Chapter 2
Sofia
“Feeling better?” I ask my sister as we walk through the narrow walkways of this shopping district in Sicily.
Bianca turns her head to look at me with a placid look on her face and her blonde hair shining in the sunlight. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”
She had to get away from the hotel we were staying at.
My family insisted we don’t leave the premises so that we stay safe as we wait to meet my future husband’s family.
The thing is, Bianca recently sobered up, and being cooped up in the same hotel room with only the gym and restaurant available for a change of scenery is horrible for her mental health.
I caught her in the bathroom right as she was about to sneak a shooter of vodka.
I have no idea how she got that but I did whatever any older sister would do and poured it down the sink, opened up the window in our hotel room, popped out the screen and figured out a way for the two of us to climb down to the sidewalk so we could get some fresh air.
And now we finally get to explore the city like normal tourists.
I don’t normally rebel in this way when my family is only trying to keep me safe, but it’s ridiculous. We’ve been waiting for six days now, and this meet-and-greet dinner keeps getting delayed.
Who knows whether this wedding is going to happen anymore. A week ago I was cautiously optimistic about this arrangement, but now? I just want to go home.
“How much longer do you think we should wander around like this?” Bianca asks as she stops in front of a shop with some cute shoes on display.
“I would say we can stay out as long as you need. But…”
“Getting caught would be a bitch.”
“Yup.”
I think about how our dad would have a tirade over this as I stand alongside her, my arms loosely crossed against my chest, my shoulder bag hanging off of my elbow.
I sigh, eyeing the display and curling my toes in my sneakers—there was no way I was going to climb down from a second floor in sandals or heels.
But now I feel somewhat self-conscious in my current getup.
I put on a nice dress today because I was so sick of lounging around in pajamas and didn’t think to change into something less formal before sneaking out.
“Well, maybe we should get some gelato, then we can head—”
My arm is yanked down from something behind me.
Then the weight of my purse leaves my arm.
I curse loud enough that the other tourists and shoppers around us look directly at me and then towards the pickpocket once they’ve realized what happened. I don’t think; I run towards the thief. He looks young, maybe around thirteen, so there’s a good chance I’m stronger than him.
“Sofia, wait!” Bianca calls out from behind me as she runs a few paces behind me.
“I’m not letting him get away.”
If I lose everything in my purse, there’s no hiding that we snuck out of the hotel today when I stop answering texts.
Bianca catches up to me so that she’s running by my side, but clearly out of breath.
She nods her head, unable to talk. I’m hoping that she’s able to keep up for a few blocks.
She’s been working out more since sobering up, but I’m used to exercising twice a day—that habit never broke after playing tennis in college.
The boy stutters his steps to turn into an alley; my purse swings slightly as it rests on his shoulder.
I hike my dress up so that I can take longer strides, not caring about looking indecent, and push forward into the alley.
I can sense that I’m leaving Bianca in the dust, but I’m gaining ground on the thief.
I hop over a couple of bags of trash then orient my body so that I’m turned to the side to pass a couple of people—there’s barely enough room for two people to stand side by side in this alley.
“Someone stop him! Please!” I shout, but people are too slow to react or too afraid to stop the boy. I don’t blame them; he could have a knife or another type of weapon on him.
That’s a thought I keep trying to ignore as I get closer to him.
He exits the alley, and I can see him questioning whether he should turn left or right. I speed up, thinking that this is my chance to get him.
But he runs out into traffic like a real-life game of Frogger, dodging cars and getting across the street to the other side.
“Son of a bitch,” I manage in between breaths. I can feel my hair sticking to my head as sweat forms at my hairline.
I know that I’m losing steam from sprinting for so long, but I’m not giving up now. There’s an opening in traffic, and if I push just a little bit harder…
I’m out onto the street, clearing the first lane, then I hear someone laying their hand on the horn. I look to my side, jumping at the right moment in time so that I don’t fall underneath the car.
My shoes land on the hood of an expensive, foreign, black sedan. I catch myself with my hands when the car jolts back from the driver stomping on the brake.
For some reason, my eyes look past the driver gesturing wildly with his hands and cursing at me, towards a man in the backseat.
He’s in an expensive suit and looks like he belongs in a magazine rather than someone I’d see in real life. His green eyes, wild in disbelief as he stares at me.
Cars move around us. Some honk, but most maneuver as if we’re just a nuisance.
The man removes his seatbelt, says something to the driver and then exchanges some words with the woman seated next to him. It’s all too low for me to hear.
Then he gets out of the car.
Alessandro
“You seem stressed,” Elena says as we drive home from the designer. “Nervous about the wedding?”
I am. But not for the reasons she thinks—Marco’s idiotic plan keeps running through my mind. I’ll tell her about that once we get back from the shopping trip so she can know to leave the reception quickly.
“No, I had to talk to Vincenzo and Marco before this. Vincenzo was his usual cunty self, and Marco was foaming at the mouth. I haven’t recovered yet.”
She smirks, turning her head away from me briefly and looking out the car window. “Well, I’m sure you were perfectly polite and reasonable.”
“Fuck you.” I laugh. “To be fair, I did ignore Vincenzo for two minutes as he sat on the couch in front of me, so he was even more combative with me than usual because of that. I just zoned out as if he weren’t there. It was a useful strategy. I plan on using that more.”
