by DD Prince
I turn the phone off.
***
We’ve landed and my phone rings three seconds after I turn it back on. I’m walking through the airport, holding Holly’s hand. She hasn’t said a word to me. She’s been quiet, her eyes on her lap or the window, her lips alternating between being chewed on and being pulled tight. I paid very little attention to her actions; I was too busy being pissed.
I’ve been pissed for twenty-four hours solid, since I got that fuckin’ text telling me he’d taken her to Alaska. Getting into her room for a hundred bucks had made me even more infuriated. But what might have me fuming the most is how she reacted to seeing me.
“Dario,” I say into the phone.
“What the fuck, man?” he clips.
“I’m not apologizing. You should be apologizing.”
He’s just holding the phone.
After a long minute he says, “I can’t just let you fuckin’ take her from her sister like that. No reason to think she’d be in danger here. And Lex…man, fuck. They just went through a bad scene with their ma. Don’t do this. You’re gonna leave me no fuckin’ choice but to ---”
“Gonna stop you right there,” I say, doing the guy a favor, because things will degenerate very quickly if he threatens me. We’ve been dancing a very careful dance in a minefield so far and he was about to make a fatal misstep.
“We’ll be tying the knot in Vegas. Join us if you want. We’ll be getting hitched tomorrow afternoon.”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
“I’m sure Holly would love her sister to be her maid of honor. We don’t know one another real well, but if you’d stand up for me it’d be doing me a solid. I’ll text you the details?” I almost kicked myself for adding that last bit. But, it felt necessary.
“Fuck,” he says again, half under his breath, “Text me.”
“Don’t fuck up, Ferrano,” I warn. “Don’t make me an enemy. Call Zack before you make any decisions and talk them through with him before you act and make a mistake.”
He doesn’t reply.
I end the call and realize Holly’s hand had flinched in mine when I talked about getting hitched.
I hadn’t stopped walking us through the airport toward a cab stand. We’re there so I open the door to a yellow taxicab and motion with my hand. She climbs in ahead of me.
White Wedding
Alessandro
The concierge meets us in the lobby of our hotel.
“Mr. Romero. Welcome. I’m Robert and I’m at your service. Anything you need; please don’t hesitate to ask. I understand you’re getting married?” He glances at Holly.
I haven’t looked directly at her face since leaving the hotel in Juneau. I’m still holding her hand. I slept on the flight, woke as I was told we were landing, holding her hand, her asleep with her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you. Please arrange a wedding for us for tomorrow. Arrange for her to have a dress, shoes, make-up, whatever she needs. 4 o’clock or after. Someplace nice. Classy. No gimmicky Vegas shit.”
“Your dress, miss? What did you have in mind? Would you like me to arrange an appointment today with a stylist?” he asks her this carefully. He’s so careful that he must read that something is off with her.
She blinks and opens her mouth. Too much silence for too long and I don’t fuckin’ like the way she’s staring straight ahead, big eyes, looking distraught. I don’t want this guy to get tweaked and involve anybody else in this.
“Or? Or I could simply have her choose for you. Can I take your photo and send it to our team?”
“No,” I answer, “Just select something. I’ll text you her sizes.”
“Not a worry. I have ideas. A beautiful canvas to work with. Not a worry at all. Reception requirements?” He’s good at his job. He hasn’t even flinched.
“No reception. Us two. Maybe two or three witnesses. I’ll let you know if the witnesses can make it. If not, you can help with that?”
“I can.”
“Good.”
“Rings?” he asks.
“I’ll have them.” I say, “I need you to get me everything else. Give me your email or cell number and I’ll send you a list of what I want.”
“I’ll watch for it and then all will be taken care of, sir.” He hands me his business card and we’re shown to our suite.
***
We step in and I glance in her direction. She’s staring, into space, dazed.
I go straight to the bar, crack open the fifth of whisky that they’d left per my instructions, pour a drink, and down it.
