Scorned Vows: An Arranged Marriage Romance (Scorned Fate)
Scorned Vows: Part 2 – Chapter 22

I couldn’t sleep. My anxiety was at an all-time high. For the first time, I was glad I lived in town, renting the studio on top of a pizzeria. I decided against living in seclusion because I needed reliable internet access. The lure of the Dark Web was there. I’d logged on a few times and took part in chat rooms. I’d even gotten invitations by a few to hack into some companies or politicians’ websites known for their unethical practices, but in my two years, I’d never taken the plunge.

I took out my phone and stared at the license plate of the Maserati. Fear. I was afraid of what it would unlock. Dr. Gleason told me to let myself remember things naturally because force-feeding information would make the brain confabulate and produce false memories.

Dawn cast purple light into the lone window of my room. In the summer, it could get really hot on top of a pizzeria. Now that it was spring, it was just right, except my allergies were terrible.

I rolled out of bed and stared at my meager belongings, yet remembering how far I’d come. I was Jane Doe before I was Rayne Parish. When I woke up from my coma, I told them my name was Rayne. I felt like I was a Rayne. When it was time to give me a new identity, I told the man I wanted to be Rayne Parish.

I was already a patient of Doc Gleason when I woke up from my coma. I had lived on the second floor of his house while I recovered use of my wrist and I earned my stay by organizing his records.

It was funny how my first paid job came about. I found the poor doc cursing at his laptop because he needed to computerize his medical records. I told him to give me a chance.

He was reluctant and a curmudgeon about it at first. After all, I’d already been known to mess up my boyfriend’s business. But eventually he trusted me. I earned money for new clothes instead of donated ones. I bought a cheap laptop. And when word spread in town that there was a geek-squad girl in residence, I made this town my home.

I stood up and walked to the window. Diagonally across was Brad’s coffee shop. He lived in an apartment on top of the business. It seemed to be a standard for this small town where buildings were multi-use and convenient. He opened at six thirty, but he started his day earlier to accept the deliveries. Someone else made the pies and cakes, cookies and sandwiches. But he was really known for his coffee and roasted the beans right in a back room that functioned as a kitchen and a coffee roasting area.

Would it really be so bad to try to make it work with him? Would I come to love him? But the other problem was this town never really felt like home. I was missing a part of myself, a part locked deep inside my head.

Later that morning, after I finished my job at the garment factory, I paid Brad a visit and maybe to have second breakfast. I smiled at the Lord of the Rings reference. I liked fantasy movies and had devoured them when I had time to watch movies for entertainment. Like my missing memories, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d watched them before. A few of them were weirdly familiar. Like the memory was right there, but a thin film was blocking it.

Brad was surprised to see me when I walked in. The hopeful look on his face nearly made me double back and leave, but I needed to give a good man a fair chance before the desire to pack up and leave took hold. Maybe the reason Danvers didn’t feel like home was because I refused to put down roots. I didn’t have best friends, more like acquaintances, and my closest friend was a hacker who I didn’t know in real life.

“Rayne!” he said, coming behind the counter and giving me an overly enthusiastic hug that almost squeezed the breath out of me. “Sorry.” He pulled back and smiled sheepishly. “Just happy to see you.” He searched my eyes. “I thought I scared you off yesterday.”

“Well, you didn’t,” I said lightly and slid my butt on a barstool. “At least not enough to keep me from wanting a piece of Miss Mabel’s strawberry pie. And a cappuccino, please.”

He gave me a salute. “Coming right up.”

While he attended to my order, I gave him a once-over. The tee he was wearing stretched across his muscular back. He had a nice ass that filled out those worn-out jeans. He kept fit, just as I knew he kept a bench press in his apartment despite going to the gym regularly.

“Your laptop working okay today?” I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. For now.” He winked at me.

I shook my head and laughed.

The door to the coffee shop tinkled and a couple in their sixties walked in. I recognized my clients when I started out. I helped them sort their Wi-Fi and phone problems so they could FaceTime with their grandchildren.

