Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“That would be easier and more efficient,” he mutters. “Let the animals do the work for us. But no, we won’t be doing that, either.”
Something inside me snaps. “For God’s sake, what are we doing? Can you at least tell me that? Or do I have to be in the dark until the very end?”
“A few days spent on your own clearly did nothing to quiet you down.”
“A few days spent on my own worried sick and wondering if I was living my last day. Sorry if I’m a little bit unnerved.”
“You can stop being so unnerved. I’m taking you home.”
I can’t stifle the little gasp his announcement stirs up. Home. I’m going home! Of all the crazy scenarios that have run through my head, that was the single one I didn’t dare imagine because it seemed impossible. Why break my own heart by imagining the impossible?
As if reading my mind, he continues, “My home. We’re going back to Italy, where we belong now.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
“That’s where I’m from. It’s where I belong. And since you are my bride, you belong with me, so you’re coming along. We’ll be safer there.”
He hesitates, then adds, “Besides, I can’t bury my grandfather here. He belongs back home with the family. See that car behind us?”
I check out the side mirror, and my eyes widen at the sight of a hearse behind us. I don’t think I can be blamed for not picking up little details like that when I was so sure I was being driven to my murder.
“So we’re going right now? As in, today?”
“As in, as soon as we make it to the airport and the jet takes off. Yes. That’s what I mean.”
Italy. I’m going to Italy. “I don’t have my passport.”
He laughs for the first time in days, and it’s not exactly a warm or friendly sound. “You have a lot to learn, Alicia.” He says it like it’s a curse, a condemnation, instead of my actual name. He might as well call me bitch instead. It would have the same effect.
Italy. So this is it. Even the slightest semblance of my old life is gone, forgotten. Nobody asked me. Never once was my opinion sought out. I just have to go along with it. He’s taking me across an ocean to another continent, and still calling me his bride. I mean, I am, but hearing him say it is so strange.
This airport is a lot different than the one we visited during that disastrous meeting. For starters, it’s still in use and well-maintained. There’s a plane sitting there, and I guess it’s ours. Or rather, his. It’s amazing to think his family has that kind of wealth. Who needs to buy plane tickets when you have your own plane?
We’re close to the plane when I notice another car already waiting, and the most startling thing happens before we come to a stop. A man who looks exactly like Enzo steps out, followed by a pretty girl who takes his hand and holds it while they wait for us to reach them.
“My brother, Christian. His wife, Siân,” Enzo explains before putting the car in park and killing the engine. I search my memory but can’t recall this person. He’s got a twin brother? There are two of them in the world? Now I have to wonder what this guy’s story is and why Enzo never brought him up. The way he made it sound, it was only him and his grandfather. What’s the story there? I know better than to think I’ll ever get it, or at least that I’ll get it anytime soon. Eventually, he might warm up to me again, but that’s going to take a while.
Enzo opens my door, and I step out, wrapping my arms around myself and following him to where he shakes hands with his brother. “Christian,” Enzo murmurs.
Christian nods. “I wanted to pay my respects before you leave.”
“That’s good of you. I know he would appreciate it.” Enzo then nods in acknowledgment of Siân, and she offers a faint smile that I guess is supposed to be friendly or encouraging or maybe offered in sympathy. What’s her deal, I wonder. Wouldn’t it be funny if she came into Christian’s life in the same messed up way I entered Enzo’s? But no, I’m sure the odds of that verge on the impossible.
I certainly can’t ask for clarification. That much is clear. All I can do is watch as the casket is unloaded from the hearse. It’s very nice, as far as caskets go, snowy white. It gleams like a pearl as the men load it onto a wheeled cart which they then roll over to the plane. I sneak a quick look at Enzo from the corner of my eye and see he’s struggling, his jaw is tight, and his throat is working like he’s trying to swallow back emotion.