The Knotty Bride by Julie Sarff Read Free Book Online Page A

their father’s impromptu wedding. I don’t care if Federica and Enrico are immensely disappointed that the boys are not in attendance. If they truly cared about the boys, they would have let me know days in advance.
    “Honestly, I have no idea what they’re thinking. Ma cosa stanno pensando?” I mutter to myself.
    I swivel on a sensibly-clad heel and march the boys back into the building. The very pretty little horsewoman-to-be, Antonella Tavelli, is standing in the stairwell with a tiara on her head.
    “Antonella,” I call, “is your mother at home? Do you think I could ask her a favor? How would you like a playdate with my boys at your place?”
    Five minutes later I exit the building alone.
     
    *****
     
    For some reason, there is a complete traffic jam at two in the afternoon. The streets of Arona are a parking lot. I would have made better time if I had walked the ten blocks between my house and City Hall. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to arrive within the hour.
    I sit ramrod straight, every muscle in my body twitching with anger, when suddenly I catch a glimpse of a red Fiat Spider; it’s an old thing, a collector’s item, and it’s snaking its way through the fog and the rain.
    “Hooray!” I shout because I recognize the car as that of Federica. Obviously, she’s stuck in traffic too, and there can’t be a wedding without a bride.
    I am doing a little happy dance in the driver’s seat of my Fiat, as much as my seatbelt will allow, when all of a sudden Federica opens her car door and hops out. It’s an odd thing to do, leaving one’s car in traffic, but it’s even stranger because the woman who jumps out of the car and right into the middle of the traffic does not look like a bride-to-be. No, dear reader, this woman who has jumped out of her car looks like a murderer-to-be; she is absolutely bedraggled. She is wearing some sort of dumpy tracksuit, and her hair is all stringy. In her hand, she clutches an object, shiny and black.
    For a mere second, she stands in the middle of the street and looks around furtively. Then she heads north, right through the middle of all the cars.
    Well, I’ll be. Federica isn’t the bride. Then that means…
    I should have known. I should have known by the manic tone of Enrico’s voice on the phone that he didn’t mean he was marrying Federica. I should have known he meant he was marrying Lidia Cerchi, Francesca’s nineteen-year-old cousin!
    Like a shot put flung by a hefty weightlifter, I fly out of the car. I’m under no illusions about what’s going to happen. Federica has been pushed to her limit. I know that desperate, hungry look that I saw in her eyes. I’ve been in her shoes. I know what it’s like to lose all hope when it comes to love.
    Out in the street, I race between cars. There are honks here and catcalls there, and an angry, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing running in the middle of the street?” I don’t care. I speed by small European car after small European car, moving as quickly and nimbly as possible. I have to catch Federica before she does the unthinkable.
    A moment later, I catch sight of her. She has reached the steps of city hall. I hear her open her mouth and begin shouting. Up ahead, at the top of the steps, stand Enrico and Lidia. Enrico is holding a large red umbrella, shielding his wife-to-be, who is wearing the shortest, tightest, see-throughiest white suit I’ve ever seen.
    Federica ramps up the volume, but Enrico doesn’t appear to notice. He seems oblivious to everything as he reaches out a hand to open the door to city hall. Federica shrieks louder. Enrico turns to look, and a second later, she raises a shaky hand, pointing the gun in his direction. A shot goes off, and Enrico falls to the ground.
    “Nooo…” I yell.
    Hearing my cry, Federica shoots me a desperate look. Incredibly she turns away from me and raises her gun again— as if to shoot Enrico once more. Wham! I tackle her from the side. We roll around