No Escape by Julie Moffett

 

Chapter Eleven

 

Lexi Carmichael

 

“Hey, Oscar, do you have any hobbies?”

Oscar paused for a moment, his brows drawing together in surprise, or maybe confusion. Perhaps that had been too abrupt of a transition. I couldn’t tell if I’d freaked him out or puzzled him or whether social discourse wasn’t his strong suit, either. How would I know? I’d just met him, and Slash hadn’t warned me that Oscar wasn’t talkative or social. I knew we should have spent more time on the spreadsheet covering all the personality traits of his family. Because if Oscar also had trouble conversing, we were like the blind leading the blind, and who knew where that would lead?

My anxiety spiked, and I twisted my napkin in my lap. Now I wished I hadn’t said anything and had just been glad he’d welcomed me.

“I enjoy apiculture,” Oscar finally said.

I looked up in surprise. “Beekeeping?” Slash had never mentioned Oscar’s interest in bees before. “Really? Not soccer or afternoon tea?”

“Oh, I’m all for a good football match, and I do love my tea. But bees are my favorite hobby.”

“Bees…that’s unusual.”

“You’ve heard of apiculture, then?”

I had, but I was deathly afraid of bees, wasps, hornets, and any sort of insect that flew, crawled, or stung. I’d been stung a few times and while I wasn’t EpiPen allergic, I swelled up badly, which meant I always carried dissolvable antihistamine pills in my purse. I knew it wasn’t logical or reasonable, but they scared the living crap out of me. Why someone would want to hang out with bees for the fun of it completely defied any logic I could imagine.

“Yes, but if you don’t mind me asking, why?”

To my surprise, his eyes lit up. “Bees are so sweet and good for the environment and pollination. Besides, the byproducts are amazing. Honey, wax, and royal jelly. You’ve never realized what you’ve missed until you’ve tried the organic products. They’re quite delicious.”

I was perfectly okay with buying my organic products in the grocery store. But I had to say something positive and appear interested in his hobby—it was one of the spreadsheet rules.

“I find beehive mentality really fascinating.” That was true, so long as I could examine the bees, their habitat, and behavior from a safe distance.

“You know, it really is,” Oscar said, dabbing the spot above his lip and then gulping down more water. “Bees are quite sweet unless provoked. I’d love to show you my hives when you and Slash come to London. I’ve got two hives in the backyard.”

Holy crap. In his backyard? “Your wife is okay with that?”

“Juliette? Yes, she loves the bees. I’m sure you will, too.”

I managed to suppress a shudder. Seeing his beehives in person would never, ever happen in my lifetime. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about that right now. That was a problem for another day. For the moment, I was simply grateful we were conversing on a topic that seemed to be going well and it wasn’t about me.

“May I have your attention, please?”

Brando Porizio, our gamemaster, stood at the front of the table. The dinner chatter died down quickly. “Before we get too deep into the meal, I’d like to make a short announcement about the escape room challenges you’ll face over the next two days,” he said. “I must admit we’re quite excited to watch you match minds with the creator of the escape rooms, Mr. Dante Zachetti. So far, no one has successfully solved them all, and in fact, it pains me to say no one has even come close. The challenges are quite complex and intricate, and you’ll have to use all your mental acuity and creativity to solve them.

“There are also a few physical components to the challenges, as well, so please be prepared for that. Most importantly, however, you must work as a team. I suggest you determine your strengths quickly and work accordingly. I’m not taking questions tonight, but tomorrow morning, before you begin, I’ll address any concerns you may have. What I did want to mention this evening is that in the event you’re successful in solving all the challenges, there will be an impressive reward. Mr. Zachetti has informed me he’d be delighted to gift the bridal couple with an exceptional, all-expense-paid luxury honeymoon that includes the use of this island, the staff, and his fifty-foot yacht, as well as significant spending money to make sure the event is sufficiently memorable. Mr. Zachetti believes that performances are enhanced when there are appropriate rewards offered. We hope this offer provides sufficient motivation to you to succeed.”

Gio jumped up from his chair in excitement, pumping his fist. “Eccellente! Oh, si, I’m absolutely motivated now. Let’s do this!”

Claps, laughs, and excited chatter filled the dining room. Brando gave a flourishing bow and disappeared into the kitchen. Gio sat down and planted a big kiss on his fiancée’s lips.

“Well, that’s not dodgy at all,” Oscar muttered to me. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see Gio and Vittoria win the honeymoon of their dreams, but I’m still not sure what an escape room is.”

I took a sip of my Italian red wine, and as expected, it was excellent. “It’s a room full of puzzles or challenges of some kind that you have to solve before you can get out.” I set my glass down. “I’ve done a few of them before, and they aren’t that hard. The rooms at this castle, I suspect, will be quite different.”

“Well, Romeo, I mean, Slash, is good at puzzles, and apparently you are, too, so maybe we have a fighting chance.”

Oh, we had a chance, but I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I didn’t want to discourage him, either. It was a fine line to walk. “There’s always a chance.”

Chiara stopped by to refill our wine and water. I noticed Oscar downed both glasses in quick succession.

