Page 28 of Forbidden Dark Vows

Because I believe that I have found my other half.

On the TV screen, I leave the church with Ronnie and Pete. Camera crews and reporters line the street, hoping to capture the Russo family’s grief and enough celebrity images to sell a few magazines. I watch myself blinking at the cameras, overwhelmed by the insensitivity of it all, and then Alessandro’s younger sister Alicia appears from nowhere and kisses me on the lips.

I sit forward, sloshing brandy over my wrist and onto the floor.

That wasn’t how it happened.

I know what I’ve just witnessed, but that wasn’t what happened outside the church. Alicia came over to ask me if I was okay. There was too much going on, too many people in the crowdcalling out and jostling to get close to Tom Cruise, no doubt in the hopes of getting his autograph. Alicia leaned closer and murmured into my ear so that I would hear her.

But the press made it look as if she kissed me. A full-on, lip-tingling, knee-jerking kiss on the lips. Why did they even need to show this shit? Someone fucking died, and there they are cashing in on people’s tears.

Anger pulses through me, and I down the brandy, the burn no longer touching the sides. I know that this is what sells stories, but jeez, not at the expense of someone’s funeral.

I stand up too quickly, my head swimming from the alcohol, and pour myself another shot. No soda.

I’m still trying to figure out how they managed to make it look like a kiss, when I’ve known Alicia since she was a little girl. It’s quite a skill. Then it dawns on me like a blow to the gut, that Ruby might’ve been watching the same news report.

Shit!

What if she thinks that there’s something going on between me and Alicia? What if Ruby thinks that I was messing around when I asked her to marry me? She’ll have seen this footage and convinced herself that I was lying in the heat of the moment and now that I’m home, I’m relieved that she didn’t take me up on my proposal.

I down my brandy and almost choke on it, coughing and spluttering, my head suddenly pounding with a combination of stress and booze.

What should I do now?

Ruby obviously didn’t want to see me again after she left the hospital, but I can’t sit back and let this ride. I don’t want her to think that I lied. I don’t want her to think that I’m like every other guy she’s probably met before, sweet-talking her to get what I want.

But more importantly, I still want to marry her.

I’mdeterminedto marry her.

There’s only one thing I can do, I quickly realize. Tell her the truth, face-to-face, tell her how I feel, and remind her of her promise.

In my bedroom, I chuck some clothes into a small suitcase, grab my jacket and my wallet, and switch off the lights as I leave my apartment.

I’m going to Chicago.

I didn’t thinkthis through.

There are no flights until the following morning. So, I spend the night hugging my jacket around my chest, curled up on a row of seats in the first-class lounge area, with a travel pillow under my head, wondering why I was so adamant that a private jet was an extravagance I could do without.

I don’t sleep. I don’t know what Ruby will say, or if she’ll even want to see me.

And I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to see me either.

Five minutes. That’s all I want: five minutes to explain my version of events and tell her that I can’t stop thinking about her, that I wish I was still in hospital, in the middle of theworst blizzard in a decade, with her easy smile and her insatiable appetite for chocolate.

I remember where Ruby lives.The cab drops me off outside her house, and I drag my suitcase along the front path, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

Everything I’ve thought about during the flight, all the opening conversation lines I’ve rehearsed, trying to preempt her responses, vanish the closer I get to Ruby’s front door. My palms are sweating despite the bitter chill in the air. My mouth is dry.

I knock on the door and wait, peering around at the neighboring houses.

Eventually, the door is opened by a man wearing loose khaki pants and a Fair Isle sweater, leaning heavily on a cane. Recognition dances behind his eyes, and he reaches out a hand to shake mine. “Harry?”

“Yes.” His handshake is still firm, and for some reason, this makes me happy. “Is Ruby home?”

“She’s working at the library today.” He stands aside and opens the door wider. “Come in. She never said that you were coming.”

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