by Kim Linwood
Did I say this lady used to seem nice? Because I don’t care what people say, sometimes first impressions do lie.
My eyes narrow. “If anything happens to me, whatever deal you think you have with my family is off. It’ll mean war.”
“I know, and none of us want that.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “Do we?”
There’s a pregnant pause—forgive the pun—while we size each other up. Then she does something odd. Without turning her head, she glances up at the corner of the room, keeping her gaze there strangely long before she sits down gracefully across the table from me like we’re about to chat over coffee.
I follow her gaze and find a tiny red light behind the heating grate near the ceiling. We’re being recorded. That’s not surprising, but the fact that Leah wanted me to know, is.
“Of course not.” I dial back the hostility a notch, and even open the water bottle and take a sip before sitting.
She glances down on my sad little sandwich with a grimace. “That’s what they’ve given you to eat? I’ll make sure you get some real food after we’re done.”
“Done with what? What is this about? Why couldn’t you have set up a meeting instead of ripping us away from the lake house? We had it quite nice there, you know.”
See how relaxed I am? So cool and collected.
Not.
My stomach is a mass of squirming knots, like I swallowed a nest of vipers. I’m about to jump out of my own skin.
She gives me a wry smile. “And give you a chance to run again? I think you know why you’re here. We couldn’t risk you taking off. The wedding has been moved up to tomorrow.”
Ice runs down my spine. Tomorrow? This doesn’t make any sense. If they know about the baby, why would they want to go through with it so fast? I can see why my parents might, but the Caporossis? “But what about the—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she cuts me off, with another significant glance towards the camera. “The most important thing right now is for our families to stand together. Everything’s in place, and your parents will be there. All you have to do is play your part.”
My mother would’ve signed me over the day the plane landed if she could’ve done it without losing face, but Marc? Giuseppe? I might not know them well, but I haven’t gotten the impression they’re the sort of men who’d want to raise someone else’s child. In fact I know Giuseppe isn’t, so why would his son?
“Marc is really okay with this?” I ask slowly. If she doesn’t want me to talk about the baby, there must be a reason.
She hesitates. “My son asked me to tell you to trust him. Play your part and everything will work out for the best.”
I’ll bet. “I’m supposed to what? Just trust the guy who kidnapped me? Are you serious?”
Everything about this woman looks perfect. Her hair, her makeup, her designer clothes, but her hands are moving nervously and I’m not sure she even notices. “What happened today was… unfortunate, but no one was hurt, and my son really does want what’s best for you. I think you’ll understand once everything is in place.”
She keeps emphasizing my son like it’s supposed to mean something. Is she actually talking about Marc? Or does she mean Montana? I want to ask, but I don’t want to risk it. There’s more going on here than she’s saying.
“Your son.”
Leah nods, her eyes pleading with me. If she’s trying to get a message to me from Montana, I’d be thrilled, but that’s a really big if.
“And if I don’t?”
Leah sighs and stands up. “If you wait too long, your choices start getting made for you. Today was just a taste of that.”
Something about her expression reminds me of Montana, and regardless of our situation, I want to like her. I really do. But she’s Marc’s mother as well. The reality of Leah Caporossi might be somewhere in the murky area between loving parent and ruthless businesswoman. Just like my father.
“Did it work out for you?” I ask before she leaves.
My would-be mother-in-law’s eyes go wide with surprise. “What?”
“Marrying to keep your family safe.” I need to know. I need to hear her say it, because she might be asking me to make the same choice she did.
A kaleidoscope of emotions flashes across her face before settling on calm acceptance. “It was worth it.”
“We deserve better,” I whisper. My back is to the camera, and I hope the recording doesn’t catch it. Same side or not, we’re both victims of the same old-fashioned, patriarchal bullshit.
“Trust him,” she mouths.
I wish it was that easy. “I’ll think about it.”
“Think fast, because we’re running out of time and patience.”
The door shuts with a heavy click behind her that sounds very, very final.
41
Andrea
I’ve exchanged my future for a better room.
I wrinkle my nose. As upgrades go, this isn’t the best deal I’ve negotiated.
My hands are shaking and I’ve thrown up twice so far this morning. Good thing the bedroom they gave me has an en suite bathroom. Asking my guards to help clean up vomit is something I just couldn’t handle right now. Being walked to the bathroom yesterday when I was kept downstairs was bad enough.
The ceiling looms over me as I stretch out on the bed. Small noises carry through from the rest of the house, but nobody has been in to talk to me. I’m lonely, scared and completely beat, since I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.
After weeks of pretending I could avoid dealing with my forced engagement, my bluff has been called. Can I really go through with this? I guess I never truly believed it would actually happen, but now I’m here, and there’s no help coming.
So I basically have two options. Get married by force, or get married and maintain some illusion of control. Playing along means nobody has to take drastic measures. My pride rises in my throat like bile, but I swallow it back down. And I will keep doing it if it keeps the people I care about safe.
“But what if Montana really does have a plan?” my brain whispers.
No matter how hard I try to quash that thought, it refuses to go away. I shouldn’t allow myself to even think it, but there it is. Tucked away where I can’t see it, but the hope it brings warming me from within.
