Chapter 21
KARINA
My new guard isn’t outside my door.
It’s almost midnight, and the house is quiet.
There’s no moon tonight, just a heavy cloud cover and inky blackness.
My plan was to dress in all black, but since my uncle removed most of my clothing and other belongings from my room, I had to go with a blue, long-sleeve blouse and a pair of dark jeans.
Thank God my black ballet flats weren’t confiscated, too.
Pressing flat against the wall beside my doorway, I debate how I’m going to get out of the house. I’ve been running through various escape scenarios in my head ever since Marco showed up at my dress fitting, and I’m down to two possibilities.
The first: my bedroom window. Even though my uncle said he was putting an alarm on it, he hasn’t done it yet, so I can make it work.
It’s an eight-foot drop to the lawn below, and I’d probably be fine on my way down, but I’m worried that getting back up to my room will be impossible.
I’d need a lot of arm strength to scale the exterior wall and hoist myself over the sill, and I doubt I could do it soundlessly anyway.
The second possibility is sneaking out the side door on the first floor of the house’s east wing.
It’s accessible via the hallway to the left of my room, which leads to a set of narrow back stairs that used to be the main passage for servants many years ago, before the house was remodeled.
It’s seldom used now, if ever. But the door hinges are probably squeaky and loud and will give me away the moment I open it, if the door is even unlocked—there was a padlock on the door at one point due to my uncle’s paranoia about someone breaking in.
He’s since upped the security, but that doesn’t mean he changed the locks.
Still, that area of the house is seldom used. I think it’s my best option.
Praying that my guard will be fooled by the wad of blankets that I arranged into the shape of a body under my covers, I slink into the hallway before I lose my nerve, staying close to the wall as I inch down the carpeted hallway. I’m so anxious I’m trembling.
A noise sounds from somewhere down below, like the quiet shuffle of footsteps.
Don’t overthink this, Karina, just go!
I hunch over, pressing a hand against the wall to guide my way in the dark, and hold my breath until I reach the far end of the hallway that opens up into the old wing of the house. Then I pad softly down the stairs and make my way to the side door.
Luck is on my side—there’s a security chain over the deadbolt and doorknob, but no padlock hanging from the hasp.
Holding my breath, I undo the chain and turn the locks, wincing as the bolts inside click heavily.
I silently count to five and then grab the knob—it’s a little sticky, but it turns.
It takes a hard pull to get the door open but I quickly slip through, closing it again behind me.
Crouching, I keep my back to the door and listen to see if the noise has aroused any interest.
Crickets chirp. The wind blows in the trees. The only other thing I hear is the harshness of my own breathing.
I make a run for it, skirting the main yard and going wide along the cast iron perimeter fence. I figure I’m much less likely to be spotted by the security cameras if I stick to the wooded area of the property and cut toward the main road from there.
My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, and soon enough I spy the sprawling California live oak that I can climb to get over the fence.
It seems crazy to be doing this, especially in these flimsy slip-on shoes, but when I was a little girl I had plenty of practice climbing this tree, and its thick limbs greet me like old friends.
Once I’m over, I stay in the shadows under the trees that line my street, enjoying the feel of the cool grass on my neighbors’ manicured lawns.
My anxiety is dissipating with each step further I get from my uncle’s house.
I see parking lights pop on dimly up ahead and I make out the solid dark shape of a vehicle. My pulse picks up again. What if I’ve been found out?
“Karina,” Marco calls out softly.
Relief washes over me. Rushing to my side, he takes my hand and leads me to the passenger side of the car. After I’m buckled in, he gets behind the wheel and flashes me a grin.
“Right on time, bella. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get away. But I was prepared to wait all night for you, just in case.”
I glance at the clock on the dashboard—it’s 12:01. Not bad.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say breezily, despite the adrenaline still rushing through me. He doesn’t know that I’m a literal prisoner in my home or how vilely my uncle has been treating me. “Not that I have any idea what we’re doing. Are you going to tell me, or should I start guessing?”
“You’ll never guess.”
Smiling, he rolls slowly down the street and onto the main road, careful not to call attention to us, before flicking the headlights on again and speeding off.
“How far are we from the Grand Canyon? Maybe we should just drive ourselves off a cliff, like Thelma and Louise,” I muse.
“Shh. It’s not so desperate as it seems,” Marco soothes me, gripping my hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Do you trust me, Karina?”
“Yes.” Without a doubt.
“Good. No more worrying, then. Not for tonight.”
If only it were that simple, to just turn off the panic and the worry and the foreboding.
Even though Marco is the balm to the wound that is my life, it’s not possible to completely forget all my problems when I’m with him.
He gets to go home afterward, where he has power and autonomy, but I have to return to my prison.
“I was shocked to see you in the dressing room today,” I tell him.
“I was shocked to see you in that…dress.”
We both laugh and it feels good. I wonder if he heard the way Pietro spoke to me before I entered the dressing room, but I don’t ask. How embarrassing if he had.
“Do I get a clue?” I ask. “I can’t imagine what’s even still open at this hour.”
Mmm, wouldn’t it be amazing if he was taking me to his house and sneaking me in so we could share his bed and lay tangled up together in the coolness of early morning?
“It’s a surprise,” he says apologetically. “I hope you’ll forgive me sooner than later.”
That draws me out of my daydream. “Forgive you for what?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’m starting to rethink the whole ‘trusting you’ thing.”
He kisses the back of my hand and then sets it on his warm, hard thigh. Settling into the leather seat, I soak up the moment. I’m exactly where I want to be right now. I need to just let myself live in the moment. Not tomorrow. Not my wedding day. Right now.
