The Yellow Dress Ch. 02

Beth swallows. His influence is much bigger than she had ever imaged. She still isn't entirely sure what he's talking about but she doesn't ask, she doesn't want to know anymore. It's safer not to know.

"I don't have to be here to sort this out. Giovanni or Marco could easily have dealt with it. But you, you are my weakness piccola tigre. I needed to find you again, to take you back to where you belong."

Beth tenses.

He fists her hair, forcing her head back and trails kisses along her neck. She considers asking him more about his plans. What does he mean by that. When are they leaving? How are they travelling? But she doesn't want to antagonise him; he's on a knife-edge right now.

"Salvo, is it the first time you've been in London since..."

"Yes."

Suddenly he lifts her off his lap and on to her feet and standing up himself he takes her hand.

"Come."

She looks up at him.

"We need to shower, we're going out to eat."

They're going out? Where are they going? Her head is spinning with the possibilities that have opened up and there are questions too.

She's been so busy wondering about what was going to happen afterwards she doesn't think about what is about to happen now. Before she knows it Salvo is propelling her into a shower cubicle with steam billowing out of it. They have never done anything like this before. He always kept his distance out of the bed.

Of course he fucks her in here too, lifting her, seemingly without any effort, off her feet and pinning her against the wall. He holds her by the throat so her face is pressed against the tiles so she can only just breathe, pummeling into her as scalding water rains down around them.

The whole thing is surreal, she can't see, can hardly breathe. The sex is fast, furious and unrelenting. She still comes though. She cries out and he comes too with a shudder and a growl. Afterwards he holds her in place for a long time. Pushed up against the tiles, pressed into the corner, she wonders where he is finding the strength to stay upright. The water continues to beat down on them.

He lowers her to her feet and begins washing her, only speaking to bark out short orders like "hold your arms up" or "turn around."

His hands move slowly across her body and she is so sensitive after her orgasm that his touch is both exquisite and unbearable. As he washes between her legs she has to clench her fists and squeeze her eyes shut to stop herself from tearing his hand away.

They move from the shower into the bathroom and everything is steamed up. She feels raw from the heat and the scrubbing and overwhelmed. He swings from unfettered rage to gentle affection to unbridled passion.

When they finally emerge from the windowless bathroom it is dark, he walks over to the wardrobe and take out a long dress, sheathed in plastic. Its like they were never apart, she has hardly put up a fight. She can barely meet his eyes. He doesn't seem to have noticed.

"Put this on."

He peels off the cover and hands it to her. It's yellow and a halter neck like the dress she was wearing the day they took her, but that's where the similarity ends. Instead of primrose this dress is so pale you can only just see a hint of yellow, and it's longer, it will reach the floor when she puts it on. And it's covered in thousands of tiny yellow sequins.

She takes it from him. Despite their recent shower getting dressed in front of him still feels too intimate. She carries it into the bedroom, leaving him alone in the lounge, meeting his gaze as she disappears, asking his permission.

He doesn't speak, but he doesn't stop her either.

*

When she reappears wearing the dress he is certain his heart has stopped beating. He spotted it weeks ago in the window of a small boutique in Milan and he'd bought it immediately. That's when he knew he had to see her again.

She walks towards him and without speaking she turns and presents him with her back. The zip needs fastening. For a while he doesn't move, he just looks at her. Something about the simple intimacy of this is the undoing of him. The fact that she didn't ask, she just acted.

Breathe Salvo.

After he finishes zipping he holds her waist. If she turns now she might see how much she is effecting him and he doesn't want that. Instead for the first time, as he admires the swan like column of her neck, he appreciates her short hair.

*

They're not in the same car as last night and it's just the two of them. They travel in silence. It feels weird, but also normal. She isn't sure what she is going to do when they arrive but just now she is going with it because there hasn't been an obvious opportunity to escape and because she is seeing a new side to this man. She is curious, she wants to understand him better.

She glances into the rear view mirror and notices the guys travelling behind them in last night's vehicle.

He opens the car door and she emerges into a leafy square, he rests a hand on her back and steers her into the nearest corner and towards what looks like a private members club. Footmen stand on either side of the door. As they descend, the entrance is narrows, the hand on the small of her back snakes around her waist as he pulls her against him.

Her mouth falls open as she takes in her surroundings. The staff, in their formal wear, hover like deferential, nervy flies. Beth wonders if they recognise him. Perhaps they can just sense danger. She thinks again of escape, now that she is out in the open. Their response to him reminds her of the kind of man he is. But she must choose her moment carefully. She is afraid of what he might do to her if she doesn't succeed.

And when she is honest, when she looks into the darkest parts of herself she knows that she is scared of never seeing him again, of never feeling like this again.