She’s blinking, lost-looking, staring at thin air. I text Rocco with a code only he’ll know so that he knows to get on a plane and head here. When he gets here, I’ll send him for rings. I drop the phone, take her hand and, not looking at her face again, pull her into the bedroom. I give her a little shove ahead and then I leave, shutting the door behind me. A dick thing to do, but I need a fuckin’ minute to myself. To get my head together.
I sit on the black leather sofa and pour another fucking drink.
I text Zack.
“Talk Dario out of attempting to kill me.”
Fifteen minutes and three more shots of whisky later, he replies.
“Already trying to do that.”
I snicker.
An hour or so later, he texts again.
Zack: “Things are calm. Not because it was easy. He’s on the way to Vegas now. I think I’ve calmed him down.”
Me: “Thanks. Owe you.”
Zack: “I’ll add it to your tab. I’m comin’ too. Bringing Wes.”
Me: “Why?”
Zack: “No way we’re missing your wedding.”
He put a happy face with its tongue sticking out. I frown and shake my head, tossing the phone on the coffee table. Zack Jacobs was an enigma, for sure.
The guy’s lethal. Thirty-five, American, muscled, army-trained. He had a past he did not share much about. He had secrets. I knew some of them and used them to my advantage. He was helping me solve my problem and that’d help him slay some demons of his own.
He had elite special forces military training and was an excellent tracker with a huge network of connections. He was tracking for me. And when he found what I’d set him on a course for, it’d get this fuckin’ noose off my neck.
It’d maybe mean I’d sleep at night.
It’d maybe mean I didn’t have to keep eyeballing over my shoulder because I was being watched, being measured, and being taunted.
***
It’s late. Dark. And I’m drunk. I’m in the dark hotel room, slouched on the sofa, watching a news channel on television with the sound muted. I don’t know if it’s night or day because the curtains are pulled tight. My whisky bottle’s been empty for a few drinks. I spilled some but drank most of it. It should’ve been enough. It wasn’t. I’m not sure there’s enough booze in all this hotel’s many mini bars to numb me enough.
I’ve already dug into the mini bar here and the little bottles. There are four empty ones in front of me. Or eight.
I’m probably seeing double. Two Hollys are walking toward me so yeah, my vision is fucked.
I point my finger in a gun gesture at one of them and shoot it.
It doesn’t disappear.
She sits down on the coffee table in front of me. Her knees are touching my legs.
“Hi.” Her lyrical voice fills my chest. There’s just one of her now.
She’d left me alone for hours. Correction, I left her alone for hours. Never brought her food or water or anything. I just shoved her in that room so I could fucking drink and not think. I shove her places and go on about my business like she doesn’t matter. Even though she matters more than she should. Some husband I’ll make.
“Hi,” I slur, “Whatchoo doing mi pequeña rubia flor? Belleza. Pequeña.”
She’s so fuckin’ pretty, in her yoga pants and her bare feet with her toes painted blue like the sky. She has little pink daisy flowers
on her big toes.
“Rubia?” she asks. She’s showing me her dimples.
I reach for her hair and miss.
“Blonde. Rubia. Spanish lesson. Ha.” I hiccup and then rub my eyes.
“Belleza?”
“Never mind.” I wave my hand.
“You’re very drunk, aren’t you?” she points out.
I look up at the two of her.
I point at her with two finger guns. I make a pop sound with my mouth and close my eyes and slouch some more.
“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” she says.
I laugh. That’s fucking hilarious.
Then I’m starting to feel the sour come on. All the things I’m not. All the things I can’t be for her. For me. For anybody. For her…
And then I think about being a little kid in a hotel room with my parents. What happened when my father passed out drunk on the sofa. What me and Mama did after…
She can’t fuckin’ leave me. No.
I’d do exactly what he did. I’d hunt her down and…
Just like him? Fuck. I’m fucked. She’s fucked. She’s fucked because I’m fucked and I am not giving her up.
