8
My head throbs like someone’s driven a nail through my temple. My cheek is pressed to a scratchy surface. Voices murmur over my head. Male voices.
My heart slams in my ribcage, and I jolt awake. I’m still in the wedding dress. The veil has flopped over my face. I brush it aside.
I’m lying on faded green and yellow cushions, on what’s got to be the ugliest plaid couch in existence. The room is musty, with dust motes dancing in the dim sunbeams. The walls are fake wood paneling.
“What?” I mumble with a painfully dry mouth.
“She’s awake,” someone mutters, and stale cigarette smoke wafts over me.
I push myself up and lean back on the couch. A dark figure looms over me.
Vinnie Regis. Royal’s dad.
“Where am I?” I mutter.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Vinnie flicks his cigarette, and ash flies onto the matted brown carpet. “Not as nice as Royal’s place, is it? Course, his place used to be mine. What sort of son pushes his father out?” Spittle flies out his mouth. He raises a hand to push back his hair. He’s holding a gun.
I press myself into the couch.
“Fucker always was a silent freak of a kid, always plotting.” Vinnie notices me cowering in a cream puff of a dress. “I don’t know what he sees in you.” His lip curls. “La Famiglia isn’t gonna allow their golden prince to marry some nobody. If he goes through with this—” he waves his gun at my poofy white dress, “they’ll reject him. I’m doing him a favor, taking you.”
I lick my lips. Stay calm. Stay calm. Channel Lula. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Keep you a while, teach him a lesson. Make him trade you for the territory he took from Stefanos. Stefanos was cutting me in.” Vinnie keeps ranting. His men hover around him, nodding and smirking at me.
I close my eyes. Do not cry. I press my thumb against the band of my engagement ring. Royal will come for me.
I just have to hold on until then.
“Can I use the bathroom?” I rasp once Vinnie’s stomped out of the room. One of the goons left to watch me shrugs and points out a door in the wood paneled walls.
In the bathroom, I scoop water into my hands and drink my fill. Twitching my skirts away from the filthy tile, I lean over the sink and stare at my reflection. “Think, Leah.” A goddess with big brown eyes blinks back at me. She looks calm, in control. Ready to get married.
Royal is going to come for me, and I need to be ready. If I see an opportunity to escape, I need to take it. Maybe I can manufacture a distraction.
I open the medicine cabinet and stare at the contents. I can figure this out.
I keep my head down when I exit the bathroom. Vinnie is back, lighting a new cigarette. I clasp my hands in front of me.
“Can I use your kitchen?”
“For what?” Vinnie blows smoke in my direction.
I shrug. “I’m a baker. I like baking. I want to make cupcakes. I always do that on Valentine’s Day, but didn’t get to yesterday.”
Vinnie’s bushy brows rise. I try to look meek and scared. Unassuming. Out of my depth. I don’t have to try hard.
“Whatever. Make yourself at home. But don't get any ideas.” He motions to one of his men. “Take all the knives outta there.”
Vinnie’s goon precedes me to the yellow kitchen and yanks open a silverware drawer, pulling out all the knives. My skirts swish over faded linoleum. “Thank you,” I murmur, keeping my eyes downcast. I find an apron that’s clean besides a few old stains, and put it on over my dress.
In what feels like no time at all, I’m turning off the oven buzzer and pulling out my creations. A few goons have gathered in the living room, drawn by the vanilla scent. I swan over to the dusty dining room table and set down a full plate of pink cupcakes.
“How’d you get them pink?” Vinnie asks, suspicion written on his face.
Blood in the frosting. “I found a little bottle of food coloring. You can have as many as you like,” I say. “I already had mine.” I point to a demolished pile of crumbs and baking paper. I did pretend to eat a cupcake, so as not to arouse suspicion.
The men fall on them. Even Vinnie eats one. Pink frosting smears his face. My cupcakes are too good to be ignored.
While the men are eating their fill, I putter around the kitchen for a few minutes, pretending to clean up. Then I take off my apron and visit the downstairs restroom again before sitting on the edge of the ugly couch in the front room, my hands folded in my lap like a good little girl. The wedding dress poofs around me.