Page 122 of Marry Me Not
She was gone.
I shoved my gun behind my belt and took the stairs back down to reception at a run. The receptionist looked up with a pleasant smile that turned cautious when she saw my expression.
“My wife. Have you seen her?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. She left about an hour ago.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No, she didn’t. I’m sorry.”
I ran out the door. I had a feeling I knew exactly where she’d gone.Goddamn it, Nettle.
I got into the rental car and drove like a madman toward the ceramics quarter. On my way, I called Fabiana three times, but she didn’t pick up. The last workshop we visited yesterday was on a street that wasn’t accessible by car, so I parked nearby and sprinted the rest of the way. Its blue-painted door came into view.
The sign said closed. The shutters were pulled down. The door was locked.
I slammed my fist against it anyway, once, twice, hard enough that the sound echoed down the street. From somewhere above me, a window flew open, and an elderly woman leaned out, letting loose a stream of Italian while shaking her fist at me.
I stepped back and looked up at her. “Where did they go?”
Mercifully, she spoke slower, and I pieced together enough of it. They were closed for the day. Not coming back.
“A woman,” I said and then reached for the little Italian I’d picked up during our family visits here. “Capelli ricci.Did you see her come here?”
The woman stared at me for a long moment, then she barked something out that I was fairly sure meant go screw yourself.
The window slammed shut.
I stood in the street and felt my surroundings press in around me. Nettle had to have come here. I was certain of it. But where the hell was she now?
I dialed Rosa as I jogged back to the car. She picked up after four rings, her voice thick with sleep.
“Cosimo? It’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?”
“I need you to contact your hacker. He needs to trace Fabiana’s phone.”
Something clattered loudly on her end. “What happened?”
“We’re in fucking Italy, and she’s gone missing. I need to find her.”
“Oh shit.” Rosa’s voice sharpened, the sleep gone. “Okay, I can do that. Give me some time.”
“Quickly,” I said. “You get this done, and I’ll give you your raise.”
“You got it, boss.”
Over the next half hour, I worked my way through the shops we’d visited yesterday. She wasn’t in any of them, and no one had seen her.
Frustration and worry raged inside my chest as I paced down the streets. What the hell had she been thinking? Hadn’t I made it clear that while we were here, she needed to stay close to me?
Yeah, and then you decided to send her away.
She hated me making decisions for her.
Last night came back to me in a vivid flash. If I hadn’t pushed her away, she wouldn’t have gone out alone.
And why had I pushed her away? Because I’d refused to confront what was happening between us head-on. Because I’d been fucking terrified to say the thing I’d been dancing around, the thing I’d buried under other words—obsession, want, attraction—as if stacking enough of them together might keep me from seeing the truth.
