Page 16 of This Thing of Ours

“Tough. Let’s call it a condition of your reprieve. Unless you’d like to go see the folks now?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t think so.” He gave Marco one last meaningful look before backing out of the car and heading for the main house.

Gabby expelled a sigh of relief. Nico had called it a reprieve, but she considered it more a stay of execution. For tomorrow, her metaphysical neck would be on the chopping block. While her father wasn’t cruel, he was stern and had exacting standards.

As the baby—and an unexpected one at that—she’d been allowed a little leniency, and she’d taken advantage. But she’d never been in a scrape such as this, and she had no idea what her father’s reaction would be.

Marco negotiated them from the car and carried her to her door. “I don’t have my key.”

“We’ll have to get the locks changed then.” He looked at her door. “You got the deadbolt done up?”

She shook her head. “Just the bottom lock.”

He placed her on her feet. Her legs were unsteady, and he held on to her until she was sure of her balance. “Step back.”

She did as he asked and stood transfixed as his leg came up, his foot landing solidly beside the doorknob. He was a big guy—easily noticed when he dwarfed her small frame—and strong—which his bulging muscles would attest to—but it was still hard not to be impressed with how effortlessly he kicked in her door.

He walked over the threshold and scanned the darkness before flicking on the light switch and scanning again. He held a hand out to her, and she took the few steps to take it.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

She pointed to the open door just past the kitchen, and he did the light-switch-on-room-scan thing again before pulling her in.

She went to the foot of the bed and sat down, feeling exhausted both physically and emotionally. She watched Marco disappear into the bathroom through a mist of tears that filled her eyes as the events of the last three days finally made their appearance. Her body started to shake, and she sat on her hands to hide their tremors as she took a few deep breaths to gain control of her emotions.

A Conti never cries. A Conti inspires tears. How many times had she heard that growing up? Too many. Every skinned knee. Her broken arm when she was eight. When her senior prom date had canceled at the last minute. Whenwasthe last time she cried? She couldn’t remember.

Marco reappeared. “I ran you a bath. I couldn’t find any stuff to put in it.”

“Stuff?” she asked, perplexed.

Marco shrugged. “Bubbles. Salt. That smelly shit.”

Gabby bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a smile. “I don’t have any. I never take baths.”

His frown was back. She noticed he did that a lot around her. “Would you rather take a shower?”

Would she? Gabby thought a moment and realized a long, hot soak actually sounded nice. “No. A bath sounds good. Thank you.”

She approached the bathroom, and he stepped out of the doorway and started for her bedroom door. “Marco,” she called, halting his progress.

He turned back to her.

“I don’t want to be alone.” She didn’t mention she was, in truth, scared to be alone. As it was, she sounded pathetic enough. “Do you mind, um, staying outside the door?”

At his nod, she stepped fully into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Then came face to face with herself for the first time. Her right cheek was swollen and tender to the touch, as was her bottom lip. She closed her eyes.

She wouldn’t think about that.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened her eyes, and fingered her ripped t-shirt, noticing she had two torn nails, dried blood visible where they had pulled away from the quick. She trailed her fingertips down the line of scratches from her bruised neck, over her chest, to the swell of her breast, stopping at the edge of her bra. Pulling her shirt off, she dropped it on the floor. Her bra came off next, uncovering teeth marks, reddened and swollen, surrounding her nipple.

She wouldn’t think about that, either.

Not wanting to see anymore, she turned her back to the mirror, toed off her shoes, and quickly removed the rest of her clothes. Scooping them up, she threw them in the small wicker wastebasket at the side of the sink, cramming them down to make them fit.

She let out a sharp hiss as she sank into the tub, the water feeling almost cold it was so hot. Blindly, she grabbed at the soap on the dish, dunking it into the water and lathering it between her hands. It stung as she rubbed the bar over her arm, the foam entering the tiny cuts and scrapes. But she didn’t care. The pain only made her scrub harder. Her eyes filled again, and she sniffed, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall. She wouldn’t give those men the satisfaction.

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