They walked up to the counter. We exchanged greetings and talked about their grandchildren. They also wondered if I could drop by tomorrow to check their Wi-Fi. And this was usually how I got work around this town. Someone would see me and say, “Hey…I got a problem with this, could you…”

After Brad placed the cappuccino and the strawberry pie in front of me, he attended to the newcomers.

The coffee shop had a good crowd—people reading books, scrolling through their phones. A few were actually having conversations.

I was about to take my first sip from my cup when I spotted two men through the front window display. They checked the menu before coming in.

I was sure one of them was Maserati Man—who I’d labeled MM—from yesterday. I didn’t get a good look at his companion before I instinctively shifted in my seat and faced away from the door.

I heard them come in and I prayed they’d get their coffee and leave.

Picking up my fork, I shoveled a bite of pie in my mouth.

I could barely taste it.

“What’s good here?” The voice was MM’s companion. I was sure of it. It was a low bass and slightly deeper than MM’s. It knotted my insides and made me want to throw up.

Brad told them the specials.

“No self-respecting Italian would drink that fancy coffee shit.”

My hackles rose. The arrogance. I wanted to say something.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you asked what our specialty was. We have espresso, but it might not live up to your self-respecting Italian standards.”

Bravo, Brad. I might have just fallen in-crush with him.

“How about pie?” MM asked. “Miss…which one are you having?”

“She’s having the strawberry,” Brad answered.

“My friend was asking her.”

That arrogant prick. All thoughts of self-preservation flew out the window and I swiveled on the stool and faced them.

And got punched in the gut.

The most beautiful man stood beside MM and I thought the latter was gorgeous. Still, I was offended for my friend and couldn’t stop myself from saying, “It’s very good, but I don’t think you city folks would appreciate our small-town offerings.”

“My apologies,” the arrogant one said. “It was a long drive from Chicago. I will have a double espresso and the pie the lady is having.”

“Is that to go?” Brad asked.

Please say yes, please say yes.

The man was staring right at me when he said, “We’re dining in.”

Luca

It’s her.

I was still getting used to her shorter hair and its color. I had a feeling it was the natural one, and I thought it made her look more mature. More beautiful.

Every part inside me roared to throw her over my shoulder, pack her into the Escalade, and bring her home.

This prick in front of me was in love with Natalya. There was no fucking doubt. It was not a mere protectiveness for a friend. There was too much hostility in the way he rang us up. It bled from him. It made me second-guess drinking or eating what he served. It also made me want to take out my gun and shoot the asshole between his eyes.

“Please take a seat,” the guy named Brad said. At least that was on his nametag. So generic. “I’ll take it out to you.”

“We’ll be fine at the counter.” I wasn’t going to have him mess with my espresso.

“The table here is fine.” Dario clasped my elbow and dragged me to the far corner of the coffee shop, away from Natalya.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-snarled at him.

“What did I say?” he snapped in my ear. “Don’t come on too strong.”

“The asshole is in love with her.”

“So?”

“What if…what if…” I couldn’t say it. It made me see red.

“Cazzo, calm down. Get over there.” Dario nudged me to the chair that was close to the window and sat beside me. “We’ll sit here and observe the interaction.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to trust anything he serves me,” I voiced my concerns.

“Well, don’t drink or eat anything,” Dario sighed. “You were the one who came out swinging like a dick.”

“Are you on my side or not?” I was still seething. I seethed even more when Brad and Natalya exchanged a private joke and laughed.

Dario sighed a heavier sigh this time. “Why do I get a feeling we’re going to leave this joint in handcuffs?”

“There’s not a cop around. They use the county sheriff.” I wasn’t even kidding. I’d done my research. She lived on top of a pizzeria close to here. Why was my wife living like this? But what was shocking, she didn’t recognize me at all. She was irritated, yes, and a tad anxious, because Dario spooked her yesterday. But other than that, she looked at us like we were strangers.

A blonde woman rushed in. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m late.”

Brad shook his head. “Second time this week, Hazel. Here, take this to the gentlemen at table eight.”

