Page 21 of Married With Malice

“Nope,” Sabrina says. “She’s Mrs. Connelly now.” She laughs at her own joke and then winces when it hurts.

“That will teach you,” I grumble and switch my attention back to the doctor. “I plan to wait here until she’s out of surgery.”

He clicks a silver pen and pockets it. “If you turn right and walk down the main corridor you’ll see signs for the family waiting room. Once your sister is in recovery I will visit you personally with an update.”

Dr. Harvey seems all right. Otherwise, I would not have hesitated to demand a different surgeon. This will be Sabrina’s third surgery. When she was nine she needed to get her tonsils removed. At age thirteen she fell off a playground swing and fractured her arm badly enough to require pins. She’s also suffered two broken wrists and needed stitches on four separate occasions.

Funny how I can rattle off Sabrina’s medical issues more easily than my own. But my injuries came from skating stunts.

Mostly. Except for one.

Other than that, I’m rarely sick and I’ve never needed surgery.

Though Sabrina is in an upbeat mood as she’s wheeled away for her date with an operating room, my anxiety won’t fade until she’s been safely separated from her infected appendix. Telling myself it’s a very routine surgery doesn’t help much. In my mind, Sabrina is still the same trusting little girl who counted on her big sister to lead her safely across the street and it hurts to see her in pain.

My mother wants to visit the hospital chapel. Daisy offers to accompany her and tows Big Man Bowie along for the field trip.

Now on my own, I’m finding it tough to sit still in the hushed waiting room full of squishy chairs. AI-generated autumn scenes splash across the room’s mounted screens to the soundtrack of sleepy piano music. Plucking a random magazine from a pile, I thumb through glossy pages of celebrity hijinks and diet advice. The words run together on the page and I toss it back on the table.

A middle aged couple huddled side by side across the aisle look up at the noise. I suppose that in my shoeless, gothic state of dress, I don’t really fit into this environment.

They’re holding hands as they stare at me.

I stare back at them because I have nothing better to do.

And now I’m wondering who they are and what brings them here and how many years they’ve worn their identical gold wedding bands. They look comfortable, like they’re just weathering the latest challenge in a long, shared life, secure in the knowledge that whatever happens, at least they have each other.

The couple have resumed their quiet conversation by the time I decide I’ve had enough of sitting in this room. At the doorway, I take one last look at them. Her head is on his shoulder.

I’ll bet they are nice people. I hope they hear good news soon.

But now I get to deal with the opposite of ‘nice people’.

“There’s my lovely wife,” declares Luca as he saunters this way flanked by the Castelli brothers, Monte and Nico, like juniorcapos-in-waiting.

If they’ve come to abduct me to the bridal bedchamber, I plan to scream as I’ve never screamed before. The couple from the waiting room will hear. They’ll save me.

“Sabrina’s still in surgery and I’m not leaving.” I cross my arms, as if that will cement me in place. In truth, Luca could throw me over his shoulder with zero effort and there’s not a thing I could do about it.

Luca stops walking. He slides the strap of my Lululemon duffel bag from his shoulder and drops it at my feet. “I heard. Daisy asked me to bring you this.”

I snatch the bag off the floor and hug it to my chest. “Great. Your work is done.”

He takes note of my hospital socks and raises an amused eyebrow. “No thank you kiss? I’ve saved the day. It looks like your wedding heels are unsalvageable but now you have a pair of pink sneakers to wear.”

“What the hell did you do, take inventory of my bag?”

“Of course not,” he says. “I didn’t mean to touch your lacy black thong while I was packing up your stuff. It was entirely accidental and I refolded it nicely. You’ll see.”

He smiles.

I make a fervent, silent wish for every one of his teeth to fall out but nothing happens.

And I’m suddenly very tired. “Is my father with you?”

A dent of confusion appears between his brows. “No. I figured he was here.”

“He’s not.”

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