It takes me a moment to let Elio’s words sink in.My pulse rams even as I try to slow it.Curse is here.He’s alright – well enough to shower, at least.Something that feels like disappointment, or maybe even betrayal, bites when I realize this is the first time he’s showered without making me remain in the room with him.Ridiculous, considering how hard I always fought him on that.To be craving such a thing now.But I suppose it isn’t necessary at the moment.Elio is the one person he trusts in this world to watch me when he’s not here, so he has no need to keep me close.And Curse is nothing if not coldly practical.
“Elio,” I say by way of greeting, struggling into a more composed seated position.Forgetting about the gauze taped at my temple, I nearly tear it off when I smooth my hair and tuck it behind my ears.“What time is it?”I have no idea if it’s still dark or light outside.The windows in here are all covered, the only light coming from the lamp I turned on when we first arrived.
“A little after six in the morning,” Elio responds.He looks fairly relaxed in his seat, one leg crossed over the other with the ankle resting on the opposite knee.His easy posture, along with his words about Curse showering, help convince my nervous system that Curse really is alright.Breathing out quietly, this relief allows me to focus on other things.Like the large paper folder Elio is holding in his right hand, idly tapping the spine of it against the black leather of his left palm.Odd – even though it looks like he’s been sitting there for a while, he still hasn’t bothered to take off his gloves.I ignore that detail, instead tilting my head towards the folder and asking, “What have you got there?”
The tapping stops.He tosses the folder down onto a low coffee table in front of the couch.The contents spill out as it slides my way.I see “Ontario” printed in blue ink, followed by a floral emblem than makes me think of the frangipani on Curse’s pinky finger.And then, beside that, the words “Marriage License.”My breath stutters, the tips of my fingers threatening numbness as I snatch the paper up.Scanning rapidly, I take in two columns, one with Curse’s information, and one with mine.My gaze snags on the marital status section under my name.
“It says, ‘never married’ for me instead of ‘widowed,’” I point out, flipping the paper so Elio can see what I mean.He doesn’t bother to look at it, probably already aware of the contents.
“Yes,” he acknowledges.“We’ve had our contacts look into things on your end.It appears that someone has made every effort to ensure that your first marriage was not officially recognized.After Marco’s body was found, your wedding officiant disappeared, along with all the documents related to the ceremony.Your New York marriage license was never filed.”
I attempt to swallow that new information down.
“And it wasn’t you?”I ask after a moment.“It wasn’t you trying to make way for Curse to marry me instead, without any legal obstacles?”
“No.”While I have no doubt that Elio Titone is not an honest man, and that he’d have no problem lying right to my face, I believe him when he answers.My mind is already reshuffling, slotting a new name into the forefront.
“Alessandro,” I say, my lips twisting around the syllables.
“That’s my assumption,” Elio says.He shrugs, and the movement is somewhat lopsided, the shoulder beneath the scarred side of his jaw not moving as much as the other.“Especially considering the fact he showed up here looking for you.”
“He said he was going to marry me,” I tell Elio.The words burn like bile.
Elio nods, like I’ve confirmed his own suspicions.
“I assume that, after his father’s death, he saw an opportunity to take Buffalo for himself and, at the same time, cement himself as the new boss in Marco’s place,” Elio says.“He would no doubt have understood the terms of your papà’s will.And he was probably the one person close enough to Marco to take care of all the legal details after the fact.Make it look like you were never married to his papà at all.”
“Details,” I say bitterly, “like the officiant?”I’d floated through my wedding in a detached haze, but I remembered the officiant.An old man with snow-white hair and kind blue eyes.
Elio shrugs again.
“What’s done is done,” he replies cavalierly.“The officiant is likely dead.But this simplifies things for us.Now, we don’t have to sit around with our thumbs up our asses, waiting for things like death certificates before you and Curse can marry.The faster the ceremony is complete, the faster Curse inherits your papà’s estate.”
“And the faster we get divorced,” I add through clenched teeth.I shove myself to my feet, unable to sit there any longer.Digging my nails into my palms and chewing on the inside of my cheek, I lock my knees and stare down at Elio.Elio, whose eyebrows have just furrowed together over the wells of his eyes.Though his eyes and Curse’s are the same dark colour, the qualities of their gazes are entirely different.Elio’s eyes seem to burn, hot with violent life, unlike the shuttered emptiness in his younger brother.
And he doesn’t have Curse’s beautiful eyelashes.
“Divorced?”he repeats, confusion carved into every inch of his expression.
“Yes,” I hiss back.“That was the deal.I remain married to Curse for thirty days, so that he can get access to papà’s estate in order to transfer it all to you.Then, we end the marriage.Go our separate ways.Never see each other again.”
Elio watches me from his seat, the earlier ease in his frame vanished.He’s sitting up straight, alert, his leather-bound fingers drumming on his knee.“And my brother agreed to this?”he asks, disbelief thick in his reply.
“Yes!”I begin pacing the room, if only to keep myself from stomping my foot like an idiotic child.Why is Elio so fucking confused by this?And why do I find his reactions so infuriating?“Yes,” I say again.“That was what Curse agreed to!Trust me, he doesn’t want to stay married to me any more than I want to stay married to him.”
Something about my words rings false in my own ears.Maybe in Elio’s, too, because he narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to speak again.I don’t wait to hear his reply.I don’t want to.I stop my pacing and spin around to leave the room – to go eat, or go pee, or go find a fucking pillow to scream into, maybe – and I walk right into a wall.When I gasp and nearly fall, the wall grows fingers to grab me.
Because, of course, the wall is not a wall, but Curse.His hands are locked around my wrists.His damp hair curls in perfect, glossy locks over his forehead.With his chest bare as it is, my eyes fall there, tracing the hard planes of muscle, the damp skin lacquered in ink.The tattoos don’t stand out with such a stark contrast today because he’s regained some of his colour.I’m so relieved to see it that I want to bury my face directly in his chest, breathe him in, memorize the sound of his heartbeat.I can’t, though.Curse’s hold on me is not only holding me up, but holding me away from him.There’s about a foot of space between us, and the muscles in his arms – the hard biceps, the corded forearms – are tensed.If I tried to get closer now, I’m certain I would meet resistance.
I hate the way that it still stings.I’d thought I’d learned by now.Learned that he didn’t care about me.Didn’t want me.Certainly didn’t love me.But then the train happened.And now I don’t know what the hell to think.About any of this.
For now, I’ll have to stick to the guidelines of what we’ve established.No matter what kind of mess our relationship might be, we still have to get married as soon as possible.
“So, when’s the wedding?”I ask, tugging at my hands.Curse lets them go at once, then studies my face with those blank, black eyes.
“How’s your head?”he asks, as if I haven’t just spoken.
I feel my nose crinkle with my expression of annoyed confusion.