“Are you okay?” I asked him. He was still sweating profusely and kept tugging on his tie.

He leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice. “Just between you and me, I hate wearing a tie. Feels like I’m being bloody choked.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “I hate wearing a bra.” I winced the second the words left my lips. “And… I think that wasn’t appropriate to say to my father-in-law.” My entire face heated.

He snorted, and I wasn’t sure how to take that. I didn’t have time to stress about it, because Ciro set a plate of pasta in front of each of us at the same moment.

“It’s penne arrabbiata,” Ciro said before I could ask. “The sauce is made from fresh tomatoes, garlic, and dried red chili peppers sautéed in olive oil. It’s one of Papa’s specialties. You’ll enjoy it, si?”

I looked down at it, considering. It looked good and smelled even better. “Si, grazie.”

Ciro returned to the kitchen for more plates, so Mia leaned over and examined my plate. “He’s correct this time,” she said, sniffing. “I love penne arrabbiata. But beware. As my host mama says, foods are best dressed up with a little Louisiana lightning.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I said. “And English is my native language.”

“It means the food has a strong…bite,” she said.

“You mean a kick?”

“Si.” She tasted the food. “Yes, a kick. But it’s good. Deliziosa.”

I cautiously sampled the penne. It was delicious, but certainly had a kick. I looked over at Oscar, who’d taken a bite and immediately drunk water.

Slash caught my eye across the table and smiled. I gave him a thumbs-up and took another bite of the penne. The more I ate it, the less spicy it seemed.

That didn’t seem true for Oscar. After a minute, he set down his fork on his plate and dabbed his mouth again with his napkin. “This is a bit too hot for my palate.” Oscar drank more water, then abruptly stood. His face was beet red. “Excuse me, would you?” He set his napkin on his chair and walked away.

I finished off my penne. I was full even though another plate of roasted vegetables had arrived. I sat back in my chair, speared a couple of the green beans, and sipped my wine. Since Oscar was gone and Mia was chatting with Tito, no one was bothering me.

Just the way I liked it.

After a few minutes, Mia turned to me. “Where did he go?” she asked, motioning toward Oscar’s empty chair.

I shrugged. “The bathroom, maybe.”

“The bathroom is that way,” she said, pointing to the direction we’d come into the dining room. “I saw him go that way, which is where the outdoor balcony is located. Do you think he’s okay?”

How would I know? I’d just met the man, even if he was now technically my family. I glanced down the table, where his wife and my mother-in-law, Juliette, was in deep conversation with my mother. I wondered what they were talking about and sincerely hoped it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t put it past Mom to tell Slash’s mother about the temper tantrum I’d had when I was three because she wouldn’t let me take my first notebook computer into the bathtub.

Jeez. The risk of interrupting and finding out they were talking about me was too great.

“I’ll go check on Oscar.” I stood, putting my napkin in the chair like Oscar had done.

No one paid any attention to me as I walked toward the balcony. A few of the large, elegant French doors had been thrown open, and I could feel the cool breeze and smell the ocean as I exited the dining room and strolled out onto the balcony.

I shivered, pulling my sweater a little tighter around my waist, looking for Oscar. I saw a dark shape leaning over the railing toward the end of the balcony a few feet away. I hurried toward it.

“Oscar?” I said as I got closer. “Are you okay?”

His reply was the most horrible sound I’d ever heard. It was a cross between a hyena giving birth and the belching of an African hippo, and yes, I’d heard them both before. He projectile vomited over the side of the balcony, waving an arm at me in what I presumed was his way of telling me to stay back. He didn’t have to worry. I quickly moved several steps away.

After a few seconds of that horrible sound, he rested his forehead against the balcony handrail. “I didn’t know which way was the loo, but it’s too late now. Dinner didn’t agree with me. Obviously, I don’t do well with spicy food.”

Unfortunately, my stomach took that moment to churn uncomfortably. I pressed a hand against my midsection. I knew what was happening and didn’t know how to stop it.

“Oh, no. I… I’m so sorry,” I said weakly. “I have this problem.”

He lifted his head and looked at me in disbelief. “You have a problem?”

I didn’t have time to answer. Instead, I leaned over the balcony and threw up my entire dinner. I maintained sufficient presence of mind to calculate the wind strength, direction, and even anticipated ejection velocity to avoid any residue on my clothes. I was incapacitated for a least a minute and when I was done, I looked over in mortification at Oscar, who was staring at me with wide eyes.

Maybe I sounded like a hyena, too.

“I’m a sympathetic vomiter,” I managed, using my fingertips to wipe my mouth. “I guess Slash didn’t tell you that about me.” I tried to laugh, but it came out as a dry heave instead. I leaned against the balcony on shaky legs.

“No, that didn’t come up in conversation,” Oscar said, still staring at me. “I’ll have to have a talk with that boy.”

Before I could say anything more, he barfed over the side again. I immediately followed suit until I could hardly breathe. We leaned against the rail, miserable and shaking, until we were startled by a voice.

“Excuse me. What’s going on out here?”