***

They are promptly seated at a table in a quiet corner. He orders for them both in swift Italian without consulting her.

The table is small and as they eat their starters. One of his legs is pressed up against hers. The food is prissy and colourful and looks very small on the large white plates. She hardly notices the taste.

"We are flying to Milan tomorrow, and then back to Firenze, I am taking you to my home." He isn't looking at her as he says this.

Her cutlery clatters to the plate. "Salvo!"

He looks up, eyebrows raised. "Si?"

"Salvo, You can't just... I have to work on Monday, I can't just leave."

Did she have any choice? This man seemed to be invincible, all powerful. The way he had just reappeared in her life and snatched her away and here they were in a public place despite the manhunt which must be underway.

"I love you," he says like it is the only thing that matters.

The world seems to grinds to a standstill as the words hang between them and the atmosphere is weighty with unspoken questions. With difficultly Beth swallows the mouthful of goat cheese salad that's sitting in her mouth.

She wants to believe him, she desperately wants to believe him. Things would be so much simpler if this were true, he would be so much easier to reason with. But she knows he is incapable of love. She's never known anyone like him, she has no idea what could possibly have happened to this man to make him who he is, but he can't possibly know what it means to love someone.

He is waiting for her to respond, to say it back, or perhaps acknowledge it at least. She doesn't know what to say. She looks down at her hands resting on the table, she closes her eyes, but not before the tears start to spill.

The starters are whipped away; their main course has arrived. His is steak. Hers looks delicious, she suspects its sea bass.

He's not eating, he's just watching her, waiting for her response, she has no idea what to say. The waiter is hovering, he knows something's up but he can't decide whether to intervene.

"Monsieur, is there anything...

Salvo dismisses him with a hand before he can complete his sentence.

Beth follows him with her eyes as he walks away. She wishes it was that simple for her.

Emotions flicker across Salvo's face with the speed of changing weather patterns on a coastal mountain range. Hurt, rage, grief, possessiveness, there are other expressions there too, only she can't make them out.

She tentatively picks up a fork and prongs a morsel of food, lifting it to her mouth she tastes it, despite the cocktail of delicious flavours she still finds it hard to swallow.

Finally she speaks. "Tell me who you are."

"What?"

"I don't know anything about you. I'm not sure I want to know anything about you. You kidnapped me you imprisoned me, you threatened to kill me, over and over again. Multiple times within the last twenty-four hours in fact."

"I would never hurt you."

"I didn't know that Salvo, I believed you."

When he doesn't reply she sighs and stands up.

"I need to use the loo."

A nearby waiter shoots over. "Madam?"

"I need to go to the bathroom." She says in a low voice, he gestures towards a discreet door off to the side.

She wants to look behind her, unbelieving that he is just letting her walk away, but she manages to resist.

She reaches the door, on unsteady feet. The toilets are enormous and deserted, she feels very out of place and panicky. Her reflection greets her pale and frightened. She looks how she feels.

When she reaches the door, she stops.

She knows he is sitting with his back to the door. She could try to just walk out. How far would she get? What would he do? Would he follow her?

She takes a breath. She might never see him again. Its unlikely to work but if the opportunity is there she has to try. She opens the door and steps out, his two stooges are standing, one on either side of the door. They looking straight ahead, there is no discernible reaction from either of them as she exits the bathroom. Her heart sinks. It was always unlikely to work but somehow it's still devastating to have her chances dashed. She walks back towards the table and slides back into the seat opposite him. When she looks up his men are nowhere to be seen. He watches her face as she notices but neither of them speaks.

At his insistence she orders dessert. It is the only part of the meal she has any say in. He feeds it to her, with a long stemmed fork, in small bites. Despite herself a warm pooling of arousal is gathering in her loins as he spoons it into her mouth. He teases her, frequently moving the rich chocolaty concoction away at the last minute, until she is leaning forward almost groaning with impatience.

He doesn't go as far as making her kneel at his feet, she is seated at the table, but she can see the other diners stealing curious glances at them. She bites her lip and presses her thighs together to try and tame this desire that is rising up in her. When the dessert is finished he leans back and watches her through heavily lidded eyes as he sips his espresso.

The decision to leave is a mutual unspoken agreement. They need to be alone together.

He steers her to the door and back up the stairs, his hand pressed possessively against the small of her back. He hasn't settled the bill. One of his men must be taking care of it.

This time he doesn't need to whisper threats to get her to behave. They are implicit. She won't try anything. There is too much on her mind anyway. Her response to him feeding her and this all-consuming need to be alone with him again are troubling. These things are too distracting, too consuming for her to think of escape. The doorway is too narrow for them to leave together so he takes her hand so he can go through first and pull her behind him.

