Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Eight

He begins to chuckle to himself, low in amazement. "God, you always were a selfish—"

"Scarlett, you ready?"

Giovanni's hand settles onto the middle of my back, sliding across the fabric. He probably thinks he's saving me from some boring conversation. I go ridged when Ted's eyes meet Giovanni's, feeling sicker than I ever have.

"I'm sorry, we haven't met. I'm Giovanni, Giovanni Martinelli. You are?"

"Ted...It's Ted."

"Ted, well, thank you for coming. You knew Norman well?"

When Giovanni's hand extends out, and the man I knew to be my father begins to take the opportunity, I hear a shaky gasp explode from my throat and my arm shoots out, and steals Giovanni's hand. I couldn't bear to see them touch, let alone, in cordiality.

"G-Giovanni, please, let's go."

With all my might, I tug him away from my own personal demon, pulling harder at his initial resistance. He doesn't stop me, but leans close as we head for the car.

"Scarlett, what the hell was that?"

"Nothing. We just...we need to go. I need to get out of here."

"Okay." He sounds like he's only now realized I'm actually insane, except I'm not. I'm currently running away from my past, from the deepest, darkest part of my past. I'm not even sure what's just happened, how it could have possibly happened—on today of all days—but the magnitude of it all dawns on me as I drag Giovanni toward the row of cars.

I feel Ted's eyes our backs, and it sends chills down my spine.

"I'm going to be sick," I state with dread, nodding, feeling my throat tightening, my head spinning as the reality sets in. "I'm going to be sick."

I make it around our car, and place a hand on the window to steady myself as I begin to heave, losing control of my body altogether. Giovanni's arms round me, grabbing onto my dangling hair, so it doesn't get caught.

There's really nothing in my stomach, so the vomiting doesn't last long, a few minutes. I'm gasping, flinching at the discomfort when he kisses the cardigan concealing my shoulder. Hands flattened into the van, I gaze into the thick tire, hiding my eyes from him, for I'm sure they would show my terror.

He hands me a water bottle from the car to rid the taste of sickness. "The baby?"

Refusing to create a scene, I nod, gearing myself to face him. But instead of doing that, I turn and begin to walk around the car. He catches my hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're pale, Scarlett." He clasps my face between his hands, caressing my skin attentively, trying to figure out if I'm running a fever. I stare up at him, my eyes sweeping over his features, trying to find my equilibrium, my sense of calm. He smiles, slightly. "Are you okay?"

"I want to leave. Please, can we just leave?" I beg him, pushing his hands away, but he doesn't let me go. He does whatever he has to so that he's planted in front of me.

"What's going on? Talk to me."

I glance back through the windows of the car, neurotically, and mold myself to the car. I don't see him. He's gone. Giovanni grabs the hand that's in my hair, forcing it out, and pulls my chin to him.

His brows are close together, dipped in suspicion.

"Why do you keep looking over there? What happened?"

I couldn't loosen his grip on me even if I tried. I stare at him, barely breathing.

"You have to promise me something."