“Come to bed,” she whispers.
She has my hand and the sour doesn’t fully come.
I rise and follow her, intrigued by that idea.
I look at her asses. She’s one person now but she has two asses. I make my eyes bigger and then try to focus. No. One ass. One round perfect ass.
“You been eating good, little flower? Your ass looks so good I wanna bite it.” I reach for it but stumble a little and don’t catch it. I stop myself from falling by catching the door frame.
“Yeah, I’ve been eating my feelings a lil’ bit.”
We’re in the bedroom now and at the bed. I throw myself on it.
She’s leaning over, untying my running shoes. She takes them off.
I think I’m smiling at her. My face hurts.
“Piccolo fiore,” I tell her. And then I start to sing the old Italian song to her. Mama used to sing it when she cleaned the apartment.
Holly’s so fuckin’ pretty. She’s smiling at me with her dimples.
Fuck, but those dimples really fuck with me.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Little flower.”
“I thought that was pequeña flor?”
“Eat some more. It looks good. I make you eat your feelings, though? You’re gonna grow to be the size of this hotel. I didn’t feed you dinner. You want dinner?”
“No, I’m not hungry.”
“Mini bar shit? Cookies? Nuts?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Okay.” My eyes feel heavy.
She’s talking to me. I’m not paying attention to her words. Just to the sweet sound of her voice.
Something’s warm and against me. I grab it and hold on. It’s her. She smells good. Feels soft. So fucking soft.
“So fucking mine,” I whisper.
“I know,” Holly whispers.
“How you feel about that, really?”
“I’m scared. And happy. And a little sad.”
“Why, baby?” I have a handful of her hair. It’s so soft. I whisper in Italian that I love her hair and I wished she didn’t cut it but why she cut it makes me hurt in a beautiful way, but I can’t tell her because I’m a bastard trying to make her hate me.
“Is that Spanish lesson number two?” she whispers.
“Not Spanish. S’Italian.”
“It sounded beautiful. I like how your voice sounds when you speak Italian. When you sing it. How many languages do you speak?”
“I know three. English, Spanish. Italian. Italiano! Bellisima!” I throw my hand out.
“Why Italian? Did you spend time in Italy?” Her hand is touching my face. Rubbing it. I lean in.
I close my eyes and let myself revel in the way that feels. My chest hurts.
“I don’t speak Italian. I know Italian. I’m half Italian. Never speak it. Hurts to speak it.”
Her lips are on my cheek, “Why, Alessandro?”
“Mama,” I say and I feel the room begin to churn. I have to sleep. I have to let the dark have me so I don’t think about all I’m thinking about.
“You’re mine,” I remind her, “I gotta sleep. You don’t go. You stay and stay close. Can’t go. Marry you tomorrow.”
“I’m not going.”
“Please don’t go.”
“I won’t. Honest.”
“Why? Why don’t you try to run away?” I mutter. She’s never tried to get away. She’s always running toward the monster. Why the fuck does she do that?
“I don’t know,” she says.
I think she’s being honest. She sounds like she is. She’s honest. My little Holly. I don’t think she knows how to lie. It’s one of the things that makes me… want her.
“What do you want?” I ask her. I roll on my side and touch her face, “And don’t say me, ‘cuz you have me, princesa.”
She leans in and rests her cheek on my outstretched arm.
“Do I?”
“Si.”
“What do I want short term or what do I want long term, Alessandro?”
“Short first.”
She takes a minute to decide. The room is still churning a little bit. I grab for her as if she can steady me. And fuck me, but she does.
She speaks, “I want tomorrow, our wedding, our wedding night, to feel like you love me. Like you’re not afraid to show me how you feel about me. Because I know you feel things for me. I want to experience what you feel about me. I want to look back on tomorrow as the most beautiful day of my life.”
“Hm.” I ponder that a minute, “And what about after that? After tomorrow?”
