Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
The stranger shakes my hand but doesn’t offer his name. Instead, he pries. “You’re not from here, are you, Valentina?”
I bristle, defensive. Though I wasn’t born and raised here, my mother is from Palermo, and my father is from this region. I am of Sicilian origin. My mother simply chose to raise me in the United States.
“I am,” I reply, my composure more collected than it was moments ago. “My mother grew up not far from here.”
He arches a brow, unfazed by the sarcasm in my voice. “And your father?”
After gritting my teeth, I steer clear of a topic I’ll happily avoid for decades. “I apologize, but I must go. I’m late.”
He glances at my cracked phone screen, knits his dark brows, then gestures to the SUV he had me pressed up against. “Hop in. You can’t walk to the hospital from here.”
Assuming he read my destination through my cracked screen, and not because he’s a deranged stalker, I don’t seek clarification on how he knows where I’m going. I pursue more precise directions. “The app says—”
“Your app is telling you to go through a wall. You need to go around it.” He opens the SUV’s front passenger door and then signals for me to enter.
Warning bells ring in my head, but the memory of the truck and the taste of fear still sharp in my mouth prompt me to nod. “All right.”
As I sink into the plush leather seat, the handsome stranger jogs to the driver’s door. With an animalistic grace that matches his commanding aura, he slides in, starts the engine, and pulls into oncoming traffic without waiting for an opening.
I’m shocked when the commuters he cuts off don’t honk. He dictates traffic as if his SUV has government plates, and in a matter of seconds, the icon I was seeking earlier presents on each street sign we pass.
With a confidence that comes with insider knowledge, he makes fast work of the heavy traffic. He isn’t immune to the road rage most commuters face at one stage in their lives, though. He curses a moped rider for cutting him off, then laughs when a group of teens chase his SUV down several streets, hopeful for a sneaky snap of him and the men in the convoy of SUVs tailing us.
Either a security team is following us, or the vehicles behind us are racing to the same location. They mimic the stranger’s hair-raising maneuvers turn for turn—even the illegal ones he does when traffic becomes too dense.
After rubbing a hand over my hair to smooth the frizz, I ask, “Are you famous?”
I can’t see his face, but I know he is smiling. I can feel it in my bones. “Not exactly. Carlisle was once a small town. Everyone knew everyone.” The SUV’s tires squeak when he turns down the cobblestoned street I inputted into the Maps app over an hour ago. “But now she’s a wild thing. If you don’t respect her, she’ll eat you alive.”
My agreeing huff flaps a wayward dark lock from my face. “I’m slowly learning that.”
We fall into a companionable silence as the city awakens around us. Markets spill onto the streets, older men argue over chess in the local park, and children chase pigeons through the piazza. It represents a perfectly normal day, and I’m praying it stays that way.
After both an eternity and an instant, the still-unnamed man pulls up outside a gleaming glass building. “Here you go. Ospedale San Giorgio’s. The main entrance is—”
“Past the fountain,” we say in unison.
Relief and gratitude surge through me as I quickly gather my belongings. I’ve already taken up too much of his time, so I don’t want to waste more. “Thank you. I can’t bear to think about what could have happened if you hadn’t been at the right place at the right time.”
He shrugs off the admiration as another impish grin spreads across his face. “Just promise to pay attention next time and to not trust technology more than your head. If you can do that, we will be on our way to an equal scoreboard.”
Scoreboard?
Running out of time, I nod and then crank open my door. “No more apps for me. I promise.”
After straightening my barely held-together blouse, I slip into the rapidly warming sunlight. With my brain still on the fritz, I don’t remember to turn around and wave off the stranger until I’m halfway to the entrance.
I startle when I realize he’s already gone. His SUV has blended into the hustle of Carlisle’s traffic, leaving me with nothing but the tingles his touch inspired and the memory of his concern when he contemplated my mishap not being an accident.
I’d love to investigate his concern more thoroughly, but a far more pressing matter demands my utmost devotion.
I square my shoulders and dash through Ospedale San Giorgio’s double entrance doors. Although shaken, I’m committed to ensuring this morning’s brush with death is the only one I face today.