Billionaire's Accidental Wife

Chapter 17

Chapter 17 Dear Diary Yes, everything is surprising, a mess and I don’t like it. I miss the children, I

miss Kenya. My life is changing again and I don’t need it. I take a deep breath in and exhale, nice and Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

slow. This reality is going to take a hell of a lot to get used to. Not only am I no longer in Kenya, but my

step-sister lives in a mansion with a billionaire? With Sebastian? A friend of Dave? This is not

happening. Fuck it! But can I do something about

I’m not sure how quickly Christie expects me to adjust to having servants who will make me

sandwiches in the middle of the night. Not that I’m not accustomed to wealth, but I’m a self sufficient

woman. I don’t need a servant to do anything for me.

Surely she recognizes that this drastic adjustment will take some time to sink in? This 180-degree turn

in my lifestyle is nearly too much to bear: the change in climate; the contrasting culture; the transition

from third to first world; Sebastian’s home; the engagement; the luxury automobile; and the servants…

It is all enough to give anyone whiplash. Did my sister not realize I am fresh from a one-year volunteer

program? To forget something? To forget my life? My past and my heart ache? A program that exposed

me to people experiencing destitution, hopelessness, and devastation. How did she think I would react

to such opulence back home?

When we step into the mansion’s foyer, the first thing I notice is the polished ceramic tiled floor and the

huge, crystal chandelier hanging above our heads.

Then there are the two flights of beautiful white spiral staircases, one for each wing of the mansion, and

the three white pillars that meet the high arched ceiling laced with gold. A luxurious infinity pool

adorned with a flowing waterfall leads to a well maintained gorgeous garden fit for royalty through

transparent glass doors between the two staircases. “Isn’t it marvelous!” Christie exclaims, doing a kind

of twirl on her feet. Her movement surprised me. She is like a whole different person. I never thought

she would be enamored by wealth, but evidently, I was wrong. Entering the mansion has transported

me into a different realm. A realm that could not be more dissimilar to my tiny bedroom at the

orphanage. With such thoughts still racing through my head, my sister proceeds to give me a tour of

the place. “And here is the kitchen… Sebastian only has the highest appliances. But you don’t have to

worry about using any of them. The servants take care of all our meals,” she states, a posh tone

creeping into her voice.

I am speechless. I never have to make my own meals again? Seriously? Christie moves us on,

directing me back to the foyer and up the spiral staircase on the left. After we head down a long

corridor into the west wing, she stops by one of the many doors lining the passageway.

“And now for your bedroom. We decorated it just for you. I know you like black and white photos, so I

asked the interior designer to pick out a few prints for the walls,” she says as she twists the brass,

antique-styled handle. And a new wardrobe. We enter, and she points out the opulent California king

bed, antique dresser, walk-in closet, en-suite, and sliding glass doors leading to a private balcony. This

is utterly absurd. Is this a huge mess? I take a deadpan look around the room. “Isn’t it lovely, Lil? You

are welcome to come out here and read. Or even have your breakfast brought,” sister continues,

opening the balcony doors and walking us out to a breathtaking view of the gardens. Or should I come

out here and flaunt my rank as princess of the palace? I tell myself.

This display of grandeur does not impress me. Not when I’ve just returned from Kenya.

The doors were purchased from France, while the linen on the bed was brought from India, according

to my sister. But I’ve had enough. My mind is racing from the events of the day, and I need to unwind.

I’m so tired of everything. Damn it! “Christie, I’m tired. I suppose I need to lie down,” I remark, a feeble

smile on my face. She gives me a surprised expression as she realizes I no longer want to hear about

the paint that came from a particular manufacturer in Germany.

“All right, honey. We can discuss the furniture afterwards. When Sebastian gets home, I’ll come wake

you up. Peter also has karate courses to attend. Tonight’s dinner will be served in the ballroom.

Sebastian’s friend will also be present. I can’t wait to introduce you to him!” She exclaims joyfully. “Oh, I

can’t wait either,” I say, faking a smile. I sigh and slump onto the enormous bed covered in various

shaped fluffy pillows once she goes. I look up at the ceiling as the events of the day flash before my

eyes like I’ve hit fast forward on a movie. I consider my Kenyan students and how much they would

prefer clean drinking water than live in a luxury mansion. I don’t fight the tears that fall down my

cheeks. My sister has not inquired about my trip in the least. Or my thoughts on her selling the

apartment. She has been so swept up in this new life of hers and has such a strong trophy wife

persona that it is hard to recognize her.

Is it true that money has changed her personality? The thoughts racing through my mind make me

resentful of her and her fiancée. I’ll be meeting Sebastian again, the “owner, Dave’s friend” in a few

minutes, and I’m not looking forward to it. What the hell happened to him anyway? Who is the man who

has turned my sister into a snob?

Christie knocks on my door as I wake up from my sleep. “Chelsea. Sebastian is waiting for you below.”

I mutter sharply, “Be right down,” and reluctantly get out of bed.

I inspect myself in the dresser mirror before proceeding down the majestic staircase and through the

west wing corridor.

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