Chapter 11
Aurora
After bandaging up my head and swallowing the morning after pill, I spend the rest of the day with Curse.
Not because I want to – frankly, I would have appreciated a little space and time away from him to clear my head after this morning.
But he won’t let me out of his sight, demanding my constant presence as he makes his preparations.
This includes stuffing dozens of weapons, an obscene number of stacks of cash, and even a few more naloxone kits, into his bag for the trip.
He doesn’t pack the handcuffs, which surprises me a little.
Only until I realize that it’s because he’ll probably use them on me tonight.
We’ll leave tomorrow morning, early, before the sun rises.
The way he explained it, we’ll start out in two vehicles, with Robbie and Leo escorting us as far as a city called Barrie.
There, they’ll act as the witnesses to our wedding.
Then, it’ll just be Curse and me from that point on for thirty days.
And then, after that, we will go our separate ways.
He’ll set me up as Angela LeBlanc somewhere safe.
Somewhere I can just live out the rest of my little life alone.
We haven’t actually mentioned the divorce at all today.
I guess we’re both too focused on the immediate next steps – the actual wedding.
“So, do we have something booked?” I ask at dinnertime. “Or…”
Curse looks up from his plate of lasagna. After Leo’s supply run, Elio sent his housekeeper Rosa over to cook a few things for us to have on hand.
“Booked for what?”
“Uh. The wedding?” I reply. “Or are we just going to show up somewhere and hope for the best?”
“I don’t have to hope for shit,” Curse says.
“But if there’s no real plan-”
He lays down his fork and leans back in his chair. His mouth is stained red from the dinner, reminding me of the blood from earlier.
“It’s not some big, lavish affair,” he says. “Some fancy ceremony where you need to book a venue a year in advance. We’ll be in and out in fifteen minutes. And really,” he says, tipping his dark head, “who do you think is going to be brave enough to refuse me?”
“So we’re going to just show up at a church or something and demand the person there marries us?
Noted,” I say with a roll of my eyes. I shove a cheesy bite into my mouth, chewing and thinking.
After swallowing, I say, “You know that’s going to look really weird though, right?
Showing up in normal clothes, no rings, no dress-”
“You want a ring? A dress?” Curse says, eyebrows briefly lifting. “I figured you’d want it as quick and as simple as possible. To get it over with so that you never have to see me again.”
There’s a slight emphasis on the words that I puzzle over before remembering that I’m the one who said them. He’s quoting me.
“Of course I don’t want a ring or a dress,” I stammer.
I don’t bother telling him that for years, I fantasized about marrying him with both of those items included.
“But I’m just saying that it’s going to look weird.
Us showing up in everyday clothes, no booking, demanding a quick wedding.
Especially since you, Leo, and Robbie all look… ”
He watches, waiting for me to finish my sentence.
“Well, you look like mafia goons!”
“Looking like a mafia goon is exactly what’s going to guarantee us the quick ceremony we need,” he says, clearly unperturbed by my concerns.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug, “unless the priest or whatever gets spooked and calls the police or something because he thinks that you’re up to something nefarious. Just because I grew up in the same sort of world as you doesn’t mean…”
“Doesn’t mean what?”
“Doesn’t mean that it will make sense for me to be with you.”
I may be the heir to one of the biggest bosses in Buffalo, someone who has always existed in the underworld, with all its prices and its punishments.
But I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what I look like.
Virgin blonde hair and big blue eyes in a face that’s always appeared younger than my years.
No piercings besides a single hole in each earlobe. Not a tattoo in sight.
I’m going to look like a goddamn kidnapping victim being dragged around by those three.
“Of course it doesn’t make sense for you to be with me. That’s a fact I am keenly fucking aware of. One I’m relieved that you understand,” Curse says. Without warning, he pushes away from the table, standing and snatching up his plate, putting his back to me as he carries it to the counter.
“Wait, no,” I say. “That isn’t even what I meant!”
When I’d said “you,” I’d meant it in the plural sense. The “you” really meant “you three.” I was merely pointing out that I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb, the lone, innocent-looking female among a group of hardened mafia criminals. But Curse clearly interpreted it differently.