“Long term?” she asks, “Long term, I want to figure out how to make you happy, Alessandro.”
I laugh acidly and then I bury my nose in her hair. “Don’t waste your time. I’ll never be happy and I’ll never be able to make you happy, mi amor.”
“You won’t at least try?”
“No point wasting time on something impossible. That’s why you should give up your hope for me, piccolo fiore. I’m impossible. I’m angry and bitter. And my soul? Nero. So black. What if tomorrow is beautiful but I can’t promise past tomorrow?”
“Then I’ll take tomorrow for now. But, I’m not giving up.”
“Then you’re fooling yourself.”
“If I lose hope, I do. I’m not there, though. I still have so much hope.” She’s rubbing my cheek, scrubbing her nails gently up and down the stubble. Her hair is tickling my neck.
“Foolish girl.” My eyes are drooping. Thank Fuck she’s so foolish.
“If I can’t learn Spanish, can I learn Italian?”
Evidently, I do speak it. When I’m drunk. I don’t answer her. I inhale her scent, feel her softness. And I sink. I sink into something beautiful. A dream about her where I can be what she wants, what I might’ve been if I hadn’t fucked up so bad.
Holly
He’s asleep. He looks beautiful to me. His hair is in his eyes. I reach over and thread my fingers into it and sweep it away from his forehead. And then I put my hand back to his cheek. He rolls into it and starts snoring softly.
I snuggle in. His arm goes around me and his leg cocks and traps me underneath him.
This is where I want to be. Trapped underneath him, but with access to touch him. I snuggle in further. I could spend my whole life here. Like this.
I hate that Ang is worrying about me, that Dare is, too. I don’t want to be selfish, but Alessandro is what I want. Yes, I know he’s a self-professed monster. But I also know, deep down to the core of me, that I’m what Alessandro needs.
Something made him save me and I don’t just owe him for that. I want, with everything in me, to help him to see why he did it.
I fall asleep holding tight to him. I don’t want to wake up alone again.
***
I’m dreaming about m
y gran. And her old red rotary dial telephone is ringing. I open my eyes. His phone is ringing. But, it’s from kind of far away, I think. It’s in the other room. It stops. It starts again. It’s morning now. But only barely, I think.
It’s loud, but it’s not waking him.
It stops and it starts again.
I carefully extract myself from underneath him and it’s not easy. He’s not only a dead weight but he groans in protest as I move away.
“Mine,” he says, still asleep, “Il mio.”
I go to the living area and lift his phone from the coffee table.
It’s stopped and started ringing again.
“S calling.”
I lift it, staring at the screen, and chew my lip. Do I turn it off or answer it?
Whoever ‘S’ is, they’re anxious to get ahold of him.
Would I even be able to wake him if I tried?
I carry the phone into the bedroom with me, figuring that if it keeps ringing maybe it’ll wake him and he’ll answer it.
He’s snoring. His face is smushed into the pillow.
It starts ringing again.
He grunts.
“Should I answer this, Alessandro?” I ask.
He grunts.
“Baby?” I try.
His eye opens. One of them. His face is so smushed I can’t see if the other is open or not. I almost wanna laugh, because he’s got fishy lips with his smushed face.
“S? They keep calling over and over.”
He rises and yanks the phone out of my hand, wiping his eye.
“What?” he clips.
He jerks his chin at me as he’s listening. I’m not sure what that chin jerk means. He flicks his hand toward the doorway. Oh. He wants me to go.
“Yeah, I did. It’s a heap of rubble.” He holds the phone, a sour look on his face. I can hear a male voice shouting from his phone.
Before I’m out of earshot I hear him say a bunch of stuff in Spanish before ending with, "Fuck you, asshole.”
Actually, he was so loud I doubt I’d be out of earshot if I was outside the hotel suite and down the hall.
“Get back here,” he demands.
I go back to him.
