Page 61 of Married With Malice

We’re only married out of necessity.

But there’s never been another girl who fascinates and electrifies me the way she does. I don’t know what to call that but she’s in my head all the time. I want her constantly. I’d walk through lava for a chance to make her smile. As imperfect as we are together, I’m deeply attached and can’t stand the idea of ever losing her.

Big Man Bowie calls me over to collect my burger. In the space of fifteen minutes he’s turned Monte and Nico Castelli into huge fans.

In order to avoid crowding out the other customers, the three of us hang back while we eat. Nico and Monte rave about Big Man Bowie between bites and I feel a fresh wave of affection for that excessively perky dude.

After all, if not for Bowie and his burger truck, the chain of events that turned Annalisa into my wife never would have happened.

The boys and I aren’t done for the day. After leaving the beach, we take a ride out east to Suffolk County, paying a visit to one of Richie’s construction suppliers. The place is the epicenter of a lucrative scrap metal operation and their contributions have been inexplicably lackluster for a few months.

All it takes is ten minutes of tense conversation in a cramped office with the balding, nervous manager to get everything straightened out. Flashing a gun helps to get the message across. We leave him sniveling in a puddle of his own piss.

The sky is dark by the time I pull up to the house I share with Anni. Many other houses on this street are decorated for the holidays while ours looks cheerless and barren. But all the lights in the kitchen are on and through the open shutters I can see Anni seated at the counter.

Rather than opening the garage and taking the long route to the kitchen, I opt to park in the driveway and trek through an empty flower bed to access the side door.

When I barge in, Annalisa is startled enough to jump right off the barstool. There’s a hockey game playing on the propped up tablet. It falls face down and Anni turns her head at the noise. She picks up the tablet and holds it to her chest.

“You’re home early,” she says, giving no sign whether she’s thrilled or irritated.

I toss my keys on the counter and eye the tablet she’s clutching. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her watch a sporting event of any kind.

She doesn’t resist when I pull her in for a kiss but she doesn’t fly into my arms either. The kiss is too quick and unsatisfying. She simply submits and then takes a step back when I release her.

“I didn’t know the Dukes were playing tonight,” I say. “I thought this was a travel day.”

She shrugs. “They’re not the only hockey team in the world.”

“No, they are not,” I agree.

There are plenty of other pro hockey teams, including the one her ex plays for.

A sudden surge of possessive anger must show up on my face as a scowl. Anni notices and rolls her eyes. This could be just her standard stubbornness. Or it could be something else.

She hasn’t had many romantic relationships. There’s only one that I know about for sure. She mentioned him on our wedding day.

At the time, I laughed it off with some wiseass comment because no matter how aggravated I might get, I’ve always protected her from the truth about Matthew Pentone. If she knew the whole story about that guy she wouldn’t have wasted a minute pining for him, but I figured it’s better for her to blame me than to feel degraded. And now it’s a little too late to start spitting out the facts.

Besides, with the way I’m feeling right now, speaking his name will only spark an argument. I’ll save that for another time.

“There’s just ten days left until Christmas,” I say.

“I too have seen the calendar,” she replies, full of snappy sarcasm.

My teeth grind together as I try to bite back a cynical remark. “We’re still going to your parents’ house, right?”

She shrugs. “As far as I know. But I don’t make the arrangements.”

The blandly neutral décor beckons everywhere I look. It’s all basic and impersonal.

“This place could use some holiday cheer.” I gesture to the living room. “There’s still time to decorate.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

“No worries if it’s a hassle. I know you have a busy schedule.”

She bristles and squares her shoulders. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

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