“We’ll tell them that you’re pregnant if we have to,” Curse says tonelessly. “To explain the rushed nature of things. If that doesn’t work, we’ll bribe them. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll beat them.”
“You would beat up some innocent person just for defying you in this? Just so you could marry me?” I gasp, horrified by the image.
“I would kill an innocent person to marry you,” he corrects me cruelly. “I’d kill as many as it takes.”
My fingers curl into fists.
“Buffalo means that much to you, does it?” I mutter, leaving the table now myself. My appetite has vanished.
Curse tenses slightly, but maybe it’s just because he’s leaning over to turn on the tap and rinse his plate.
“Right,” he replies. “Buffalo.”
There’s something almost sarcastic in his reply, but I can’t figure it the hell out. It’s always been about Buffalo. If it were about something more than that, something more personal, he wouldn’t have agreed to the divorce.
Elio’s earlier words come back to me, unbidden.
Divorce? He’d looked so shocked, so entirely bewildered. And my brother agreed to this?
That was the deal. Curse never had any trouble accepting the terms.
So why that charred edge of bitterness to his voice now? Right. Buffalo.
Maybe it’s merely a comment on the fact that he won’t personally benefit from this arrangement at all.
Elio is the boss. Curse might get some kind of bonus for his trouble, but ultimately, all of my inheritance will end up under the elder Titone brother’s power.
All Curse has gotten out of this situation is a bride he never wanted, a new enemy nipping at his heels, and the lingering aftereffects of a near-fatal overdose. A pretty shit deal for him, all in all.
So maybe his biting tone makes sense after all.
My stomach turns inside out with shame and anger. I want to defend myself against him and his contempt. To hurl my plate at the wall. To shout at him that I never asked for this.
But I did, didn’t I? Even if he was already there in New York, even if he would have come for me anyway…
I called him.
I don’t remember much of that harried phone conversation beside Marco’s limp form. But I do remember the jagged relief when Curse answered the phone, even if he didn’t say a word when he did it.
And I remember telling him at least one thing.
I need you.
“I’m going to bed,” I say abruptly. I spin on my heel, only to realize that I don’t know where I’m meant to be sleeping tonight.
Where we will be sleeping, I guess, since I already know it will be together.
Grimacing, I head for the couch, still covered in its plastic, and plop myself down on it, arms crossed.
In the kitchen, I hear the tap running for a few more seconds, as well as the clink of dishes and cutlery.
Oops. I left my half-finished plate of lasagna on the table.
I guess Curse is dealing with it. I ignore the guilt that creeps up in response to that.
I busy myself picking at the old wedding nail polish, flaking off the little bits that come loose.
I don’t hear Curse enter the room; I only see the dark shape of his silent feet enter my line of sight.
I draw my gaze from them, up the hard lines of his legs, the tapered V of his torso, to his face, impassive as ever.
“That doesn’t look like bed,” he says.
“Whatever.” I shrug. “It’s where we slept last night.”
“I have a room here.”
Curse’s room.
My future husband’s bed.
I’ve slept in his bed before, of course. In Montreal. And in other beds with him, like at the motel.
But the thought makes my stomach squeeze now.
“And?” I say, not getting up, trying to delay the inevitable. Coward.
“And that’s where we’ll be spending the night.”
“I see. And I get no say in the matter, is that it?” I lift my chin, trying to project a boldness I don’t quite feel.
“You get a say,” he replies after a beat. “We can sleep here again if you want.” He nods towards the couch. “But it’s not going to be comfortable.”
I don’t remember being too uncomfortable last night.
But by the time I woke up, I was lying down normally on the couch, Curse gone.
He’s so much bigger than me. I don’t even think he could stretch out all the way on this piece of furniture.
My heart sinks at the thought that, not only was he recovering from the overdose, but he was also in pain from whatever position he’d slept in all night.
“Alright,” I say, rising from the couch, hearing the plastic squeak and sigh as I release it from my weight.
“Show me your room, I guess.” Now that I’ve decided it’s bedtime, it’s like my body has finally let me feel all the fatigue that’s been gathering.
My head is so heavy, my stomach bloated and a little nauseous. I just want to lie down.