The dress Evie and I picked out hangs from a hook on the wall. A guard came in with it this morning. It’s beautiful as ever, but feels like a white satin flag of surrender. Has it really only been a couple of weeks since I came home? If I could do the last two weeks over again, I’d… Who am I kidding? I’d probably do it all the same.
Trust him.
Trust who? Marc or Montana?
There’s a quiet knock at the door. “Andie?” Evie asks as it opens.
I run over and grab her arm, not giving her time to say another word before pulling her in and crushing her in a giant hug. The lock clicks behind her.
“Oh my God! You’re okay!” I search her face for some sign that they’ve hurt her.
“I’m fine, love. A little frayed around the edges, but fine.” She pulls back and smiles weakly. “How are you?”
My chin wobbles, and the corners of my eyes sting, threatening to tear. “I’ve been better.”
“I can see that. C’mere.” Taking me by the hand, she leads me back to the bed. “Your da was here this morning with your cousin.” She looks at the dress. “Brought your things.”
And they didn’t even let me see him? Frustration and anger ignite, but I keep them to a low simmer. News is more important. “Did you talk to him? Was Montana there?”
Evie looks around nervously. “No, and I don’t know. I didn’t really see anything, but there was a lot of yelling.”
Good. “What did they say?” A tiny ray of hope glimmers inside me.
“Well, they didn’t exactly invite me to the meeting, now did they? It’s not like I had a glass to the door. But while they were fighting, your cousin gave me this.” She holds out a hardcover roman
ce novel with an impossibly buff man on the front. “After they left, I talked Mrs. Caporossi into letting me help you get ready, seeing as I’m the Maid of Honor and all.”
I blink at her. “Is this book supposed to make me feel better? It’s not even mine.”
“Not the book, ya’ twit.” Evie hits me in the arm with it. “Inside. It was taped to the inside of the cover, and it’s a good thing I haven’t read that one yet, otherwise I might not have noticed.”
I open the book, and find a sealed envelope. “Do you know what’s in here?”
She shakes her head.
My fingers tremble as I break open the seal. Inside are three slips of paper. Two plane tickets to London, in mine and Evie’s names, and a note.
A limo will take you to the church. If you give this to the driver, he’ll know what to do. Be safe, baby girl.
It’s not signed, but it doesn’t have to be. I’d know my father’s miserable handwriting anywhere. The tears that threatened to fall earlier come streaming now, wetting my face.
“What is it?” Evie asks. “Did something else happen?”
“No, it’s a way out.” My throat is so tight I barely get out the words. I don’t know what changed Dad’s mind, but he’s done exactly what I’d never dare hope.
If he really managed to arrange something, Evie and I could be gone by tonight. Once I’m in Europe, I’m sure our family connections can keep me out of Caporossi hands.
All of them, even Montana’s.
I’d be free, but alone.
No.
Biting my lip, I think of the child growing inside me. Not alone, but that’s not how I want my family to be either. The memory of Montana in the garage, talking to my stomach springs into my head. Maybe he could follow me later?
The DiFieros won’t take him in, and the Caporossis will probably brand him a traitor after all this. And if he lives through that, would he forgive me for abandoning him?
Again.
Evie pulls the envelope gently from my fingers and reads everything over. “Are you going to do it?”
I shake my head, unsure. “I don’t know. They’re watching me like a hawk. Trying to run would be risky.”
She nods, looking to me to make this better, but I’m not sure I can.
Up until the last twenty-four hours, she’s had a pretty tame introduction to life in the Mob. Fancy houses, family pressure, fights with my parents. In a lot of ways, it’s like life in any other family, except we don’t solve our problems by un-friending each other on Facebook.
Relationship Status: Do what we say.
I tuck the envelope back into the book and take a deep breath. “Okay, no matter what, I have to get ready like nothing’s changed, right?”
“Right.”
“So let’s do that.” Pushing down my fears, I walk over to the door and pound on it.
It opens, and one of the jerks from that night at the bar is glaring down at me. “What d’ya want?”
I put on my bitchiest face, and glare right back. “I need breakfast, and I can’t get ready without makeup.”
“Do I look like your fucking butler?”
“Do I look like I fucking care?” I snap.
His expression gets ugly—well, uglier. “You look like a DiFiero brat who’s finally going to get what’s coming to her.”
“Oooh, hilarious. But just remember, when today is over, I’ll be a Caporossi, and you’ll still be a grunt. Easy to order. Easy to replace. So get me my fucking breakfast, and maybe when I’m back from my honeymoon I won’t ask for your ugly head on a platter.” Heart pounding, I slam the door in his face. “Shitshitshitshitshit.”
Evie stares at me from the bed, mouth gaping. “That was bloody brilliant!”
“Yeah, well. I can turn it on when I have to.”
“You wouldn’t really…?”
That guy? In a New York minute. “Of course not.” I give her a reassuring smile. There are no completely good guys here, but no point in freaking her out more than she already is.
I take down the dress and spread it out on the bed, arranging it carefully. For some reason the skirt won’t lie right, and when I smooth out the satin, there’s a strangely lumpy feeling right under the waist. Reaching under the skirt, I feel upwards until my hand hits something stuck between the fabric and the lining.
