Page 92 of Lethal Vows

I roll my eyes and press the tip of the gun to my own head as I lean back in the seat.Kill me now.I might not make it through this flight with my mother’s tongue lashing me the entire way.

But the truth is, I have already started putting a plan into action. I am going back to Italy out of necessity. There’s a little package I need to collect to end this marriage discussion once and for all.

CHAPTER60

Rya

Four weeks crawl by and I am suffocating.

I think about him way too often for my liking.

I managed to change the locks on my apartment in hopes that he wouldn’t be able to break in again while secretly missing him.

It’s a hard pill to swallow—to want someone but also to not want them at all. To come to the realization that he’d inserted himself so deeply into my life that I now feel lost without his overbearing presence.

What my life would be like with him is not something I will willingly choose.

So why would I make an exception for him?

I shouldn’t and wouldn’t.

Angel let me know she had the baby and sent me photographs. I sent her flowers and gifts. Weeks go by, and I hardly hear from her, but that’s to be expected, considering Angel’s a new mother.

I returned to work two weeks ago and accepted my new role, but it doesn’t feel as rewarding as I thought it would.

“We’re getting you out of your slump and going to Italy,” my mother says as I sit across from her in my kitchen, having a cup of tea.

“I can’t just up and leave.” It seems strange that my mother wants to return there since she’d sworn she never would. Sure, she mentioned it like a month ago, but I’d already told her no.

“Yes, you can. You’ve been playing good girl and lying low, and all you can show for it is what? An excessive time spent at the yoga studio?” She points to my baggy sweatshirt. I have, in fact, only just returned from my third hot yoga session of the day.

“Doctors advise it’s healthy.”

“There’s nothing healthy about a woman pushing down her feelings and covering her workaholism with yoga pants.”

I hate how perceptive my mother is with her small acknowledgment that I haven’t been the same since the day Crue left. I don’t like to admit the unsettling feeling his absence has left within my world.

“I don’t have plans to go.”

“Didn’t you say your friend had a baby? Be a good friend and go visit the girl. I bet she would love that. New mothers are flustered, and time with familiar, trusted people is good for them. It’s tiring being a mother.” I control myself from reminding her that she was hardly a ‘good’ mother.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too hard. I booked a flight for us in two days.”

“What?” I screech.

“I might not be a good mother, but I know when a woman needs an escape. Maybe a rendezvous with another man… no?”

A nauseous swirl stirs in my stomach. That doesn’t sit well with me, either. Because in my dreams and fantasies, there’s only one pair of hands I imagine touching me.

The doorbell buzzes.

My mother and I look at one another. My first thought is,what if it’s Crue?But I know better than that. He would never buzz the door. That man would waltz on in as if he owned the damn place.

I stand and answer the door to a courier.

“Delivery for Miss Ricci,” the man says, holding two boxes. “You need to sign for them.”

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