Page 77 of Married With Malice

LUCA

We’re somewhere over Nebraska but the only view is the interior of winter clouds. I flip the window shade closed because it’s a little disturbing to look outside and see only a big foggy pile of nothing.

My laptop is open on the tray in front of me but the dense legal jargon swims in front of my eyes while my brain stays lit with distractions.

Speaking of distractions, my wife is stretched out in the row of seats across the aisle. From here I can’t see what she’s watching on her iPad screen but it must not be very compelling. She yawns. She fidgets. She keeps craning her neck to check out the raucous celebrity party carrying on with drunken noise and constant laughter in the front of the plane.

Most of all, she scrupulously avoids sliding her eyes in my direction.

To say it’s been a tense few days is like calling the Atlantic Ocean a puddle. That Christmas day calamity sent Annalisa to DEFCON One status. Even after the smoke from the dining room bonfire cleared she was too furious to listen to a word I had to say.

No, I didn’t sabotage her cake.

Yes, I should have mentioned the possibility that she might accidentally sabotage it herself.

Honestly, I forgot all about the cayenne pepper on the counter until I was presented with a cake slice that looked unusually red. By then it was too late and within seconds there were fires and mayhem and the sound of my wife screaming that I’m a fucking asshole.

Yeah, I know I’m a fucking asshole.

Anni was so mad she went to stay with Daisy and Big Man Bowie in their cramped apartment.

At least a couple of days alone in the house injected a little bit of clarity into my head.

I haven’t given my wife many reasons to have faith in me. While she was gone, I spent my time all alone in our empty house and wishing for a lot of do-overs since the honeymoon. I was ready to find her, drop to my knees and plead my case.

Then came an unexpected twist.

Both Anni and I were summoned by her father and Richie.

There, in Albie Barone’s office, we were presented with an ultimatum.

Failure in our marriage isn’t an option.

In order to ‘encourage’ us to see the light and find a harmonious path forward, we’re being flown to Colorado for a second honeymoon. When we return, we’re expected to resume married life without any complaints at all.

Our destination was chosen for a reason. While it’s true that Albie Barone has an ownership stake in a southwestern Colorado resort, there are a million other places we could have been sent that would make more sense in the middle of winter.

But Richie showed his hand when he said, “Look on the bright side, Luca. You can look in on your brother while you’re in the area. Maybe a visit with him can teach you how to make a marriage work.”

Despite my uncle’s mild tone, the unspoken threat was clear.

He was sending me to Cale to remind me of my promise. When I offered to take Cale’s place, I wasn’t just agreeing to work for Richie. I was buying my brother’s freedom with my own. I’m the heir of Richie’s empire and there is no defaulting on the deal I made with the devil.

In that moment I’ve never hated my uncle more. The effort to keep my face neutral made my head pound.

“And your sisters will both be awaiting your happy return,” Albie’s gravelly voice said to his daughter.

I saw the way Annalisa flinched and gulped, obviously petrified of whatever meaning was packed into her father’s words. I wanted to reach out and comfort her.

But Anni, understanding the situation and wisely choosing to bite her tongue, stood up and calmly said, “I’ll go pack for the trip.”

She fled the room without glancing at me once.

Now here we are, two days before New Year’s Eve and thirty thousand feet above the ground in Albie Barone’s private jet as we hurtle west.

Anni has shown no desire to exchange more than a few words since we boarded the plane. But we can’t speak freely anyway because we’re not traveling alone. Her father has allowed some actress and her entourage to hitch a ride to Los Angeles after we’re dropped off at a small regional airport less than an hour from Cale’s place.

With Anni studiously ignoring me, I’m free to stare at her. Her hair is down and she’s dressed casually in a cable knit cream-colored sweater, dark jeans and brown leather boots. She gives up on watching her iPad and stares out the window into the cloudy abyss while idly playing with strands of her long hair.

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