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And possibly marry him. And never come home again. Not really.
So, yeah. I can afford to skip the lecture.
I reopen the laptop. The screen lights up. “Alright, kid. Where do you want to go?”
She’s staring out the window. “Home.”
“Damn.” That one little word just about breaks my heart.
She turns over her shoulder, offering me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her baby blues. “And I’m sorry about not planning better. I was feeling a bit—overwhelmed. The truth is…I didn’t really want to travel alone. It was my mom’s idea. Probably something she felt like she should have done before she got married. I understand, you know, her not wanting me to have regrets or whatever but…”
This surprises me. I think about their whispering at the jewelry store. I thought they told one another everything. “You couldn’t tell her how you felt?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “How spoiled would that sound? They offer me a trip anywhere I want to go, and I just want to stay home? And she wanted this for me so badly. I couldn’t disappoint her.”
Even the Princess of the Mafia has problems. I never thought about the gilded cage she’s been living in all these years. Told what to wear, what to say, what to do.
Always for the family.
Sure, I was broke and neglected as a kid, then on my own from a teenager on, but I was free. Free to make my own decisions. If I made a mistake, it was of my own choosing. And when I joined the family, it was of my own accord.
I didn’t just turn twenty-one and poof—become a Bachman.
It was a hard decision. Months of recruitment. Weeks of initiation. Then making the choice to ride or die with this gang till death do us part.
“Well then.” I open the laptop back up and tap on the keyboard to pull up a map of the world. “Where would you like to go?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’m sorry. You can pick somewhere if you’d like.” She glances over her shoulder. “Or somewhere the guys want. Costa Rica? Team building zipline or something?”
“Hell no to that. The first hell no is they are working, not playing. Second hell no is that this is your trip, princess. We’re going somewhere for you.”
Her face is riddled with uncertainty.
“Listen. You’re about to do the family a big-ass favor, marrying this guy and uniting us with the Russos. Let’s make these next couple of weeks about you. For once in your life, you’re making all the decisions yourself.”
She glances down at her lap. “I can’t.”
“I’ll be here to guide you. And if that doesn’t work? I’ll blindfold you and make you put your finger on the screen and pick a place. Do you really want to end up spending a week in Antarctica? I know you have four trunks of clothing under this plane”—as well as an overnight bag, a large, fancy looking leather bag, and the pink butterfly backpack— “but I’m not sure we’ve packed for negative temperatures.”
“Okay.” She shoots me a sheepish grin. “Let me think for a minute.”
“Take your time.” I sit back, waiting for her answer. Wondering when I turned into such a goddamned marshmallow.
I stare at the map, looking at all the places I’ve been since I became Paolo the Savage Bachman. Greece. Italy. France. Spain. All the way up and down the East Coast, save for my shitty New Jersey town.
Never going back there.
All this time to think and she doesn’t have a single idea of where she wants to go? Overwhelmed is an understatement for the headspace she’s been in.
No wonder she wants to space out with my belt spanking her ass.
Finally, she points to a place on the map, an area in Northwest America. “Here.”
I zoom in. “Portland, Oregon.”
“Yes.”
“Great.” I know nothing about this area other than it’s rainy and they supposedly have good beer. “Any particular reason?”
