Page 13 of Forbidden Dark Vows

I can’t think straight. My head is pounding with the blood pumping around my heart, but Alessandro laughs out loud.

“Woohoo!” He doesn’t waste a beat. He hits the accelerator and speeds off again towards the Interstate out of town.

I don’t speak. My mouth is dry, and all I can taste is the hamburger I ate at the amusement park. I don’t want to be in the car, but I can’t let him do this alone.

By the time we reach the highway, the blizzard is in full swing, the heavy flakes hitting the windshield with a series of dull whumps. The wipers try to keep up with the snowfall, but I can barely see the road through a couple of inches of smeared glass.

“We could find a roadside motel and pull over for the night,” I suggest.

Alessandro either doesn’t hear me, or he’s choosing to ignore me because he doesn’t want to admit defeat.

Bright lights make me squint and turn my eyes away. A truck is coming towards us on the other side of the road. That’s why I don’t see it happening.

I feel the rear tires skidding across the icy slush, the sensation inside my stomach a little like being on the Ferris Wheel when it tilts sideways. My fingertips grip the seat more tightly. My head moves in slow motion to watch Alessandro turning the wheel back and forth, the car lurching into a spin that makes the bile rise in my throat.

And that’s when I realize that he isn’t wearing his seatbelt.

5

RUBY

“Have you heard the news?”

Mom is making ham omelets. Her cooking repertoire literally consists of omelets and grilled cheese, anything else is down to me. Dad did most of the cooking before his stroke, so Mom didn’t have to, and she conveniently forgot everything she’d ever learned while she had someone else to do it for her.

Dad peers at me over the top of his book, and I mouth, “She’s talking to you.”

“What news?” he asks.

“Alessandro Russo died in a car crash on the Interstate out of town.” She doesn’t even look up from what she’s doing, grating cheese over the top of the omelet in the pan.

My heart constricts like someone is squeezing the life out of it. I think of him on top of me in the back of the limo, his hands inside my pants, his breathy words, “God you’re so beautiful,” and my pulse is racing a marathon. I can still taste him. Still smell his cologne and his leather coat. I can still rememberwondering why the driver didn’t stop the car when he saw what was happening in the rearview mirror.

The images in my head make me feel nauseous, but I can’t seem to understand that he’s dead. A life snuffed out, just like that. How is that even possible?

“Who, sweetheart?” Dad asks, and I want to throw my arms around his neck and sit on his lap the way I used to do when I was a little girl.

I want him to smooth my hair and tell me everything will be okay. Only, that promise isn’t his to make anymore.

“He’s an actor.” Mom uses present tense, and I don’t correct her. “Ruby met him at the ice rink the other night.”

I swallow and force myself to make eye contact. I give my dad a smile. “He was surrounded by fans,” I say as if that explains everything.

“Do we know what happened?” This is typical of my dad—he cares about everyone and everything that’s going on in the world, even though his world has practically shrunk to the size of our house.

“He was driving in the blizzard, in a Porsche. God knows why he didn’t wait for the weather to clear.” Mom slides the first omelet onto a plate and sticks it in front of my dad. “More money than sense,” she adds, turning back to the grill.

My thoughts are scrambling headfirst down a rabbit hole. What if our date hadn’t gone the way it did? What if he’d asked me to skip town with him? I might’ve been in that wreckage.

“There was a passenger in the car with him,” Mom continues the personal news report. “A friend. Guy named Harry Weiss.”

Harry Weiss.

The name gets stuck in my throat, and all that comes out is a feeble squeak.

“Okay, sweetheart?” Dad is waiting for Mom to sit down before he tucks into his meal.

“Did-did he die too?” I’m numb.

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