“Hurts a little, but otherwise fine,” I lie. It kills.
He doesn’t respond, just expertly weaves through the thick, heavy traffic down a street in Boston that looks as if it was lifted straight out of Italy, complete with cobblestone streets, antique streetlamps that look as if they’re hand-painted, and small clusters of houses that might be apartments, or dorms, maybe both.
“You need to see a doctor. I won’t take you to a hospital. My family has a doctor on-site.”
Of course they do. Elise’s family does, too. Probably helps to have someone that can repair bullet wounds and knife wounds without calling the police. Fantastic.
I lay my head on the back of the seat.
One thing I have going for me is the location. Even though there are streetlamps everywhere, it’s pretty dimly lit. If there’s enough of a commotion or chaos, I just might be able to get away… or maybe I can delay things.
“I… don’t know if you heard the plans for tonight?”
He doesn’t respond, and I feel odd continuing to talk, but it’s worth a shot.
“I was thinking maybe tonight’s not the best night for a…wedding?” I grimace to myself. Surely, I could’ve come up with something better than that?
“We’ll see what the doctor says.”
My heart thunders in my chest. We’ll see what the doctor says? What is that supposed to mean? What exactly do they have riding on this wedding, that they’re prepared to marry me to someone I’ve never met, even after a dangerous crash and accident?
He pulls up to the curb, where there are men in uniforms waiting to take his car. It’s the only space on the entire street where a car can fit, and I wonder to myself what we’ll do next. Is it a valet? Someone that works for the guy that I’m supposed to marry? My eyes dart from side to side looking for a getaway, but I don’t see one. The valet opens the driver’s door first, and the man gets out of the car.
Holy shit. Seated, in the dark interior of the car, I couldn’t see how big this guy is. He’s huge. So huge I stifle a little gasp and crane my neck to look up at him, but I can’t. His shoulders are enormous, his back bigger than three of me. His hands, oh God, his hands could span my waist and crush me.
He hands the uniformed man the keys, and then reaches for my door.
Instinctively I click the lock to keep him out, like an idiot.
He tries the handle, and of course it’s locked. This is probably the most juvenile attempt at getting away I could think of, but I’m that desperate to get out of here.
He’s unbothered. He simply takes the keys from the uniformed man, clicks the button, and the doors unlock. Before I can lock it again, he yanks it open so hard I fear he’s going to rip it off its hinges.
“What the fuck are you playing it? You’re injured and need to see a doctor. And you’re expected inside that house. You’re lucky you’re hurt.”
Is that a threat? That is definitely a threat. My heart beats faster.
I don’t respond, I don’t tell him it was an accident, because it wasn’t. And I’m trying to reserve all my energy to figure out how to get away.
I can’t trick him or run. He’s way too big. And something tells me if we actually get in those doors, there are going to be way too many people for me to stage a getaway. I’ll never make it.
I’ll have to pretend to use the bathroom or something.
So I go with him. I let him lead me up the stairs. I pretend I don’t like the way his hand feels on my elbow or on the small of my back. For a big, kinda angry guy, he’s acting surprisingly gentle.
For the first time, I wonder… is this guy my husband? Because I don’t know that much about Elise’s family, but I do know the men are very possessive, and any man that was engaged to someone would probably chop off the hands of a guy that dared to touch his betrothed. Just wham, slice them right off. The Rossis are probably the same.
“Are you the guy I’m supposed to marry?” I can’t imagine being married to a guy that big. He’ll break me in two. He’s like a fucking gorilla.
“What gives you that idea?” And I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning in the dark.
He opens the door, and just as I suspected, the entire front entryway is filled, and I mean filled, with huge, scary men all dressed in tuxedos, and right in the center is a man that looks like a priest.
Oh. My. God.
A man that looks a few years older than the man I’m with steps to the front. “Is she all right? We heard what happened.”