She scrutinizes me for a beat. “You just stared at him and didn’t respond for two minutes? What the hell is wrong with you? We should drop you off at the nearest mental ward rather than going home. Or a research lab, maybe. You might be too much for a psychiatrist.”
If anyone else said that to me, I might take offense depending on the context. But it’s rare that I get angry at anything Elena says—I know that she’s only joking.
“Maybe I’d prefer that, to be honest. Painting. Playing solitaire all day.” I laugh. “Fuck it. Drop me off. Sofia Calabrese can marry someone else—”
I hear cars honking followed by our driver letting out a string of curse words.
Our car comes to a screeching halt, and a woman wearing a cocktail dress jumps on the hood of our car. Miraculously, she seems unharmed as she falls to her hands and knees, making direct eye-contact with me.
Time slows, then I realize…
“Put the car in park. Hazards on,” I bark at the driver as I lean forward in my seat. He finally stops shouting and does as I say.
Normally, I would be shocked to have some wild woman wearing an odd combination of a dress and trainers jump onto the hood of our car and glare down at us like it’s our fault.
But I’m even more shocked when I realize—this is Sofia Calabrese. I squint just to be sure, but I’ve been studying her face on her social media for so long that I’m certain.
“What the hell?” Elena mutters under her breath.
“Stay here.” I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“You’re getting out?”
“I’m going to say hello to my fiancé.”
“No… that’s her?”
I open the car door and step out before I can respond to Elena. We were driving home from the fashion designer. I thought this was going to be a mundane chore before Sofia’s family was to visit mine. But this just got a lot more interesting.
Sofia remains on the hood of the car, looking dumbstruck.
I can’t tell whether she recognizes me. I don’t have any online presence at all, but it’s possible that her family has shown her a picture of me.
Despite her disheveled appearance, she looks more beautiful in person than in photographs.
Her brown hair, thick and wavy. Her skin, tanned even though it’s the beginning of spring.
I know that she’s an athlete, yet I’m still taken aback by the ripple of muscle in her legs as she peers down at me from the car.
Her head snaps towards the other side of the street, and then she pays me no regard by jumping off the hood and trying to sprint away.
I grab her arm and stop her before she can leave.
“Aspetti.” I tell her to wait.
I’m surprised when she responds in perfect Italian.
Marco told me should could speak the language, but I assumed she only knew the basics—similar to how little I know English.
I can understand it pretty well, and I can read books in the language and comprehend movies with barely any help from the subtitles. But speaking it is another story.
“Sorry. Someone stole my purse, so I’m chasing him. Your car got in the way.” She tries to yank her arm away, but I don’t let her go. Her eyes narrow, and she squares off with me. “Let me go.”
If this were anyone else, I’d let them go so that they could try to deal with the thief.
Maybe I’d even help them depending on how antisocial I felt that day.
But I know that our families’ meet-and-greet is scheduled in a couple of hours from now, but she might not know that.
Marco gave little warning because he’s a spiteful bastard.
I suppose it’s cruel of me to prevent her from getting her purse back, leaving her alone to wonder what to do next.
But it’s not like we’re in a dangerous part of the city, and if she burns the next few hours trying to find a police officer to assist her, then maybe this dinner won’t happen.
And maybe that will cause Marco to have a big enough fit to call off the entire wedding.
“You scuffed up the hood of my car,” I say. Even though miraculously there are barely any marks from her jumping on it. This was the first thing I thought of to delay her.
She scoffs, looking towards the car. “I’d pay you for the damages. But my purse is missing. Now, let go of me.”
“Were you planning on getting your purse stolen?” I nod towards her feet, questioning her combination of evening cocktail dress and running shoes.
She doesn’t bother answering me; her arm squirms against my grip as I hear the sounds of more honking.
She turns to look towards the source at the same time I do. “Bianca!”
I recognize her from Sofia’s social media. It’s her sister. She’s completely out of breath and crossing the street in the same haphazard fashion that got Sofia into this mess.
Her brow furrows in concern as she looks at me and then to Sofia.
“What’s going on?”
Sofia regards me for a moment then turns to her sister. “They nearly hit me with their car, and now this guy is being a complete asshole. I told him my purse got stolen, but all he cares about are the little scuffs on his car.”
She talks to her sister as if I’m not here. Maybe she assumes I don’t understand English.
“He can’t hold on to you like that.”
“I. Know.” She tries jerking her arm away again. Hard. I have to use all of my strength to keep her contained in my grip. I’m concerned I’m hurting her, but if I am, it’s not showing on her face.
“What do you want from me?” she asks.
I consider her situation and finally let her go. I’ve likely stalled enough, and the thief is long-gone by now.
“Nothing.” I smile. “I just didn’t want you running off like a spoiled princess after delaying our drive home and ruining the hood of my car.”
“Ruining?” She laughs, but looks away from me. I think my ‘spoiled princess’ insult subtly got to her. She turns to her sister. “Come on, B. Let’s get away from this cheap bastard.”
She gives me a look, like I’m a fresh piece of dog shit that got all over her…trainers. I feel my chest tighten, and I’m surprised to find that her insult bothers me. I grit my teeth before forcing a cocky smile as they walk away.