My shoes have no grip on the tiles, and the sharp angle of the roof doesn’t help. I inch along, trying to balance my heavy case while making no noise. I put a foot down, and a tile dislodges, sliding from under me. My balance goes, the weight of the case pulling me. There’s no choice but to let go of it, and it slides down the tiles and off the edge, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
But that’s the least of my worries. It’s not one tile that’s gone, it’s a line of them, falling like dominosfrom the roof, one after the other. And I’m sliding too, nothing to grip onto, the edge coming awfully fast.
Twelve feet up. Enough to twist or break an ankle, if not a leg. Then how will I escape?
My dress snags on something and tears, but it doesn’t slow me. Then I’m at the edge, sliding too fast to stop myself, and I know I’m going over.
This is going to hurt.
There’s a rush of air, the sudden drop of my stomach, and I hit. But it’s not the ground and the shooting pain of a broken bone, it’s a pair of arms, a strong chest, and we both go down together.
The air leaves Alex in a sharp grunt as he takes my full weight against the stone.
Shit. Anyone but him.
He’s lying on the stone paving, and I’m lying on him. My dress is a mess, my case has split open on the ground nearby.
But I’m not hurt.
I scramble off him, crawling back.
His hand closes on my ankle. “Where are you running off to, Tink?”
Why is he calling me that?
I kick my leg, but his grip is like iron. His face is expressionless, eyes not reflecting hurt or even any emotion. They’re just watching me.
“Getoffme.” I kick again, and he rises to a knee, catching my other leg.
“Nice choice of underwear.”
My dress has risen up, giving him flashes of my wedding lingerie. Lacy boy shorts in a midnight blue.
I stop fighting, smoothing my dress down. Take a breath, let it out, find myreasonablevoice. “Alex, let go.”
“No.”
“Let go,please. I’m leaving… we both know it’s the right thing.”
He regards me for a long moment, still gripping both my ankles, then his mouth curls wryly. “I’m guessing from your attire that this is an ill-thought-out spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“It’s notill thought out,” I protest. It might be ill thought out, but that doesn’t mean it’swrong.
“I’m getting married today,” he confides. “What were you planning on doing?”
“Going for a drive,” I mutter.
“Excellent suggestion!” He seems delighted by it. “Shall we get married first, then go together?”
I sigh. “I’m not getting married to you, Alex. We both know you’re only doing this to keep me safe. You’ll be bored in months, away after that, and we’ll be miserable. So instead, I’m going to leave.”
He doesn’t say a word. Just releases my legs, pushes himself up, then offers me a hand.
I take it guardedly, letting him pull me to my feet.
“You tore your dress,” he says, gesturing to the seam on one side. He hasn’t let go of my hand.
The bodice is noticeably less tight. That must’ve been the ripping sound I heard. “Doesn’t matter.”
