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“Isuse,” he mumbles and looks around, zeroing in on Jovan coming out of the garage. “Jovan, keys,” he barks.
Jovan looks momentarily confused, but then fishes a set of car keys out of his pocket and throws them to Drago.
“Are we going for a ride instead?” I ask.
“We’re going to buy you fucking sneakers, Sienna.”
We’re walking toward Jovan’s car when the plumber passes us. He throws a look at me, then proceeds toward his van. I reach for the passenger door when Drago’s fingers wrap around my wrist.
“You’re not wearing your wedding ring,” he says.
“You said you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” he declares, closes the door after me, and rounds the hood. I expect him to get behind the wheel, but he strides across the driveway toward the van where the plumber is packing away his tools. What’s he doing? Maybe he wants to ask the guy someth—Jesus fuck!
I dash out of the car and run to the van where my husband is holding the plumber up against the side of the vehicle. Drago’s hand is wrapped around the guy’s throat and, going by how red in the face the poor man is, he’s choking him.
“Drago!” I grab the back of his hoodie and try to pull him off. The guy looks like he’s going to pass out any moment. “Hey!”
Drago looks over his shoulder and pins me with his gaze. “What?”
“What, what? Are you crazy? Release the guy!”
“We had a deal, Sienna. No wedding ring means men who look at you die.” He turns back toward the plumber and resumes strangling the life out of him.
Oh my God, he was serious! I’ve never seen him be aggressive to anyone. Despite his grumpiness and commanding presence, I don’t think that’s his nature. Letting go of his hoodie, I check my pockets hysterically. Where, where . . .? Yes! I pull out the wedding ring from my pocket and slide it onto my finger.
“Here!” I lift my hand and wave it in front of Drago’s face, trying to contain my panic. “It’s back on. Please, stop. Please, please, please.”
He looks at my hand, then down at me. “Will it stay on?”
“I’ll glue it onto my finger if you want. Just please don’t kill the plumber.”
Drago’s eyes shift back to the hand I’m still holding up in the air, and he releases his grip on the guy’s neck. “All right. Let’s go buy those sneakers.”
Sienna is standing in front of the big mirror at the local supermarket, looking at her reflection. It’s the only place open this early in the morning that’ll have what we’re after. I wasn’t sure how she’d react about me taking her here instead of her usual shopping grounds, but she didn’t even bat an eye—walked in as if she’s been doing it every week of her life. It was amusing how excited she got, although she tried to hide it, over finding apparel being sold just a few aisles away from the fresh produce. She insisted we needed to get a box of mandarin oranges as well, and now I get to haul it around while Sienna tries on various athletic clothes.
The outfit she’s put on consists of a pale-blue sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, paired with white leather running shoes. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone look so miserable as Sienna does now while she assesses her getup. She’s muttering something, so I move my eyes to her lips.
“. . . not even a real color. Stupid washed-out blue. It’s depressing.”
“The color is making you depressed?”
“Yes. Very.”
I look around and spot the store attendant standing by a rack of jackets. Leaving my wife to her mumbling, I approach the woman.
“I need you to find me the most ridiculous-looking tracksuit you have in store.”
The sales lady’s eyes widen in surprise. “The most . . . ridiculous?”
“Yes. Something no sane woman would buy. Screaming fuchsia. Neon-orange. An idiotic animal pattern in a god-awful color. Or something that glitters. Shoes, as well.”
“Oh . . . I’ll see what I can do.”
The attendant rushes away and comes back five minutes later carrying a matching sweatshirt and pants. The set is vibrant lavender and has a wide yellow stripe running along the outside of the pant legs and sleeves. There’s no glitter, but the tie string on the pants is made of satin, and it’s in the same yellow shade as the stripes.
“That should do it.” I nod. “Sneakers?”
