Page 40 of Ruined Vows
“Good idea,” I pause to consider it, but no, that’s child’s play. A man like Vukan is going to be tough to break. “I’m going to make him uncomfortable. Mentally. Emotionally. Existentially.”
Her eyes light up like Christmas. “Go on.”
“Maybe the women’s shelter. Show him something vulnerable. Raw. Real. It’s intense, y’know?” I stir my frappe thoughtfully. “He won’t know what to do with empathy. He’s a ruthless Serbian mastermind.”
“Oh, even better,” Joanne says, eyes sparking, “take him to see the babies.”
I nearly choked on my saliva. “What?”
“You said he’s older, right? Most mafia men lose their minds around tiny humans. It messes with their power complex. Besides, what man wants to commit to a wife and babies? Brings up stuff they haven’t processed. Give him a preview of what his future with you would look like.”
“Babies.” I must admit, she has a point. Men don’t like small humans. They are loud, messy, and they suck the life out of you. He’s older, so this will be cringeworthy. “I like it!”
“Yep,” she nods to emphasize her support. “One whiff of baby powder and he’ll be texting Matteo to cancel the engagement.”
I blink, considering. “…Actually, that might work. I can take him to the shelter, let him see the kids at recess when they are sweaty and dirty. The noise will drive him crazy.”
Joanne leans in. “Sounds perfect.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Okay, what’s the next date gonna be? What else?” Her eyes flash with excitement, and she peers into mine, waiting.
“Something slow. Mundane. Non-lethal. I want to make him sweat.” I rack my brain. A man like Vukan is accustomed to making decisions and having men follow orders. “He’s used to action. The jet-set life. I want to show him boring.”
She gasps. Her mouth twists as she thinks. “Like a paint-and-sip?”
“No, I want to ruin him, not give him a concussion from cringe. Paint and sip is for married women.”
She laughs. “Alright, I’ll give you that.” She pauses, then thinks out loud. “Gardens, or—wait, wait—a school play?”Then her eyes grow wide with her next suggestion. “What about a day volunteering at a senior center?”
I contemplate this for a minute, and then a slow grin emerges. “You’re evil.”
She shrugs. “It’s why we’re friends.”
I make a mental note of the possibilities:
Children
Elderly
Something slow
Whatever will break him
“I think I should take him to a retirement home—freak him out about growing old with me. Cause let’s face it—I’m a handful.” I take a long pull of my frozen drink, and then I experience a painful brain freeze.