I’m lucky Marco and I have a little more time together, and I want to enjoy it, as I have all the other forbidden stolen moments.
The darkness of the main road turns into the brightness of a small, charming tourist town on the edge of the city.
We’ve gone about twenty minutes from my house—not too far, so it’ll be a quick drive to get back.
We pull into an alleyway between two older brick buildings. One still has a neon bar sign lit above it. The other is dark as a Halloween night.
“Are we going to get drunk?” I ask jokingly.
“Not even a little bit,” he says.
Getting out of the car, he comes around to open my door and offer me his hand.
Hesitating, I take his hand and get out.
The air is a bit humid here, with a theatrical bit of fog rolling in, and I lean against Marco as he leads me to the dark building.
His three knocks on the back door are met with the creak of a lock turning from the inside.
Bright light spills out as the door swings open.
He steps inside first and leads me inside… to the back room of a pharmacy.
“What is this place—”
“You’ll see,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
Long metal shelves hold rows of pill bottles and boxed medicines, and I see a filing cabinet and a bunch of cleaning supplies. Scales and pill counters sit on the countertop. Framed diplomas and licenses hang on the wall.
“Is this a legit pharmacy we’re sneaking into, or—”
“We’re not here for the pills, Karina.” He laughs. “We’re going downstairs.”
A door in the back opens onto a staircase with lights shining up from below.
Music thumps quietly as we descend, the lights getting brighter and more fluorescent as we reach the bottom.
White and red tiles decorate the floor and mirrors line the walls, while galvanized metal and leather salon chairs create four workstations across the room.
There’s a disco ball hanging from the ceiling, and one lone man in a studded black vest and no shirt holds a beer in one hand while he shimmies and twists to the music all by himself.
“Marco! You made it!”
A tall woman with jet black hair and perfectly winged eyeliner comes toward us with her hands outstretched.
My eyes go wide and I catch myself before she catches me gawking.
Nearly every inch of her skin is covered in tattoos.
She even has a wild rose vine climbing up the side of her neck, blossoming under her jaw and behind her ear. She’s gorgeous.
“Nellie, hey,” Marco says, giving her a hug. “Thanks again for seeing us.”
Nellie looks to be about our age, or even in her late twenties maybe, but all her adornments make it hard to tell. She’s got a piercing in her nose, several in her ears, and when she smiles, I see a flash of a ball in her tongue. I wonder if she’s one of Marco’s exes.
She takes his face between her hands and then looks at me. “This is her?” She flashes me a genuine smile. “Oh, aren’t you lovely. Just beautiful. I’m so happy for you, Marco.”
Happy for him? Because of me?
I can’t help but feel warm inside. Lovely? Beautiful? Resisting the urge to look around to see if she’s speaking about someone else, I shake her hand and smile.
“Karina, this is Nellie,” Marco says. “She’s done some work for the family and graciously agreed to stay open late just for us tonight.”
“For us to…?” I ask, trailing off as my gaze bounces between the two of them.
Marco takes my hands. “I’m serious about you, Karina. And I meant it when I said that everything is going to be okay. Let me prove it to you. Tattoos are forever, after all.”
I blink in shock. “You’re…going to get a tattoo? For me?”
He nods. “For you. For always. If I have your blessing.”
“Oh my gosh.” I’m overwhelmed, so I just nod.
Throwing my arms around him, I hold him close and almost let myself believe that things will work out. Almost.
“I want one, too,” I say. “For you. For always.”
I’ve never gotten a tattoo before, but I want to mark my body in some small way and memorialize our love, now and forever. It’ll be something no one can ever take away from me.
Nellie grins. “Let’s see what we can come up with for you two, okay? This way.”
She takes us to her workstation, where we talk about design ideas and she starts sketching out our suggestions. I’m aware that the night is growing long, but with each passing moment, I care less and less. I don’t want to go home.
Soon, I’m lying on my side in the chair, the waist of my pants pulled down over my right hip while Nellie creates the first tattoo.
Marco holds my hand while I close my eyes and breathe in and out slowly to deal with the pain.
It’s almost like a burning sensation, like a sewing needle being dragged over my skin, and part of me goes into a deep state of relaxation as I give myself up to the stinging and vibration of the tattoo needle. I think I actually like it.
It’s all over pretty quickly, since the design is a small one and only done in black ink, and then it’s Marco’s turn to sweat it out in the chair while his left hip gets inked.
When Nellie’s finished, she smears clear ointment over Marco’s ink, and then has us stand hip to hip in front of the mirror.
I gasp at how perfectly the images have turned out.
My tattoo is a small open book with blank pages—symbolizing the fact that I’m going to write my own story someday—and an intricately engraved, heart-shaped locket in the center.
I had Nellie draw it in the Georgian style of jewelry that was created in the early 1800s—the era that would match the wedding dress of my dreams. The lock opening is uniquely shaped, too.
And Marco—his tattoo is of a 19th century style fountain pen with a key crossed over it, so the two instruments form an X shape.
The pen is so he can help me write my story, and the key is a perfect match for my locket tattoo.
When we stand side by side, the book and pen, the lock and key, they’re clearly made only for each other.
“They’re so beautiful. Thank you so much.” I watch while Nellie places gauze over my artwork and tapes it in place.
Marco cups my face in his hands. “These tattoos are our secret, our sign. I’m yours. And I promise that I’ll always show up. I’ll find a way to get you out of this, I swear.”
I look up at him with love and then close my eyes as he leans in to kiss me.
I can only pray that he’s right.