Page 63 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe

Vincent Vece is the man who murdered my mother.

He told me I reminded him of someone.

I remind him of my mother.

The car door slams hard as I pull it shut and turn my music loud enough to drown out my panic.

But I love him.

And I am not my mother. I was made for a man like Vincent Vece.

My darkness can exist freely around a man like Vincent Vece.

I love him.

All the way home my internal battle rages. I barely even know I’m driving I’m so lost in thought.

I can’t seem to piece reality and my heart into the same puzzle.

How can I love and hate him in equal amounts?

I have always hated him, the man who killed my mother, I have always hated him, and I never knew who he was becauseshe kept things so secret.This isher fault. If she had just told me everything this would never have happened.

Speeding down an open road, I scream, pressing my foot harder against the accelerator. Tempting death.

I scream so loud it rips pain through my chest, making my throat raw, anger pouring from me like an animal bleeding to death after someone has just slit its throat wide open.

I am that animal. I can feel the imagined hot blood oozing from me, my body bleeding out - the person who I used to be - flowing out of me. My entire world has just been ripped out from beneath me.

And still, I drive towards Vincent. I drive towards my home. The man that I love.

I’ve changed.

I don’t know who I am.

But I do know that I love him.

When I walk through the door, my eyes are red and swollen from crying in the car. My voice is hoarse, and my throat is aching.

Vincent walks straight over and grabs me in his arms.

“Was it that bad, little raven?” he asks cautiously. His voice thick with worry.

“My mother won’t be at the wedding.” I reply void of any emotion.

“I’m so sorry, my pet, I know how much you wanted her there. There is still time to change her mind.” He strokes his hand down my back, his voice soaring through me, breaking my heart.

“No, there is no chance of her changing her mind. My mother won’t be there,” I say more firmly.

He nods. “I will still make sure it is the most beautiful day of your life, my love,” He promises me.

I bite my lip, leaning my cheek against his chest I let his shirt soak up my tears.

My mother won’t be at my wedding. I sigh, accepting the truth of it all, knowing that I am going to marry him anyway because I love him. I love him and I hate him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Vincent