More people came in. The coffee shop was doing brisk business. This man who was interested in my wife wasn’t a jobless punk. He probably was a law-abiding citizen with a clean criminal record, paid his taxes on time, and didn’t murder people who pissed him off. He was the epitome of a small-town America utopian, down to his golden-blond head.

I despised him on principle.

Hazel came by and handed us our espressos and slices of pie. “What brings you to Danvers? Passing through?”

“Cozy town,” Dario commented. “What’s there to do?”

While the blonde server chatted up my friend, I stared at my espresso, wondering if I would replace something unsavory at the bottom of the cup. I decided not to touch it and looked out the window. My men were around. I didn’t want them to look too conspicuous, but I had them casing the area. On the surface, it was just a gateway to the city of Grafton. Population one thousand and change. Perfect for hiding. Or not. Because if I were running from someone, I’d take my chances in a big city.

Hazel and Dario finished their conversation and our server went to the counter to pick up other orders to serve.

Brad the prick had leaned over the counter and flirted with my wife.

Flirted!

Something was very wrong. It was like a doppelgänger existed, doing everything the opposite of what my wife would do. Her voice sounded like Natalya’s but had gained a hick drawl to it. I was starting to have my doubts, but from what Dario had dug up, her business was computer maintenance. The first known record of a Rayne Parish was around the time Natalya had disappeared and her first known address was with Dr. Jacob Gleason, who ran the only clinic in town.

I recognized the sparseness in her private records. It screamed a fake identity. Fill in the date and place of birth. Orphan. Raised in a group home. All bullshit.

I continued to brood and watch the interaction between my wife and Brad. Hazel returned to our table and stared at my untouched espresso and pie.

Dario had enthusiastically finished his.

“Anything wrong with your order?”

“It’s fine,” Dario answered for me and grabbed my plate and started digging into it. “My friend’s acid reflux suddenly hit him.”

Our server looked sympathetic. “Oh, I’m sorry. We do have the best espresso in town.”

I forced a smile. “So I’ve heard.”

“Well, if you need anything else.”

My wife in my car, on the way back to Chicago. “We’re good. We’ll just hang here a bit.” And replace out what exactly was the relationship between that stronzo and my wife.

“Hazel? You got the shop a minute? Rayne and I are heading to the office.”

I surged up from my chair. Dario sat me down. “Madone! Keep it together. What. Did. I. Fucking. Tell. You?”

“This. Is. Bullshit.”

“Stop acting like a twelve-year-old or I’m going to haul you out of here. I knew you weren’t ready.”

Fuck, I wasn’t ready. I was ready yesterday.

Dario and I were whispering harshly, quietly, but it seemed we were attracting attention. How long had Natalya been in there with that fucker? My expensive suit suddenly felt like an ill-fitting cheaply made Armani knock-off. I imagined this was how the Hulk felt like when he exploded out of his clothes. Thinking of the Hulk reminded me of Elias.

My son loved that temperamental green giant. It probably reminded him of me.

When Natalya came into view again, Brad was following closely behind her. Too closely. My fingers curled over the fork that was on the table. He cast Dario a smug look before he transferred his attention to my wife.

“We are not stabbing anyone with a fork today,” Dario sighed. “I thought this was going to be fun, but I’m regretting this now.”

“How could this be fun?” I growled.

“You’re making me tense as fuck,” Dario hissed.

And then something almost made me flip the table.

The bastard leaned in and gave Natalya a kiss.

Brad whatever-his-last-name was a dead man.

“I can’t wait for tonight,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

He was making a date with my fucking wife? Right in front of me?

Death was too good for him. I was going to pull out all his fingernails and teeth, and cut off his balls and make him choke on them.

Dario was staring at his plate before he surreptitiously stole a glance at me. He frowned. I was grinning. I was grinning because I hadn’t had the thought of having this much fun in a long time.

He knew exactly where my humor was coming from.

Natalya passed by our table without even looking at us.

Until tonight, tesoro. I’m going to replace out what game you’re playing.