Page 63 of 10 Days to Surrender

“—if I’m not allowed to lift a finger, then how could it possibly be?—”

What it boils down to is this: I need those meds. They’re the only thing keeping my blood pressure from flying up to join the comma club. But thefarmaciain Roccastrada has a limited supply. Same with the local hospital. A proper refill will require a trip all the way to the city of Siena. Given how bad the roads have been with all the storms lately, that means at least a ninety-minute drive each way. And Sasha seems to think that that’s just beyond the pale.

He is in my face, snarling, “You’re not cleared for?—”

“—sitting in a car?” I snap. “Wow, what astrenuousactivity. However will I manage? It’s almost like you?—”

Jasmine snorts. “Ariel, you should really consider?—”

Kosti chimes in, “The girl is not a prisoner. Let’s all be reasonable and?—”

It all comes to a sudden and abrupt end when Sasha pulls out his snarliest snarl. “That’s fucking enough.”

All of us finally fall quiet. I look at him. Kosti and Jasmine have been cowed into submission.

Me? Not so much.

“No,” I say. “Not ‘enough.’ I’ve been on bedrest for a week and I’m going to go absolutely fucking Looney Tunes if I have to stay here for a minute longer. Also, as of four hours ago, I’m officially free as a bird. And anyway, it doesn’t make sense for it to happen any other way. Jasmine doesn’t speak Italian, Kosti can’t drive for shit, and you don’t know enough about my medical conditions to answer questions. So you and I are going to play nice. We’re going to get in that car and drive to Siena. And you know what? I might even roll the window down and enjoy thetrip a little bit. That’s what’s happening, Sasha Ozerov. I dareyou to tell me otherwise.”

His nostrils flare as he stares down at me. Blue eyes churn. Then: “Fine. The car leaves in five, whether or not you’re in it.”

Sasha drives like he has a personal vendetta against every sharp corner. He doesn’t seem super thrilled with me, either.

I roll down the window. He reaches across me and rolls it up.

I turn on the radio. He turns it off.

I start to hum. He presses a finger to my lips and says, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

Two Truths and a Lie. What a stupid game. If I never play it again, it’ll still be too soon.

But even though the tension between us is disgustingly thick after the cellar shenanigans, I really am happy to be outdoors again. Most of the storms have gone to bother someone else, so through the windshield, sunlit Tuscany blurs into daubs of cypress and terracotta.

When we reach Siena, Sasha parallel parks with a jerk of the wheel that makes my teeth clack. “Let’s make this quick.”

He’s already out, circling to my door. When he yanks it open, his palm splays against the small of my back. Heat seeps through the shirt. He grazes the lowest bump of spine as I shuffle out, breath hitching.

“Watch the curb.” His warning rumbles through his chest into mine.

I stumble anyway. His arm bands around my waist, hauling me flush against him. Our reflection warps in a shop window—a grotesque parody of domesticity. His scarred throat. My swollen belly. The violet bruise on my collarbone where his mouth fused to my pulse in the dark.

He releases me so abruptly I sway.

Inside the pharmacy, I do my best impression of a mime while explaining my prescription to the elderly clerk. Sasha looms at my shoulder, offering blunt grunts to clarify one point or another.

“Aspetta,” the clerk murmurs when we’re done, vanishing into the back. He returns a moment later with the pharmacist in tow, carrying a white paper bag, his smile crinkling behind wire-framed glasses.

“Una bella famiglia!”the pharmacists crows. He switches to English. “Twins are a blessing. You and your husband must be so happy.”

Sasha’s hand flexes against my lower back. I open my mouth to correct him—we’re not together; he’s just the sperm donor—but Sasha cuts in first.

“Couldn’t be happier,” he grits out.

The pharmacist just nods, oblivious to the tension radiating through Sasha’s hand and into my spine. He taps the prescription label. “Blood pressure is high, yes?”

“Only when I’m around,” Sasha mutters.

I elbow him. “I’m fine. The human barnacle here is the problem, but not for that much longer, praise be.”

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