Page 22 of The Hitch
I yelp as a camera flashes in our faces, trying to shield my eyes, but Dante keeps a firm grasp on my arm. Everything is too much. There's too much light, too much sound, too manypeople—that uncomfortable itch at the base of my skull rips through it all. My fists clench around air, but Ineedto strangle this man.
Seemingly sensing something is seriously wrong with me, he looks down and plants a gentle kiss on my temple. "Just a few more moments, Melody. We're nearly done. Give me one good smile, and I'll reward you."
Reward me? What thefuckis he on about? I bare my teeth at the thin man flitting around us with a camera. The photographer frowns and points at his own smiling face, then back at me. I try my best to force a real smile, but I'm sure it looks unhinged. He shrugs and flashes another photo anyway.
"Thank you all for attending on such short notice," Dante calls out to the small crowd. "I hate to leave you so soon, but the wedding night festivities call."
The same person from before—I assume—yells out another "Woo!" and Dante whisks me away. I can barely keep up with him in this abomination of a dress. For every one of his strides, I have to shuffle along for three steps. By the time we make it to his ridiculous sports car, I'm out of breath and nauseous again.
He waves jovially to the people who followed us and urges me into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. He quicklyslides into the driver's seat, and the engine purrs. The smile drops from his face as he looks over to me.
"Strap in, Melody. You didn't give me a good smile."
Fuck, I hate him so bad. This can't be legal. Hedruggedme. Hekidnappedme.
He married me.
And, unless I can worm my way out of this, he expects me to give him anheir. Fucking hell, how did this even happen?
My head pounds as Dante weaves us through traffic. Based on the highway signage, he took me all the way to DC—that's over state lines, that has to be more illegal—and we're about thirty miles out from Philly. He hasn't said another word to me, and I've kept my own mouth shut, too. I keep sneaking peeks at him when my nauseated stomach allows.
He's wearing an even fancier suit than before. I don't know exactly what constitutes atuxedo, but I have a feeling this might be it. The jacket is a luxurious-looking black, with slightly shiny lapels. Silk? Satin? I don't know. The dress shirt underneath is a greenish off-white. I'd almost call it a mint green. A black tie accompanies it all in the same shiny fabric as the lapels.
A deep crimson rose is tucked into the chest pocket. It's a perfect match to the ones he's left for me in my apartment. I can't believe this is the same man, honestly. He's the same person who cleaned my apartment, who filled my kitchen with fresh groceries, bought me toiletries, wrote messages on the condensation of my shower door… but he also stole my panties. He broke into my home and lay in my bed. He put cameras in my bedroom—and wherever else. Even if I didn't find more, I'm positive they're there.
At the very least, I'm fairly positive that he has no association with Phil. Or Charlie, for that matter. Unless this is all some insane ruse to get me exactly where they want me. But whywould Phil want me married to this man, just to kill me? It doesn't make sense.
None of this shit makes sense. I chew my lower lip as I fiddle with the tulle ruffles of this god-awful dress. A shivering chill runs down my spine—Dante had to dress me in this thing. I doubt he'd care about preserving my dignity. I'm confident in saying that his taste in women's clothing is god-awful.
Realizing I've been completely consumed by my own thoughts, I look out the window and see the familiar skyline in the distance. Surely he won't just drop me off at home, though? Wherearewe going?
It takes a few tries, but I manage to croak out the question. He flicks his gaze to me, then back to the road. "We're going home, of course."
"But… whereishome?"
"My home. Your new home. You think I'd let my wife stay in that trash heap of a building?" He scoffs. "Not a chance in hell."
My heart sinks into my gut. I don't knowanythingabout him, let alone where he lives. "But what about my things?"
"Dealt with."
"Oh, great, that's not vague at all. What the fuck is your deal, dickhead?" I frown and huff out a breath. He smirks.
"Timely. You called me that the first time we met, don't you remember?" He cocks his head to the side, keeping one eye on the road. "You've been to my home before. Though, I suppose you weren't conscious."
"Conscious?Conscious?Do you make it a habit to abduct women and bring them back to your—your what, your lair?" I shriek and scoot closer to the window.
"So dramatic. No, dearest, you tried to kill me in the Pine Barrens. You stabbed the headrest in your car, then passed out. I, being the perfect gentleman, drove you back to the city and deposited you at your home. My house was just a pit stop."
I fall silent, mind racing. The Pine Barrens? I tried to kill him—me? I did that? Wracking my brain, I try my absolute hardest to remember anything of the sort. "You have to be mistaken. That never happened."
"I assure you, it did. About a month ago, if memory serves. But, well, as they say—when you know, you know." He flashes a devilish grin at me and accelerates the car.
We pull into a side street in Old City, surrounded by old-money houses. This neighborhood absolutely exudes wealth, and I feel antsy. A mountain of a man waits in front of a dark brick house, hands behind his back in a military-style position of ease. Dante parks in front of the man, who opens my door and holds out a hand to help me up.
I shrink back and shake my head. "No, no, no."
"She's dramatic, Ro. I'll get her inside if you wouldn't mind parking for me?" Dante slips out of the driver's seat and rounds the car.
