Broken Bride

“Some people. Not her.”

“What are you getting at, Angelo?”

“One of these days, you’re going to learn to think, Mark.”

“Why don’t you just fill me in, Angelo? Why don’t you just tell me what’s been going on this entire time? I know you’re dying to.”

I’m not dying to, but I cannot stand his self-righteous and entirely misguided condemnation.

“Let’s start with what you know, Mark. Her father was killed.”

“Yes.”

“Her father was killed, because she wanted him killed.”

Mark gives me a blank look. I’m going to have to spoon feed him.

“She had him killed, Mark.”

Behind Mark, Bobby’s eyes widen. He returned and has been listening to this conversation, creeping closer with every moment. “That is so cool.”

Mark is too shocked to clip him around the ear. I am not. I reach around and catch him with a slap which he bears with grace and indifference.

“I don’t believe you,” Mark says.

“And that is why I didn’t tell you. You think there is one villain in the world, Mark. And you think that villain is me. But that sweet girl you insist is so innocent, is not innocent at all. Her father took that innocence from her when she was far too young. She has seen more than she will ever say, and she will do more than you can imagine.”

“Why?”

“You can ask her.”

* * *

Tilly

I’ve managed to take enough pain relief to sit up in bed and feel a little better. God, I hate hormones. I hate periods. I hate my uterus. And apparently, the feeling is mutual.

“Tell me you killed your dad.”

Bobby bursts in with a huge smile on his face. I drop the book I’m reading and look at him, shocked. Then, to make matters worse, I notice that Mark is with him.

“Is it true, what Angelo said?” Bobby presses the question.

Apparently, Angelo has betrayed my confidence. I wish I was surprised. I suppose this is revenge of sorts for my tryst with Bobby.

“What…”

I fall silent. I knew they would find out eventually. I had hoped it would be later, rather than sooner. As in, closer to my death bed than the marriage bed. I look at Mark, whose expression is so grave, and then at Bobby, who looks like a Labrador who just saw an unattended plate of sausages.

Fuck it, as he would say. The secret is out, and I guess it is time to own it.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s true.”

That’s why I belong here. Why Angelo and I connected, and why Bobby and I felt so right. I’m not like Mark. I’m a Vitali, through and through. But Mark isn’t. Not in his heart.

I see sorrow on his face. He’s instantly grieving the woman he thought he knew. He’s lost an ally. The only other good person in his life has turned out to be a monster like the rest of them.

“I am sorry, Mark. I know you thought better of me.”

“God, that’s so fucking cool!” Bobby’s grin has gone extra wide. I don’t really care about his reaction. It wasn’t cool, fucking, or otherwise. It was a last act of desperation.

“Why?” Mark asks the question.

“A lot of reasons. So many reasons. The one that tipped me over was that he was going to sell me to the highest bidder. I was going to become the wife of some old bastard…”

“Angelo?” Bobby tilts his head, confused.

“Not Angelo,” I half-laugh. “Angelo must have found out what was happening. I’m guessing the assassin I used…” I’ve never really even bothered to ask Angelo the precise ins and outs of how he knew what he knew. “Anyway. Angelo found out. He came for me.”

“So why not put a hit out on him too? Hits all the way down?”

Bobby has never found me so interesting as a person before.

“Well,” I say with a little shrug. “I still might, I suppose.”

He laughs, thrilled. “Oh, this is… this is just…” he makes a kissing motion toward the top of his fingers. “I knew I liked you.”

I’m glad Bobby is here, filling the room with senseless chatter, because Mark’s heavy silence is enough to make me feel like I’m falling into an endless pit of despair.

“Robert, can Tilly and I have a moment alone,” Mark says.

I’ve never heard anybody call Bobby, Robert before. To my surprise, Bobby actually does what he’s asked and leaves the two of us alone.

There’s silence. I don’t have anything to say. I can’t defend what I did. I know it is indefensible. I also know I would do it again without hesitation.

Mark comes and sits on the bed, fixing me with those big blue, beautifully good eyes.

“I am so sorry, Tilly.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry you had to do that. I’m sorry you were so trapped, so brutalized you resorted to…”

“Patricide,” I say, a little too cheerfully.

“Yes. That.”

“I lived a lifetime under his tyranny,” I tell Mark, dropping my gaze to the bedsheets. “And I’m not sorry. But if you don’t like me anymore, I understand.”