Page 5 of My Dark Fairy Tale
The sky was darkening rapidly now, the hand in front of my face a dark-gray smear in the inky press of grass all around me. I tried not to think about the snakes and mice and other critters that might be living in the wheat fields and pressed on, hoping to find a house or a town at the other end of this.
I didn’t expect to tumble out of the field straight into another road, one with a car careening too fast down the asphalt straight at me. The headlights blinded me, leaving me frozen in the middle of the road as the car barreled toward me.
Oh my God,I thought with sudden clarity,I’m going to die, and my parents will have lost both their children in one year.
I closed my eyes and wished fervently that my parents would be okay.
There was a sudden shriek of tires against the road and the acrid scent of burning rubber. I braced for impact, and a moment later, something clipped my hip hard.
Hard, but not brutally.
Hard enough to throw me to the ground, but not enough to kill.
I knew, because I lay there on the road, staring up at the stars blinking into existence in the black bowl of night as pain ricocheted through my left side and the back of my skull and my breath streamed through my nose, that I’d never felt more alive.
A car door slammed, and shoes pounded over the pavement seconds before a body loomed over me.
“Vaffanculo, sei uno stronzo!” he shouted down at me.
Hysteria bubbled in my belly and emerged from my mouth as a high, panic-edged giggle. Once I started, I found it impossible to stop. The combination of relief and adrenaline was simply intoxicating.
There was a mumbled male curse, and then someone was crouching beside me, a large hand tapping lightly at my cheek.
“First,” I gasped through my laughter, “you hit me with your car and then with your hand. I really am the unluckiest girl in the world. Out of the frying pan ...”
“And into the fire,” he finished in a rough, Italian-accented voice. “You are American. This explains the idiocy.”
I winced as I tried to sit up, pain sinking sharp teeth into my side. “Well, I’ve been in Italy for less than twenty-four hours, and one person has already tried to rape me and another has hit me with his car. What does that say about Italians?”
He seemed a little shocked by my audacity but recovered quickly. His face was all in shadow, backlit by the headlights, but he was a large man, and I was suddenly acutely aware of the position I was in, sprawled across the ground.
When he reached for me, I flinched, dragging myself back across the pavement. My dress tore with an audible rip, but it was the least of my concerns.
“I mean you no harm,” he assured me, as if the idea was preposterous. “Beyond having hit you with my car, obviously. Let me help you to your feet.”
I ignored his hand and awkwardly pushed myself to my feet, swaying a little when I stood up. My head pounded ruthlessly, and my vision grayed out around the edges. A hand on my elbow steadied me as I took a deep breath and closed my eyes to let the dizziness pass.
“Tranquillo,” he murmured, and even though his voice was still rough, there was a softness to it I knew was meant to soothe me. “Take a moment,idiota. You have just been hit by a car.”
“Your car,” I reminded him, snapping my eyes open to fix him with a glare.
In the murky light, I could just make out the shape of his small smile.
“Si, my car. I have damaged you, and you have damaged her. I am inclined to believe a Ferrari is worth more than an American tourist, but I am feeling gracious tonight, so why do we not call it even?”
I snorted before I could stop myself, my ribs aching a little at the effort. My hand pressed to my side, and I winced.
“You most likely have a concussion,” he mused blandly. “Maybe bruised ribs and a painful contusion on your hip.”
“Are you a doctor or something?”
There was a light pause that felt almost like I’d pressed on a bruise beneath his skin. “No,” he said finally. “I am more prone to hurt than heal, which is why helping you is so oddly out of character.”
I rolled my eyes, slapping at his hand to release my elbow so I could retrieve the shoe that had been knocked off when I was hit. “You have an even odder definition of helping someone if you think running them down counts.”
He let me go, but only so he could bend down to pick up my broken sandal.
“You mentioned someone tried to ... hurt you,” he said, so darkly a little shiver dragged nails down my spine. “Where did this happen?”
