Page 54 of Chasing Amanda

“You were stabbed.” Maybe if she kept saying it, the words would penetrate.

“It’s okay.” He pulled her close.

She squeezed his shirt in her fists, then loosened her grip for fear of hurting him, which didn’t make any sense at all.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“No, you have to tell me.” She hadn’t realized she was crying until she heard tears in her voice. “I’m sorry. I can handle it. Really, I can.” She sniffed and swallowed a sob and stepped back. “I’m okay. It just surprised me, that’s all. Anything serious?” She swiped her eyes and shook her head. “Stupid question. You were stabbed. Of course it was…” She looked at his shoulder as if she could see past the thick fabric of his shirt.

“I’ll show you, if you want to see it.” Raising his eyebrows, he took a pointed look around the parking garage. “I’d rather not disrobe in public. Can it wait?”

“Of course. But it’s…?”

“Just skin and muscle. The wound was deep, which is why they’re making me take so much time to recover. I’ll do a little PT. It’ll heal. Nothing to worry about.”

“But the person who did it… How did he get so close? How did it happen?”

Mark started walking again, though he’d never seen the car her parents had bought her for graduation. “We were in a village. Someone pretended to be friendly. The knife came out of nowhere.”

It was obviously a long story, and he hadn’t shared the half of it. When they reached her little hatchback, she unlocked the doors.

He tossed his bag in the backseat and held out his palm. “You want me to drive?”

“Not unless you want to.”

“I’m exhausted, so if you don’t mind⁠—”

“I got it. Climb in.”

He folded his oversize body into her tiny car, pushing the seat back as far as it would go and then reclining it.

She maneuvered out of the garage and through the busy airport traffic toward Route One. The steakhouse wasn’t far, and she’d mapped the route before she’d left that morning.

Mark was quiet beside her. At a light, she glanced at him and saw he’d fallen asleep. The peace in the set of his lips and around his eyes highlighted how anxious he’d been before.

It said something that he knew she was safe, that he could relax in her presence. She wished she could relax as well.

But the man she loved had been stabbed, and in two weeks, he’d return to a war zone.

In twenty minutes, she’d have to endure a meal with his mother, who’d decided she hated her before she’d even met her.

And…who was Annalise?

Mark’s mother had chosen a high-priced steakhouse, then complained about the food, the ambiance, and the service.

Amanda knew the restaurant industry and thought maybe they could connect on that subject, but when she tried to engage with her, Mrs. Johnson looked down her nose as if she were as second rate as the establishment.

“I’m sure you’ve been to some lovely little places down in…where is it you live again?”

“Providence.” Did Amanda’s smile look as fake as it felt? She was glad the table separated her from Mark’s parents—and that he sat right beside her. “But I grew up west of Boston.”

His mother named the more crime-ridden neighborhoods near the city. “Plenty of authentic options.” She added the last with a curled lip.

Amanda ignored the digs. “I do love cuisine from all over the world.”

“Amanda’s from Natick, Mom.” Mark found her hand on the booth they shared and held it. “It’s not exactly the inner city.”

Amanda kept her press-on smile in place. “I know food because I’m a chef.”