Page 93 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

Olivia hadn’t been kidding. It was strong. Already, I could feel the edges of my pain softening.

It was that gentle mercy that allowed me to sit up, although with plenty of groaning, then get up onto my knees, and finally, my feet. I was hoping that with my height, I wouldn’t be nearly as deep in the ground as I thought, but no, there was at least twelve inches above my reach, meaning I would have to jump higher than I had ever managed in my life to even catch the lip of the hole.

I was stuck in the middle of the woods, far from a house that was not my own, with a family would prefer if my fiancée had ended up with someone else entirely.

It wasn’t a good prognosis, and I nearly gave in to despair. But then I thought of Olivia. How she’d notice my absence once everyone came back and how scared she would be when none of them could tell her where I was. I thought of my mother joining in the search, anxious but determined to travel over uneven ground with her cane.

So, despite all the odds stacked against me, despite my body burning with pain underneath the pleasant buzz from that sip of overly strong wine, I stepped back until my back was against the wall of the hole, then prepared to jump higher than I ever had before.

One way or another, I was getting out.

I had far too much to live for.

20

OLIVIA

BREAKING POINT

“No, it was Pisa Centrale first, and then the railyard in Lagaro!”

“No, no, no, I tell you it was Porta Susa in Turin, then Lagaro! You did Pisa Centrale on your own after our branco di Guerra had to split because hunters caught our trail!”

“See, this is why I never parlare di des tings with you! Your memory is worse than mi amore before he passed.”

Both Nonna Rizoli and Nonna Bianchi made the sign of the cross over their chests.

“Gods rest his soul.”

“Gods rest his soul.”

“This is so fascinating,” Miss Angela cut in, defusing my two grandmothers’ argument about their various wartime escapades. When I was a kid, I used to imagine myself being the hero like them in such situations, fighting against Nazis like a red-blooded American, but I grew out of it.

Maybe I never should have. After all, it was never too late to punch a Nazi.

“Eh, don’t get them started!” my great-uncle Marino drawled. He was one of my older relatives whose accent was almost as mild as my father’s. He’d inherited a stereotypical Yonkers accent from when he’d immigrated with my dad. “These broads will only admit to half of what they did, remember only half of what they’ll admit, and have always been terribile at names.”

“Only because back then everyone in Italia had zee same name!”

“Especially the men. I think I was courted by three Vincenzos.”

“And twelve diversi Tonys.”

“Now that I would love to hear about!” Miss Angela said, leaning in to show that she was all ears. She had that same sort of earnestness as her son, which made sense, because he had to get it from somewhere.

Where the hell was he? He’d disappeared about two hours earlier. While normally that would be a concerning amount of time to go missing, I knew how seriously some of my younger family members took their leisurely sports activities, so I wasn’t worried, just curious. Especially since I was certain I had already seen several of the people who had left to play dodgeball return and snacking on appetizers.

My fiancé was trying to make a good impression on my family, but I doubted he’d purposefully miss the hors d’oeuvres after I’d spent so much time boasting about my family’s cooking.

“If you don’t mind me, I’m gonna stretch my legs,” I said, mostly to Miss Angela. She seemed at ease with my relatives, but I didn’t want her to feel abandoned. Normally I would be reticent to leave her alone with the elders who were most likely to forget that they weren’t supposed to be directly mentioning anything wolfy, but I was sure I would return before they blew up that particular house of cards.

“Oh, of course, dear! No need to hang out with us fuddy-duddies,” Miss Angela said with a laugh. I got the feeling that my grandmothers would take offense to that phrase if they knew what it meant, but as it was, only Marino snorted into his hand. “Go mingle and have fun! And maybe grab me some of those deviled eggs on your way back if there are any left.”

Giving her an apologetic look, I kissed her cheek. “I’ll go check for you, but I should warn you, no matter how many we make, those are always gone within ten minutes of being set down.”

“Well, glad to see that some things are the same no matter the culture. I’ll cross my fingers, but I won’t hold my breath.”

I headed off, doing a complete circuit of the perimeter of the party. I was stopped occasionally, but it seemed either my relatives could tell I was on a mission or they were avoiding me entirely.