Page 28 of Till Death Do Us Part

Light filters through the open curtains, the sun bathing my room in a golden hue. If it wasn’t for the mariachi band playing in my head, the morning would be lovely. I grab my pillow and smother a groan in the cotton.

The vodka from the previous night is wreaking havoc within me, and I’m sure something crawled into my mouth and died if the bitter taste on my tongue is anything to go by. I shouldn’t have drank half as much as I did; but I don’t regret it.

Antonio chose to not come to my bedroom the night before, citing he had business to attend to, and for that, I am eternally grateful. For once, I’m waking up without a soreness between my legs and a light heart.

Just a headache and hangover from hell.

A knock comes at my door, followed by the slap of footsteps across my floor. I keep my eyes closed, the pillow laid over my face. Perhaps if I pretend to be asleep, whoever it is will just leave me alone.

Wishful thinking.

A hand tugs at the pillow, yanking it from my grip and tossing it onto the floor. With a huff, I brush my tangled hair from my face and open my mouth, prepared to tell the intruder to piss off, when a hand clamps down on my lips.

Leonardo towers over me, his face blank as he gazes at his hand over my mouth. My eyes widen when he leans down, peeling his fingers away from me one at a time. His thumb lingers an extra second, the pad brushing over my bottom lip.

I resist the urge to pull it into my mouth, to taste it with my tongue.

To taste him.

Perhaps I’m still drunk.

That’s the only reasonable explanation for why my clit throbs when he swipes that same thumb over his lips, tracing them like he had mine. When his tongue slides out, swiping along the ridge, I close my eyes and pull in a shuddering breath.

Dangerous.

That’s what he is.

Pure danger.

“What do you want?” I groan, gathering the duvet and pulling it up to my chin. With him standing here, dressed in black pants and a black fitted t-shirt that strains against his muscles, I feel exposed wearing only an oversized Guns N’ Roses t-shirt as nightwear. He looks clean, crisp, and perfect, while I’m rumpled and gross.

“You have thirty minutes to get ready,” he tells me, glancing at the clock on my wall. He cocks his head slightly, eyes narrowing on the hands as they slowly tick down. “Actually, make that twenty-five. Chop, chop.”

He moves towards the door, not bothering with explanations. The door closes with a loud click behind him, leaving me alone with only my headache and the urge to hit him. It’s barely seven a.m. There is something so very wrong with having to be up and ready at this time on a Sunday morning.

I stay in bed for ten more minutes, watching the time run down on the clock. When it hits 7:15, I pull in a deep breath and drag myself out of bed. The claw bath calls to me when I walk into the bathroom, begging me to soak my tired muscles in a hot, steamy bubble bath. Instead, I flick the shower on and let out a wistful sigh.

The hot water does little to relieve the ache in my head, but by the time I’m standing in my closet and fingering through the rails of clothes, I feel marginally more awake.

I dress quickly in a pair of plain black leggings, a white vest top, and an oversized grey hoodie I stole from an ex-boyfriend. The only good thing I got out of that relationship.

Shoving my feet into chequered Vans, I run a quick swipe of mascara and lip balm before shoving my damp hair into a messy bun. The look isn’t my best, but it’s as good as it will get on this miserable Sunday morning.

Leonardo waits in the foyer, watching me as I walk down the stairs towards him. His eyes run lazily over the length of me, taking me in with a ghost of a smile at his lips before his gaze locks on mine and his expression falls blank once more.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask when I reach his side. He looks down at me for a moment before dropping his hand on my lower back and guiding me towards the garage. I fight the delicious shiver that runs over me, keeping my head forwards as we walk to the garage. It’s only when we’re rolling out of the grounds and onto the road, I repeat my question.

“Antonio has left the city for a little while,” he tells me without taking his eyes off the long road before us. With the early hour, the streets are eerily quiet while the sun beams down on the concrete. “I have to do some work in his absence, and that means, as your babysitter, you get to come with me.”

“Fun,” I mumble, huffing as I watch the world fly by. He lets out a deep chuckle.

The silence is peaceful as we drive, not at all suffocating like the silence I’ve become used to lately. With him, it’s comforting, though most things seem to be when he’s around.

The first place we pull up to is a small store tucked away on a side street. The road is dead, and the only sign of life is a flickering light hanging off a cracked brick wall. “Is this where you take me to kill me?”

“Do you really think if I wanted to kill you, I’d do it secretly?”

“I think I don’t know you well enough to answer that question,” I quip when I step out of the car, pushing past where he holds the door open.

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