“I always knew you would.”
“What if—” I looked away from him, but he turned my face back towards his, forcing me to look him in the eye. “What if I would have never recovered, in the way that I have. I still don’t remember the actual memories, but I feel them. And I’ve filled in the empty shapes now. But what if this me, the one you’re starting to see, never showed up again, and I turned out to be someone different than before?”
“I didn’t give a fuck if you decided to never shave again and thought you were a cowgirl. If you saw me again, my world was set right.”
“You wouldn’t have cared if I thought I was a cowgirl?”
“Yippee Ki Yay,” he said, pretending to tip a hat to me.
I exploded with laughter, pushing against his chest again before I rested my head against it. I sighed. “What a fucked-up situation we’re in.”
He kissed the top of my head and let his lips linger there. “It’s only going to get worse before it gets better.”
This time I took his shirt in my hands and held on. He was as literal as he was truthful with me, and truthfully, the thought of losing him made it hard to breathe.
* * *
Once was enough for me.It wasn’t enough for him.
He told me that he wanted me to remember this one, even if it wouldn’t be as nice as our first.
He took me to Atlantic City, about four or so hours from where we were, and married me again.
I wore a sequined, spaghetti-strapped, embellished gown that fell below the knees. He wore a suit. And I carried a bouquet of burgundy roses, the same as my first.
It was as simple as could be, but after we recited our vows, he had whispered in my ear, “Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.”
I understood why he’d done it. Not to make me remember our first, but to know that the woman I was then was willing to bind myself to him for the rest of my life again.
It was also to create a new memory for me to hide in my heart.
In his own way, he was giving me the power to be an equal in our relationship, and for his own reasons, he was getting from me what he needed.
When we returned to the cabin in the woods, around twenty-four hours later, I understood a little more, and it made me extremely uneasy when the pieces started to fit together.
He made no secret of who he was in Atlantic City and what he was doing there after we were married. It was all, “Yes, sir, Mr. Assanti,” and “No, sir, Mr. Assanti,” and “We hope you enjoyed your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Assanti.”
Whatever he wanted, he got, and for good reason.
They were terrified of him.
No eye contact was made. The workers did as they were told and then scattered as soon as they could.
He was never rude or boisterous, and he never fronted who he was, but he had this way about him that instantly communicated,don’t fuck with me. He was a silent force that pushed everyone else out, unless he wanted you inside of his circle. Then you were held captive in those eyes for however long he desired.
His name wasn’t going to get us anywhere in this war we were in, though, and I had a sinking suspicion that not only was Aniello leading them to us, but he was flaunting our status in their faces as he did.
Maybe the blatant disrespect would make them combust.
The thought was easy to relish, and I even grinned a little as I stared out of the window of the old truck, but it faded as fast as it came. It was just that. Wishful thinking. I sighed, and Aniello reached over and took my hand.
We’d driven in a different car to Atlantic City, one that seemed made for him, a matte black car that went as fast as it looked, but we left that one behind and picked up the truck.
We idled in front of the cabin.
The sun was starting to set, and the world had turned a soft shade of gold and purple. The air was as heavy as tension, and it smelled of oncoming rain.
I looked over at him, and he was staring out of the window like I had been. I sighed again and looked down at my hand, at the wedding band on my left finger.
