Chapter 16 #2
“Seems like you’ve already gotten pretty fucking far to me,” I spit back.
“You’ve got me right where you want me. Marco is dead, and I’m here now, aren’t I?
” I throw up my hands and let them fall.
They slap against my thighs, stinging. “When were you going to tell me that we’re basically fucking engaged? ”
His nostrils flare.
“When I was sure that you weren’t going to try to run.”
“Run,” I say. I laugh sarcastically. “Right. And run where? Back to New York, where I could get charged with being an accessory to my husband’s murder? Back to the city crawling with men who want to do exactly the same thing that you have? Men who want to take me for their own gain?”
Muscles in his jaw and neck flex. Darkness claws out of his eyes. “You are not,” he vows with deadly smoothness, “going back to fucking New York.”
“I agree,” I say. “I’m not. I’m going to marry you instead.”
It’s not often that Curse Titone gets thrown for a loop. But I think I’ve somehow just managed it. He blinks, then gives his head a brief shake. Like he thinks he just hallucinated.
He closes the distance between us in one great step.
“Say that again.”
“I’m going to marry you. I’m going to give you everything you want.”
The area around his eyes tightens.
“But you have to give me what I want in return.”
His eyes bore into me. His next words come out as a hoarse growl. “Which is?”
“A divorce.”
Something shutters at the back of his eyes. The intensity of his gaze vanishes, replaced with cool nothingness.
“A divorce,” he repeats tonelessly.
“Yes,” I reply. My palms are sweating now. “I want a divorce,” I reiterate. “One month after our wedding, we will legally end the marriage. You get to hand everything over to Elio. And I get to be free.”
“That’s your condition, is it?” he says icily. “You think you’re in any position to bargain with me right now?”
“I do, actually.” My heart is beating so fast I’m sure that he must hear it.
This has to work. It has to.
“Because otherwise, I won’t do it. Any of it.
” I straighten my spine. Try to project a boldness I don’t quite feel.
“I won’t cooperate. If you don’t promise me the divorce, if I don’t have any sort of light at the end of the tunnel…
” My voice cracks. I swallow and keep going.
“Then I will do everything I can to ruin your plans. The only way you’ll get me to marry you, the only way you’ll get Papà’s money, is if you put a goddamn gun to my head. ”
Curse passes a hand roughly down his face.
“What else?” he grunts. “Since we’re apparently fucking negotiating now. Tell me everything it is you want.”
I’m rattled. I didn’t expect him to ask me for more conditions. Hesitating, I run rapidly through possibilities in my head.
“I want you to help me set up a life in Canada as Angela LeBlanc. I want you to help secure housing for me, and maybe give me some kind of allowance until I can get a job of my own.”
“A job.” He says it like I’ve just suggested running away with the fucking circus.
“Yes, a job,” I say. “I had one in Buffalo. I could have one here.”
“You don’t need to get a job. I’ll give you the fucking allowance for as long as you need.”
“What I need,” I cry, “is to not have to depend on you! I don’t want you to spend the rest of my life feeding me back little bits of my papà’s money! I want to…to make my own way in the world! I just want to be a normal person.”
A ridiculous hope, in all honesty. That someone like me could ever just disappear into regular society. Be normal.
But I could at least give it a shot.
“Well, since we’re talking about conditions now,” Curse says, “I have a few of my own.”
He raises his left fist in the air “One,” he says as he lifts his index finger.
“If I’m to grant you a divorce and help you set up a life separate from me, then it will be in any city of my choosing, and you will not leave that city at any time without making me aware of your plans first. Two.
” His middle finger goes up next. “You will never date, fuck, live with, or marry any other man. For the rest of your life. And don’t think that I won’t know, because I will. ”
His ring finger rises to join the others. For the first time, I get a better view of the tattoo on his palm. I was right. It is a letter. A single capital A in stark black ink.
“Three.” His voice draws my attention from his hand back to his face.
“You will do absolutely everything within your power to make this marriage happen, both in terms of the wedding itself and the month that follows. You will not defy me, try to run from me, or create any legal basis for a marriage annulment, including refusing to consummate.”
“Consummate?” I stare at him, uncomprehending. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s grounds for marriage annulment in Canada,” he says. “I’m not giving you the chance to use that for an annulment a week after the wedding because you’ve suddenly changed your mind about it all. We have to have sex at least once.”
“You can’t be serious,” I breathe. The fabric of his T-shirt clings to my damp lower back. “That’s a real thing?”
I’ve heard of it before, but I always assumed it was some custom from a hundred years ago. Or something along the lines of an urban legend with no basis in actual fact. The idea that the marriage could be considered legally invalid if we don’t consummate it is insane to me.
Curse pulls out his phone and starts typing at the screen. Then, he turns it to face me.
He’s searched up some official Ontario law website. It outlines a list of reasons for marriage annulment.
Impotence and non-consummation of the marriage is the line at the top of the list. There are other reasons listed out, too. Things like mental incapacity or fraud. But if I had to choose one from that list that would be the easiest to take to court, the one that would draw the least attention…
Yeah. It would be that one.
“I…” My hands twist together in front of me. “I don’t…I’ve never done that before.”
“I don’t have to touch you.” His face is pale. Utterly emotionless. “You can be on top. Get it over with quick.”
I shake my head. “No way.” I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. The idea of me taking control, me riding him, is actually fucking laughable. “I can’t be on top.”
Besides. He told me not to touch him.
“You’ll have to do it,” I whisper. “When…When will it happen?”
“After the wedding. We’ll go to Ontario to get married,” he says. “It’ll be faster to get a marriage license there.”
“How long until then?”
He glances at his phone, then puts it away. He’s already heading towards his office now. His last words come tossed over his shoulder as he goes.
“I’ll start making the arrangements. We’ll leave Quebec as soon as possible.”