The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of Ronda’s South Bank apartment, casting golden hues over the cozy living room. Ronda Riy had just finished tidying up when she walked into the bedroom, humming softly. Her hum stopped abruptly as her gaze fell on the pile of clothes strewn across Faro Faros’ side of the bed.
It was unmistakably Rita’s—her skimpy tops, a mini skirt, and delicate lace undergarments casually tossed onto Faro’s neatly made space. Ronda’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line as she grabbed the clothes and stormed into the living room.
Rita Faros, lounging on the couch with a book in hand, looked up just as Ronda entered, holding the offending laundry in her arms. Rita arched an elegant brow, clearly amused by the stormy expression on Ronda’s face.
“Rita,” Ronda began, her voice sharp and trembling slightly, “why are your dirty clothes on Faro’s side of the bed?”
Rita set the book down and leaned back, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, is that where I left them? I must’ve been in a hurry,” she said, her tone light and unapologetic.
Ronda’s grip on the clothes tightened. “This isn’t funny. That’s his space, Rita. You have no right to invade it like this.”
Rita stood, smoothing out her skirt with deliberate grace. “Relax, darling,” she said, her voice calm but with an edge of condescension. “It’s just laundry. Why make such a fuss?”
“Because it’s disrespectful!” Ronda snapped, her voice rising. “You’re crossing boundaries, Rita. This is our home, my home with Faro. You’re a guest here, and you need to act like one.”
Rita stepped closer, her expression turning serious. “I think you’re overreacting,” she said smoothly. “But let’s be honest, Ronda—this isn’t about laundry, is it? It’s about Faro.”
Ronda’s cheeks flushed, a mix of anger and embarrassment. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
“You feel threatened,” Rita said, her tone softening slightly but still laced with a hint of superiority. “You think I’m encroaching on your territory, don’t you?”
Ronda glared at her, her chest heaving. “This isn’t about being threatened. It’s about respect. Faro and I are building a life together, and you need to stop inserting yourself where you don’t belong.”
Rita tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “I’ve known Faro since he was a boy. I’ve fought alongside him, risked my life for him. Our bond is unique, Ronda, and nothing you say or do will change that.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to disrespect our relationship,” Ronda shot back. “Whatever bond you have with Faro, it doesn’t include you dumping your dirty laundry on his side of the bed.”
For a moment, the two women stood in silence, the tension crackling between them. Finally, Rita sighed, her confident facade softening ever so slightly.
“Fine,” she said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be more mindful. But don’t mistake my actions for something they’re not. I care about Faro, but I have no intention of undermining your place in his life.”
Ronda exhaled slowly, her grip on the clothes loosening. “I appreciate that,” she said, though her tone remained guarded.
Rita smiled faintly, a glimmer of her usual confidence returning. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my laundry back. Wouldn’t want to upset you further.”
She plucked the clothes from Ronda’s arms and strolled toward the guest room, her movements as graceful as ever.
Ronda watched her go, her heart still pounding. She knew Rita’s words were meant to reassure her, but there was something about the older woman that always kept her on edge.
As she returned to the bedroom, Ronda resolved to stand her ground. Whatever Rita’s intentions, Ronda would protect her relationship with Faro—no matter what it took.