“What the hell?”
It isn’t a twisted part of the liner or something left there from the dress shop. It’s the football onesie I bought for the baby. The one that says Montana on it.
There’s absolutely no way it could end up there randomly.
First that cryptic talk with his mother, and now this? I clutch it to my chest. I’ve gone from no choices to too many choices.
Trust him?
Fuck.
42
Andrea
“You can do this.”
Is Evie trying to comfort me, or herself? Her mouth says one thing, but her nervously flitting eyes and the way she keeps playing with her hair says something completely different.
I nod, afraid to speak. If I open my mouth, I’ll puke.
It’s too late to change my mind now. Our limo makes one last turn and then slows down with the destination ahead. The weight of my beautiful wedding gown tugs at me like a powerful underwater current, silently pulling me down.
Please. Please, don’t let this be a horrible mistake.
We pull up to the curb. Dad’s waiting, surrounded by a few of his men. From here, I can’t tell if he’s surprised or not at my choice. I could’ve been miles away by now.
The door opens, held by the driver. Gusts of cold Chicago air rush into the car, raising goosebumps on my bare arms. It won’t be long before we see the first snowflakes of the year. I pick up my shawl and drape it over my shoulders, but it’s thin. This outfit is about appearances, not comfort.
Alone, my father comes down the sidewalk. When did the lines in his face get so deep? As he comes closer, they grow more and more obvious. He’s handsome as ever, in a tailored tux with tails, but he’s getting older. It’s way too early for that, isn’t it?
He holds out his hand to help me out of the car. Taking it, and whatever comfort I can get from it, I force a smile and climb out. “Hi, Dad.”
“Mia bella principessa.” He looks so tired, but his voice is kind, maybe a little sad. How hard was it for him to give me this choice? “What a waste of beauty, eh? But maybe it’s for the best. Only our Father knows what’s in store.” His grip is warm and strong around my frozen fingers.
“Why did you do it?” I whisper. “Why did you change your mind?”
He snorts quietly and shakes his head. “Is my mind changed? No. But the circumstances? Very different. This is a partnership. If we let them walk over us now, they’ll never stop. I’d rather see you free than a Caporossi pawn.”
Only time will tell which would’ve been better.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up straight and slip my hand around his arm. A photographer snaps a picture as we walk up the church steps. Flanking the doors are men in suits. Some I recognize, the rest are probably Caporossis.
I hesitate at the threshold. Voices and music drift out from the inside. Evie stands behind me, offering support even if I know she doesn’t completely approve.
“I’m scared,” I admit in a whisper.
Dad squeezes my hand. “Family first, and always. Just say the word and we’ll find out how beautiful my baby looks in black.”
“Dad…” Talk about a shotgun wedding. Threatening to make me a widow on my wedding day isn’t exactly your usual loving paternal gesture, but I appreciate it all the same. “That won’t be necessary.”
“All I’m saying, is you’ve got options. Get the ring, and the bambino is nice and legitimate. Who’s going to count a week here or there?”
“Dad!” Oh my God. What did the Caporossis tell my parents?
He gives me a wink. “We DiFieros have fiery blood.”
“It’s Montana’s,” I a
dmit.
He sighs and pats my hand, but he doesn’t look surprised.
“You knew?”
“Am I blind? A man doesn’t get that protective for nothing. Just let me know which brother to take care of. Keep your options open, eh?”
I choke out a laugh and nod. He gives my fingers another squeeze, and then it’s show time. We enter the church together, before Evie and I break off to the crying room to finish getting ready.
Dad probably thinks I’m doing this for him. That I weighed my options and decided to put family in front of my own feelings. In a way I am, just not like he wants. I’m putting everything on the line, but it’s for my family, not my Family.
Me, Montana and our baby.
Putting everything on the line, because I trust him. And praying that I didn’t misunderstand Leah’s signals. If I’m wrong, then I might just have to take my father up on his offer, after all. A lifetime with Marc? A chill runs down my back at the thought.
Mom’s nowhere to be found—big surprise—but Leah arranges my veil and gives Evie flowers for us to carry. I try to talk to her about what’s going to happen, but she ignores me, bustling around getting things ready until someone knocks to tell her it’s time to sit down.
A few minutes later, the clock ticks to three and the first gentle notes of Ave Maria filter in from the church hall. There’s another knock at the door, and my father opens it to peek in.
Evie holds out my bouquet. “Ready?”
Ready? Not in a million years.
An organist plays as a woman with a beautiful voice makes the song fill the church. The butterflies in my stomach turn into a swarm of eels, twirling and swirling until I’m afraid they’re going to slide up my throat.
Along with my breakfast.
Evie and an usher from the Caporossi side start their walk just ahead of us. I bite my lip nervously, but Dad’s arm is my rock, holding me up when I’m ready to fall. We take our first step onto the deep burgundy runner that forms an inescapable path from my feet straight up to the altar. The pews are marked with flowers in pure white and a deep golden yellow. Elegant and the right mix of celebratory and understated. Mom might be a cold bitch, but she has great taste.