Everything seems to happen very quickly after that. When she looks back at this time —this moment that changes everything - the memory that jumps out at her the most is the sound, a loud bang. It is alien but also familiar and somehow she knows exactly what it is as it surrounds them. It fills the square, as it ricochets back and fourth between the buildings.

A collection of small individual actions crowd in on each other until they became indistinguishable. Salvo barrels backwards. As he slams in her chest, she catches him and staggers under the force. He is no longer keeping himself upright. She hooks her arms under his but he is too heavy for her to take his weight.

They both sink to the ground. Beth is on her knees, cradling him in her arms. The weight of him is painful and uncomfortable to a degree that she is finding hard to ignore, until she notices the blood. It is blooming on his shirt like a beautiful, terrible flower. She is transfixed as its petals unfurl from beneath his dinner jacket.

He grabs her wrist, with a surprising amount strength, considering his life blood is seeping out of him, and slowly opens his eyes. They are slits. His face is deathly pale and coated in a thin layer of perspiration. He speaks Italian first, then he swallows and begins again in English.

"You have to go tigrotta mia," his voice, usually so loud and confident, is a broken whisper, a spectre of its former self. "It's not safe for you here." It is clear that he is finding even these few words difficult to manage.

At the mention of his name for her a lump forms in her throat.

"I don't want them to know you."

She looks up. Her eyes scan the small square. There is no sign of the perpetrators.

"Beth please."

Finally she finds her voice. "Salvo," she whispers as she cups his cheek. "I can't leave you."

She can no longer see clearly as tears fill her eyes and begin to fall on his face. She knows, unlike in the fairy tales, they are not going to magically fix anything. She leans down and presses her lips against his forehead. It feels clammy and cold.

Blaring sirens fill the air, flashing blue lights seem to be all around them, and suddenly the square is a hive of activity.

She looks up. Uniformed officials, armed with medical paraphernalia are pouring out of vehicles. The police are ushering the small crowd of concerned onlookers back and taping the area off. Before her eyes the area transforms into a crime scene.

Paramedics seem to be speaking a different language, one which is filled with technical terminology that she can't follow as they move around her, all calmness and efficiency. There is a hand is resting on her arm. Tearing herself away from Salvo's face she looks up. A female paramedic is talking to her in a gentle voice.

"Are you okay love? Are you hurt? Do you have an injury?"

Beth looks down at herself. She is covered in blood. None of it is hers.

"I think I'm okay."

"Glad to hear it. All the same I'd like to examine you after we have have moved your friend."

Beth nods.

One of them fixes an oxygen mask over Salvo's face, another is busy halting the bleeding. She gathers from their barked disjointed conversation that they have established the bullet hasn't pierced either of his lungs and that this is a good thing. They attach a drip and after what feels like a small age, they surround him and move him carefully onto a stretcher in one quick smooth movement. At the absence of his weight on her after so long she feels bereft.

When they've established that she hasn't hit her head, or broken any bones she is helped to her feet and led to a nearby bench, someone drapes a blanket over her shoulders. One of the waiters from earlier appears with a steaming mug. She takes a sip and immediately her nose wrinkles at how sweet the tea is. He smiles apologetically. Does she looks as shaken as him? Probably.

They are lowering Salvo onto a nearby trolly.

The paramedic is talking to her again, in gentle, hushed tones, asking for her name, her date of birth, if she has any preexisting medical conditions. She answers in a monosyllabic voice.

A ramp is extending from the nearest ambulance.

"Is there anyone you would like us to ring?"

She shakes her head. There is, but she can't think about that right now.

Salvo and the trolly are being pushed into the ambulance.

One of the police officers radios in her name and date of birth and almost instantly there is a buzz of excitement.

"Love?" A police officer is crouched in front of her, trying to catch her attention, "can you confirm your name and address? You are Elizabeth Dutton of Arlington Gardens?"

He is blocking her view. She cranes forward and sideways.

People are moving around him, strapping him in place, securing the trolly. The drip is hooked to a stand.

"Miss, I need you to confirm that you are the same Elizabeth Dutton of Arlington Gardens who was abducted from The Rose and Crown pub last night at approximately 23.45 hours?"

Beth nods.

Flashing blue lights light up the square.

The officer releases a breath and speakes into his radio before scribbling something in the note pad he is holding. He begins to speak again, the paramedic is talking too. Beth isn't listening.

The door closes and Salvo disappears from view.

The ambulance pulls away. The siren starts up.

***

I know I know there isn't a happy ever after, there isn't even a happy for now. I couldn't come up with a realistic way of ending this story with one, please don't hate me. Apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors, I have done my best to mitigate the worst of them. As always do vote, comment and tell me what you think.

Thanks for reading!