Written in Ink

Forty-four | Alonzo

 "Are you ready?" I ask Reagan once she puts on her wedding ring.

She nods her head. "Yeah. How long is the flight going to be?"

"Just about two hours. The venue is in Rome." I state.

"Sounds nice." She says pulling her braid out of the crewneck she just put on. "Buchanon and Lorenzo are coming too, right?"

I nod my head. "Yes, of course."

She smiles and looks at the two dogs that are waiting at the door. She walks over to them and baby talks to them while giving them pets and kisses. "Venire." She ordered them.

Whenever she gives the dogs commands in Italian it makes her sound so hot. Talking in my language, it just feels right. But then I am reminded by the way my father beat her for it and I couldn't do anything about it.

"Does your back still hurt?" I ask her as we walk out the bedroom door.

"Some." She answers. "Not as bad as before. I don't think it's bruised anymore." She answers.

"It is a little bit still." I replied.

She curiously looks at me with confusion. "How would you know?"

"I take a look at it before I fall asleep." I admit, thinking it's not weird. Although the look on her face tells me otherwise. "Is that weird?"

Reagan simply giggles and keeps walking. "No, it's cute."

"Cute." That word was so forign before I met her.

"Hmm?" She asks, referring to my mumble.

"Nothing." I kiss her forehead before she gets into the back seat of the car.

I open the door to the spacious trunk, calling the dogs inside. "Why aren't you driving?" She asks.

"Because the driver is going to bring the car back." I answer before I shut the trunk door.

"Oh." She says when I sit next to her. Buchanan reaches over the backseat and puts his head on the other side of Reagan. She giggles and puts her hand on the side of his face. "So pathetic." She teases.

I smile.

"What are you smiling for?" She asks, noticing my fixated gaze on her.

"What? I can't smile at my wife?" I respond. She blushes, signaling my tease worked. She is so easy to make blush.

"Pronto?" The driver asks us.

"Sì." I answer as I buckle my seat belt.

The drive goes by quickly. It was silent for the most part. Reagan was looking out the window at the country, commenting on everything she sees. I notice that she cracked the window, breathing in the fresh air.

"Do you get car sick?" I ponder.

"Yeah, a little bit." She says with her eyes focused on her legs.

I unbuckle my seat belt and slip next to her with my hand on her back. "Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?"

She shakes her head and swallows before answering. "No, I'm fine. Just needed some fresh air."

"We can pull over." I suggest hurriedly.

"No." She laughs. "I'm fine."

"Would it be better if you were in the front seat?" I offer. She shakes her head but I don't believe her. "Accostare la macchina al marciapiede." I ordered the driver. On a dime he does.

I quickly open my door and leave it open for the driver to go into the backseat before rushing over to Reagan's side. I ignore her protests that she is promising to me that she is fine.

"Amore, just sit up in the front." I help her out of the car and into the front seat, shutting the door and going to the driver's seat.

"I was fine in the back." She complains.

"Reagan, it's really okay. Just relax. You'll feel better."

"I—" I can tell she wants to continue to protest it, but she closes her lips and looks out the window.

I feel bad for ordering her around, but I don't want her to be sick. Especially if we are going to get onto a plane. To make her feel better, I put my hand on her thigh, rumbling the top with my thumb. She looks down at it and smiles.

"Even though I'm wearing leggings, I feel that your hands are cold." She laughs lightly, putting her hand over the top rubbing my hand to warm it up.

I laugh. "They aren't bad." I respond.

She looks at me in shock. "Yeah they are!" She pulls my free hand into the two of hers and holds them. Her hands are actually very warm and it feels nice. "It's getting chilly out, so you shouldn't be wearing tight black t-shirts and trousers." She informed me.

"What's wrong with me 'tight black t-shirts'?" I question.

She shakes her head violently. "Absolutely nothing, but you'll be cold."

I laugh at her not-so-sudden compliment.

"Anyway. How far are we?" She asks.

"Another fifteen minutes." I answer her.

Those fifteen minutes go by really quick. When we get to the airport, I pull into the large back take off lot where my plane is. "Here at last." She sighs in relief. "I have to pee." She laughs and gets out of the car quickly. In the mirror I watch her jog around to open the back to unleash Buchanon and Lorenzo.

I meet her out front and then she stops dead in her tracks, wearing a shocked look on her face. I follow her gaze to my father and mom getting out of their car across the way. I march towards them. "What are you doing here? You aren't supposed to ride with us." I spit angrily at my father.

"I don't have any other choice, son." He answers with a smirk.

"Like hell you do! You are not riding with us." I respond.

He shakes his head. "It's a big plane, you can sit on one end with Reagan and I'll sit on the other side with your mother."

"No."

"Get over yourself, son. We are family. We can share a plane. I haven't seen you in weeks. The lack of contact is hurting your mother."

Guilt tripping bastard. I look at my mother who has already submitted to his side, not even looking at me. "Please Alonzo, dear?" She pleads quietly.

Reagan is afraid of him. She doesn't want to be near him. And I don't want her to be. I could just catch another flight with Reagan. He can take the plane and we will take something else.

"I already shut down the airport for the next week. You're not going to find any other way to go." Bastard.

I turn and walk quickly away, pulling out my phone to call for another flight ticket. "There is nothing going to Rome this week." He says.

Cazzo. I hang up the phone and walk to Reagan who is leaning against the back of the car. "Reagan." I say.

"Is he coming with us?" She asks nervously.

I pause, hating myself for folding so quickly. "I'm sorry, yes."

She wipes an apparent tear off her face before standing up straight. "Okay. Then let's get going." She pulls away and makes her way to the stairs of the plane.

My heart burns for her. Driving is an option but I don't want her to be car sick.

He better not even look at her. Or I swear to anything above me he will pay. I am so sick of him.

Thoughts?