Page 23 of This Thing of Ours

She quickly turned the deadbolt, disengaging the lock, and pulled open the door. And there he stood—tall, dark, and menacing. He wore another dark suit with the white shirt beneath, fresh and crisp. She wondered how many times in a day he changed to achieve that goal.

He stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him before taking a few steps farther into the room. His eyes skimmed over her. She was dressed in the same leggings and baggy shirt from the night before, and she couldn’t remember if she’d ever bothered to brush her hair or teeth that day.

They were definitely a contrast in tidiness.

He reached out a hand, almost touching the bruise on her cheek that looked darker and more intense now that the swelling had gone down. She took a hasty step back, hating the reminder of what had been done. How was she expected to forget if people kept bringing it to her attention?

She plopped her ass on the sofa, in the spot she’d spent most of the day, then glanced over at Marco. “What are you doing here?”

She tracked his movements as he rounded the couch and took a seat on its opposite end. Feet firmly planted on the floor, elbows resting on his knees, and head slightly bowed but turned her direction, he said, “We need to talk.”

She picked at a few fuzzballs on the afghan she’d thrown over her lap. “About?”

“Derek Miller.”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her and plucked a few more fuzzballs from the blanket. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

She heard him sigh, and she rolled her eyes from her task to find him staring at the ground. “I know.”

“But you’re going to make me anyway.”

He nodded still staring at his feet. “I’m going to make you anyway.”

She shrugged even though he wasn’t watching, then said matter-of-factly, “There’s not much to tell. He asked me out. I said yes. He kidnapped me. End of story.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it.”

“That’s all you need to know.”

His head twisted her direction again. “Derek Miller isn’t his real name.”

She nodded, acknowledging that fact but didn’t say anything because she didn’t know what his real name was.

“No one from your school knows anything about him other than he attended class every Monday and Wednesday.”

She nodded again, still not saying anything, but this time because she believed what he was saying.

“I assume you at least have his phone number, but I’m sure it’s no longer any good.”

She agreed again, her head dipping but still not speaking.

His nostrils flared, and his eyes hardened. “You tried?”

He’d misunderstood. “No, I just assumed that, too.”

His features relaxed, and it was now his turn to nod. “I’ll need to know if he contacts you.”

Gabby produced an unladylike snort. “You really believe that will happen?”

He stared at her a few seconds, his gaze so intense she could almost feel his eyes burning her. “Yes.”

She looked down at her lap and started picking more fuzz. “Well, if he does, you’ll be the first to know.”

“You’re not going to have a blanket left.”

Her hands stilled. “My nonna made this blanket.”

“I met her once. She was a spitfire.”

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