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7

Long after Georgettahas left, I lie in bed waiting for Ian to return. I can’t imagine he’ll stay away on the eve of our wedding, but maybe that’s wishful thinking. I’m not having any sort of bachelorette party, but maybe he’s at a strip club or doing something fun. I know that men like to do these wild and crazy things before they “settle down.” Maybe he’s out being wild and crazy.

How could my father be so brutal?

That’s the question that’s really haunting me as I lie here. How could he be so terrible and how could I not know? There’s a part of me that absolutely despises myself for not knowing, for not realizing the truth about him before so many people got hurt.

I feel myself start to drift off to sleep. I’m not sure how much time passes, but I wake up when it’s still dark. The door to the bedroom is opening and a man steps into the room. He closes the door behind him.

“Ian?”

“Go back to sleep.” His voice is deep. Tense. He sounds angry. There’s a whole lot happening that I’m not privy to in Ian’s world, but I know more now than I did when he left. I know about Aria. I nod quietly and close my eyes. He didn’t correct me when I said “Ian” instead of “Mr. Salucci.” He must be really hurting.

I lie there with my eyes closed as Ian walks to the bathroom and closes the door. I note that he doesn’t turn the lock. He starts the shower, and I’m not sure how much time passes, but the shower doesn’t turn back off. Ian doesn’t come out, either.

What’s he doing in there?

Is everything okay?

Quickly, before I can talk myself out of this, I slip from the bed and tip-toe across the room. I make my way to the door of the bathroom and press my ear to the door. I know he’s in there, but I can’t hear him. He’s not punching anything. He’s not crying. He’s not doing anything except showering. I should go in and see what he’s doing. I should make sure that he’s okay.

What if he yells at me?

I push my shoulders back. This is my bedroom, too. It’s my bathroom. I can just make up something stupid about how I forgot to brush my teeth or how I need to use the toilet. These are both totally legitimate reasons for barging in on him.

Turning the knob slowly, I push the door open. The shower has been running for some time. The glass door of the shower is completely steamed over. I can’t even see into it. The mirrors, too, are fogged. There’s something else, though. There’s something he didn’t want me to see.

His clothing is in a pile on the floor and it’s covered in blood.

Covered.

The blood is on the floor now, on the carpet. I look up sharply at the steam-covered shower door. He’s in there and he doesn’t realize I’m here. That’s good because he’s going to be completely pissed when I reveal myself. Right now, though, the urge to get rid of the clothes fills me. I gather up the clothing, take it back into the bedroom, and shove it deep into the trashcan by the desk. The trash bin in the bathroom is much too small for this number of clothes. Tying off the bag, I leave it there and walk back to the bathroom. Then I grab a towel and quietly wipe up all of the blood. The towel is black, so it can easily be saved. It’s not going to stain or anything. I shove it in the laundry hamper, and then I glance down at myself.

I don’t have any blood on me, but I might as well be covered in it.

Ian killed someone tonight, and I think I know who it was.

Perhaps I should be more upset at the idea of the man I’m about to marry killing my dad right before our wedding. I really should be angry or irritated about this, but I’m not. Of course, I’m notpositivethat’s who Ian just slaughtered, but I’m pretty damn sure. Who else would he have gone out to murder before his wedding?