Page 4 of My Dark Fairy Tale

He shook his head and indicated the engine with a jerk of his chin.

Right.

Well, I leaned against the side of the car and took a bite of the succulent plum.

“I have more in the car if you change your mind. The produce here is so divine,” I praised, wiping juice from my chin with the back of my hand. “Do you work in the vineyards nearby?”

“For a man who owns vineyards,si.”

Okay, so not a talker. Not a problem.

I could be chatty with just about anyone. My father called it “the curse of the Midwest” when he was teasing my mom about making friends with everyone everywhere we went. I didn’t think Galasso would be friendly given his gruff nature, but he listened to me babble as he worked on the car. The sun had gone completely, the sky an electric shade of blue before true dark descended, when he finally closed the hood and wiped his hands on his dirty jeans.

“Bene,” he told me. “Is finished.”

“Bravo,” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. “Grazie mille, Signore.”

“Prego.”

When he extended his hand, I frowned at him and then remembered I’d offered him a plum if he changed his mind.

“Of course.” I opened the driver’s door and bent inside to grab the last stone fruit sitting in the console.

As I did, a firm hand landed on my hip.

The touch hit me like a thousand watts through a cattle prod. I jumped, banging my head on the roof of the car. Before I could jostle away, his other hand landed on my opposite hip and gripped tight. Amoment later, he was pressed hard against my bottom, his erection obvious through the layers of cloth between us.

Panic pulled the plug on all rational thought, and the only thing left in my mind wasno no no.

I lurched away from him, scrambling farther into the car because I knew I’d have no chance of getting past his bulk behind me. He wasn’t expecting that. I’d made it to the passenger seat, the door handle in my hand, when a big hand caught my ankle and tugged.

“No!” I screamed, kicking back with all my strength to dislodge him.

His nails carved into my skin like fire, but he was forced to let go with a curse when I knocked him partially out of the car.

Static buzzed in my ears, spots dancing in my vision because I didn’t realize I was holding my breath as I threw my whole body at the passenger door and spilled out the other side of the car. My shoulder and knees hit the gravel hard, stones embedding in my skin, but the pain only cut through my fear like a hot blade.

I needed torun.

My cute sandals lost purchase on the gravel as I tried to push myself into a run from my sprawl, but I quickly gained my feet and booked it into the tall yellow grass beside the road. Through the hard bass of my heart thumping against my rib cage and the billow of breath through my nose, I could hear him behind me, giving chase.

I picked up the skirt of my long dress in one hand and used the other out in front of me to push the grasses from my face as I sprinted through the wheat without a clue of where I was heading.

I just knew if I didn’t get away, I’d end up like those newsclips you saw on TV where a traveler in a foreign land took a wrong turn and ended up dead too young.

I’d never been more grateful for my love of long-distance running.

Even with the oppressive heat, it only took ten minutes for the sound of him crashing behind me to diminish into nothing. Afterfifteen, I risked looking over my shoulder to see his murky outline in the dark grasses behind me at a standstill, hands on his hips.

I kept running.

All my things were back in that unlocked Fiat.

My passport, my luggage, my wallet.

Only my phone was with me. Thank God for dresses with pockets.

But what did material things matter in the face of being raped, beaten, killed, or taken?