to pneumonia.

Yes. You could say that I am very much famished. I was actually ready to devour what awesome feast readied for me, but before we stepped inside the dining room, my Aunt unexpectedly paused, her face showed a slight frown as if she had forgotten something. Her head turned to where Mr. Hot Butler stood and ordered, "Oh Eriol! Could you get it in my room please? I forgot to bring it with me."

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