Page 55 of The Hitch
"Abso-fuckin-lutely, babe." I grin at her. "Wanna go down to the basement and practice shooting?"
"I don't love the face you made while asking me that, but yes. Your aim is awful, and we need to work on that." Helena stands and carefully organizes her sketching pencils in the cute little case I got for her. The bright pink cartoon frogs happily smile up at her, a stark contrast from the heavy conversation. I quickly scamper to the basement door and wait for her to follow.
"Melody, love," Dante sings out as he steps through the door. "We have an event, I'm afraid."
"Oh?" I look up from my cross-stitch on the sofa. Another of my new hobbies. It's ugly and doesn't look anything like the pattern I found, but it's mine. "What's the dress code?"
He hums thoughtfully. "We'll call it… murderously chic."
Nowthatcatches my attention. "Do I get to play tonight?"
"No, unfortunately." He laughs. "I'm going to introduce you to my mother."
Shit. Fuck. I am not good with parents. I killed my own stepdad, haven't heard from my mom in nearly a year, and this lady is probably ultra-rich and snobby as hell. I can feel my skin start to itch with anxiety. "Y-your mother?"
"Yes indeed, love. Roman brought to my attention the fact that I have not seen her in… well, a while." He leans down to slick his hair back in the reflection of a window. "And, you're my wife. Of course, my mother should meet my wife."
"Right. Of course." I swallow. "So, dress? Heels?"
He looks me up and down. "You look perfect as-is."
A smile creeps across my face before I even know it's there. Ugh, I'm honestly disgusting about this.Perfect?I'm in jeans and a sweatshirt. He expects me to show up to hismother's house, next to him in a full suit? Absolutely not. But still, the compliment makes me feel a little giddy.
"No way. Ten minutes," I say and point at him. "Ten!"
"Ten minutes," he agrees.
I dash up the stairs and yank open the closet door, selecting a tasteful black dress with a higher neckline than I usually wear. Paired with some ankle boots and a delicate gold chain necklace, I'm miles above my couch-rotting outfit already. I twist my hair into a claw clip and swipe on some tinted lip balm. Just enough to look put together, but not like I'm trying to fit in at a red carpet.
Tumbling down the stairs, I clear my throat and Dante looks up from his phone with a devilish grin that makes him look positivelydiabolical.
"None of that!" I admonish him. "We're going to see your mother—I'm not showing up with just-been-fucked hair."
"Shame," he grumbles. "By the way, new phones." He produces a smartphone—thank god—from his pocket and tosses it to me.
"Oh, sweet merciful god, thank you." I snatch it out of the air and power it on. It's got all of my contacts and music and apps and… something new. "What the hell is GP360?"
"Please, love. I'll tell you in the car—we need to go." He looks more nervous than I've ever seen him, which doesn't exactly bode well for the evening. But I follow him anyway with a grouchy grumble as I tap on the app.
It doesn't open anything, though. I can't remove it. I can't uninstall it. I'm still messing with the phone settings to see what the hell this thing is when I plop down into the passenger seat. "Can you tell me now?"
"It's a tracker, love. Please believe me that it'sonlyfor emergency usage. I don't care if you run wild all over the city and spend a small—or large—fortune, I just want to be able to find you if something goes wrong. But please, could you give it a rest while we're at my mother's house? She's a little… particular about phone etiquette." His jaw ticks as he turns onto the highway on-ramp, and his tone is clipped and short. It's a bit like how he used to be, right after he first kidnapped and forcibly married me.
Which is an incredibly weird sentence to think to myself, but here I am.
"Oh, yeah, of course. Um, sorry." I chew on my lip. "Is everything okay? Are you… like, good?"
Dante flares his nostrils in an exhale. "I just… have complicated thoughts about my mother. When my father was in the hospital, being kept alive solely by medical intervention—no chance of miraculous recovery, and believe me, they tried—she prolonged his suffering. She disrespected him. She kept him an empty shell rotting in that bed, full oftubesandwires.It was disgusting."
I watch his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel tighter and tighter with every word. An uncharacteristic flush stains his cheeks, and I want to reach out and rub his shoulders.
"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't know." I think for a beat. "I don't… I don't ever want to be like that."
"I don't either. Not that I like to think about my own mortality, but Melody?" He faces me, flicking his eyes between me and the road. "Don'teverdo that to me. Promise me."
"I promise as long as you do."
"On that, we agree." He cracks a half-smile. "Honestly, love, we agree on lots of things. And… thank you for coming with me."
