Susan's POV
"You know what's scary?" Laura muttered from her position on the floor of her Aunt Martha's living room, surrounded by printouts of tabloid articles and her laptop. "The fact that the man who just married you has a Wikipedia page longer than my medical textbooks."
"Oh God." I groaned, rolling over to face the ceiling, exhaustion making every muscle in my body ache. After escaping through Mrs. Chen's apartment yesterday, we'd spent hours jumping from taxi to taxi, switching directions randomly to lose any tail, before finally ending up at Laura's Aunt Martha's house at 3 AM. The sweet old lady had taken one look at us - me in my designer dress and Laura still in her pajamas - and wordlessly ushered us inside.
Now, twenty-four hours after my impromptu wedding, we were sprawled on her floor, running on nothing but adrenaline and her excellent coffee, trying to figure out why New York's most eligible mob boss had agreed to marry drunk me.
"Well, according to 'Hot Mafia Daddies Weekly'…" Laura started.
"That's not a real thing!"
"It absolutely is, and I'm subscribing." Laura scrolled through her phone. "Anyway, according to them, Raphael Marino has turned down some of the most eligible women in Europe. There's literally a quote here from last year where he said, and I quote, 'Marriage is for men who can't handle their own tie knots.'"
"Yet he married me," I sat up, fighting against the exhaustion that made my eyes burn. "Me, who couldn't even match my socks this morning? And trust me, it wasn't because of a hangover this time - I haven't slept since this whole nightmare started."
"Maybe he has a thing for disaster women?" Laura suggested helpfully.
"Thanks. That makes me feel so much better." I threw a couch pillow at her head. "Oh God, what if this is some weird mob initiation thing? Like, marry the most hopeless person you can find and turn them into a proper mob wife?"
"Yeah, about that…" Laura crawled over me, her expression serious. "How exactly did you get past his security? Aren't these guys supposed to be like, trained killers?"
I snorted. "Apparently not trained in handling new brides. I think I confused them. Plus, that housekeeper Maria was an angel. She just… helped me."
"Maybe she's seen it before," Laura mused. "Like, maybe he has a habit of drunk-marrying women and they all try to escape in the morning?"
"Not helping!" I grabbed her aunt's celebrity magazine, then froze as I saw the cover. "Oh no."
"What?"
I held up the magazine. The headline screamed: "MARINO HEIR FINALLY TIES THE KNOT! Mystery Bride Spotted Fleeing Scene!"
There, in slightly blurry detail, was a photo of me running barefoot through the service entrance, my designer dress hiked up to my knees, graduation gown and purse firmly in hand.
"Well," Laura tilted her head, studying the photo, "at least your hair looked good."
I threw the magazine across the room. "This is a nightmare. I'm going to wake up any minute now in my bed, and this will all have been a bad dream brought on by too much graduation cake."
"Speaking of cake…" Laura's eyes lit up. "Did you at least get a wedding cake?"
"Laura!"
"I deserve to know these things Suze, I'm harboring a fugitive mob wife!"
A noise from outside made us both freeze.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered.
"It's probably just Aunt Martha's cat," Laura whispered back.
"Your aunt doesn't have a cat."
We stared at each other in horror.
Another noise, closer this time.
"Quick!" Laura hissed, "Hide!"
In our panic. We both tried to dive under the coffee table at the same time, getting stuck in the process.
"Move your elbow!"
"Your hair is in my mouth!"
"Stop pushing!"
"I can't breathe!"
"Why is this table so small?"
The door opened slowly, revealing Aunt Martha herself, carrying a fresh batch of cookies?"
"Girls?" she stared at us wedged under her coffee table.
"Aunt Martha! When did you step out?" Laura called out.
"What are you girls doing under there?" Aunt Martha asked, bending to peep at us.
"Yoga?" I offered weakly.
"At ten in the morning?"
"It's… very advanced yoga," Laura added, trying to extract herself with dignity. "The kind where you… um… become one with the furniture?"
Aunt Martha set down her cookies, looking between us and the scattered magazines. Her eyes landed on one with my blurry escape photo on the cover. "Does this have anything to do with the scary-looking Italian men who've been circling the block?"
I banged my head trying to get out from under the table. "They're here?"
"Oh yes," Aunt Martha said cheerfully. "Very nice men. They helped Mrs. Rodriguez with her groceries earlier. Though they did seem very interested in whether I had any unexpected visitors today."
Laura and I exchanged panicked looks.
"I told them I hadn't seen anyone," Aunt Martha continued, settling into her armchair with a knowing smile. "But dear, maybe it's time you stopped running and actually talked to your husband?"
I gasped at her. "How did you…"
"Sweetheart, I read the society pages. Mr. Marino has quite a reputation for being… selective. If he married you, even under unusual circumstances, there must be a reason."
I sank into the couch, the weight of everything finally hitting me. "But what if I don't like the reason?"
Aunt Martha reached over and patted my hand. "Then you deal with it like the strong woman I know you are. But you won't know anything unless you talk to him."
"She's right," Laura added softly. "You can't hide forever, Suze."
I looked between them, these two women who'd been sheltering me without question. They were right. I couldn't keep running.
"Okay," I took a deep breath. "I'll talk to him. But first…" I grabbed a cookie, "I need sustenance. And maybe a shower. And then some clothes. And definitely, a plan that doesn't involve household items as weapons."
Aunt Martha's eyes twinkled. "I heard about the vase. Good aim, dear."
Despite everything, I found myself laughing.
It was time to stop running.