Page 23 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe (Revenge Brides #6)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Misha

A ll the way there I’m gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles have turned white. My stomach is churning, nervous tension pulling and pushing inside me. Ugh. I hate this. I can’t wait to get it over with. My mother has to see the truth. That I’m happy. That I want this.

All I want, all I can wish for at this point, is for my mother to be happy for me.

I’m almost at her apartment and the anxiety is growing stronger by the second.

The sharp breath of air I pull into my lungs stretches against my ribs. I hold it inside me, allowing the discomfort to focus my thoughts. My body screams for me to release the air, but I wait. Only when I start feeling dizzy do I let it slip from my lips, slowly easing from my body.

“You’ve got this,” I tell myself, parking on the street below her apartment. The door slams loudly when I flick it closed and makes me jump. “Sheesh, Misha. You’re so tense you’re giving yourself frights.” I chuckle.

I glance up, all the way to her window, and see her standing there, looking down at the street. She waves, a speck in the distance. I smile and wave back at her, then head inside to catch the elevator.

“Hi, mom.” My arms wrap tightly around her as I hug her.

She threads her arms around my waist and hugs me back, tighter than usual. I can sense the worry in her.

“I’m busy making us some lasagna for lunch.” She says, pulling me inside and closing the door behind me.

“Oh yay, I’ve missed your cooking.”

“You should visit me more - then you wouldn’t have to miss it.” She remarks sternly.

My eyes roll in a dramatic display of my annoyance.

She laughs.

I follow mom back into the kitchen where she slips the apron over her head and ties it at the back behind her slender waist.

“It smells so good.” I say, sliding onto the highchair I pull from beneath the kitchen counter.

“Honey let’s not dance around the things we need to say - I’m really worried about this engagement thing. You haven’t even got to know the man. I don’t know anything about him. It’s far too soon.”

My jaw clenches tightly for a second and I take a slow breath before I answer.

“Mom, I was never one to believe in fairy tales. I’m too stubborn for that rubbish. Too grounded or levelheaded. You raised me to be hyper aware of everything that could go wrong - the things I had to be careful of - you know?”

She nods, scrunching her nose. “You make me sound like a terrible mother.” She huffs.

“No, not at all. You are the most amazing mother I could ever have asked for. What I’m trying to say is that you taught me how to see the bad in people so that they couldn’t hide it. You taught me how to see through their games and their lives and their bullshit?—”

She’s starting to understand. “Ok—” she says slowly.

“So - yes, I’ve only known him for a short time, but we are very close, and I know his darkness as well as I know his light. He has nothing more to hide from me. I know who he is, and I love him anyway and he knows who I am, and he loves me anyway. Mom, I’m really happy.”

She is quiet for a long time, carefully laying sheets of lasagna into a glass dish and coating layers of mince between them. I watch her and let her think, waiting, trying my best to be patient.

After a long time, she tilts her head towards me. “What about your work? Will you keep your job with the couple whose house you’re taking care of?”

A wave of tension ripples through me.

Now is not the time to tell her the truth about all of that. One battle at a time for this day. I’ll come clean about the fact that the old couple never existed, and it was Vincent all along - after the wedding.

“No, I won’t keep my job because my fiancé has given me a really crazy wedding gift.” I grin.

Her brows are knotted when she turns to look at me. “What does that mean? Keeping your job is a security you can’t afford to lose. What if he wants a divorce in a year and you are left on the street? Be smart about this, Misha.”

I giggle. “Wait, just listen to what I have to tell you.”

My mother leans over the oven and slides the lasagna into it, then closes the door and turns to look at me with disapproval on her face. “Alright. I’m listening.” She says with her hand on her hip.

Her eyes grew wide with shock as I explained the wedding contract. She was left speechless, in shock, completely and utterly in disbelief.

At the end of my story, she’s still just staring at me like I’ve made up some crazy things.

“Mom?” I laugh.

“Who the hell is this man? What does he do?”

“He’s retired.” I take a deep breath. “He used to be involved in the mafia.” I say carefully. This was one thing I knew I would not lie to her about.

“Oh, no, honey—” She whimpers.

“He’s retired mom, He’s not involved anymore. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“It sounds like I have everything to worry about - but - is he putting those properties into your name. Not joint names. Just yours?”

I nod.

She bites her lip. “So, you will have a lot of security - and you can leave if you want to and not worry about your future.”

“Yes, I can leave if I want to. But mom I won’t want to. I love him .” I laugh, finally sensing that I’m getting through to her, that I’m pulling her to my side.

She rolls her eyes and folds a dishcloth with agitation. She sets it down on the kitchen counter and starts laughing as she straightens out the edges. It’s a nervous, tense laugh, but with mild acceptance drifting in it.

“Misha, you drive me crazy, you know that right? But I’m just going to trust you on this one. I really do want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

The chair falls over as I jump off it so fast, running around the counter to hug her. “Oh, my word I’m so happy.” I shout, spinning her around.

She laughs and wiggles to get free.

“Ok, ok, calm down. You need to show me a picture of this man. I can’t be meeting my daughter’s fiancé for the first time and not even know what he looks like.” She huffs.

While I’m pulling my phone out, I’m talking excitedly.

“You are going to have dinner with us tomorrow night. That way you can meet him before the wedding.” I mumble, flicking through the photos I took while we were on the island, trying to find one that isn’t of us naked or doing naughty things.

“Here.” I smile, pushing the phone into her hands. “That’s my fiancé.” I say with pride.

My mother stares, completely frozen, not breathing.

Her eyes are wide with terror, shock, and icy fear.

Suddenly, she breathes, but she’s in total panic “Are you having a stroke?” I shout in horror.

She drops my phone, and it smacks onto the kitchen counter. Reaching out I grab her just in time as she sways. She pushes me away and leans her back against the other counter. Gasping, she fights for air. “Mom, what is going on?” I shout in fear.

“It’s him.” She cries.

“Who?”

“It’s Vincent Vece.”

“What? How ?—”

“ It’s the man who tried to kill me. He’s the one who beat me and locked me inside that car before pushing it off the bridge and into the river. He’s the one, Misha. He’s the one who killed me.”

My mother sinks down to her knees, collapsing onto the kitchen floor. Kneeling next to her I pull her into my arms, confusion drowning me, disbelief and horror flooding my thoughts.

I can’t think straight. I can’t process this.

“Mom, it’s not true.” I beg as tears sting my eyes.

She doesn’t answer. She must be having some kind of flash back. This isn’t true, she’s just mixed him up with someone else.

Vincent Vece. She knows his name. She knows him.

I stand up, moving away from her. I can’t breathe now. My world is spinning.

So many thoughts are pulsing in every direction.

“Celso.” I mutter.

“Who?” My mother says her voice like ice. “Who is Celso?”

“My brother. Your son.”

“My son?” her voice breaks. “You met my son. I thought Vincent would have sent him away.”

“I met him.” I murmur, staring at the floor, too shocked to cry anymore. Too shocked to react.

“Misha—”

“Not now mom. I - I can’t - I have to - I have to go.” I mumble, grabbing my phone and purse I run from her house.

“You can’t marry him.” She screams after me, but the door closes behind me and I bolt into the elevator. I’m fighting for air, gasping, my lungs heavy and stiff. My entire body aching.

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 because she kept things so secret. This is her 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.