No Escape by Julie Moffett

 

Chapter Twelve

 

Lexi Carmichael

 

We both looked over in alarm and saw Carlo, the chef, looking at us in concern. “Are you well?”

“Oh, Carlo, good evening,” I said, trying to block his view of Oscar. “We’re perfectly fine. We’re just…getting some fresh air.”

“Is everything okay with the dinner?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s fantastic. So…amazingly tasty.” I could hear Oscar choking behind me and sensed my stomach squeeze in sympathy. “Thank you for checking on us. Oscar and I are just getting acquainted. We’ll be right back in. We wouldn’t want to miss dessert.”

Carlo nodded a bit uncertainly but walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, Oscar threw up over the side again. I joined him. This was turning into a nightmare. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get ourselves together enough to go back inside.

“Cara?”

Slash had somehow appeared beside me, moving so quietly I hadn’t heard him. Of course, I’d been making a lot of noise, so he could have walked like an elephant and I might not have heard him. He looked over my shoulder in alarm. “Oscar, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t ask,” Oscar said, leaning back against the balcony. “It’s a long story.”

Slash looked between his stepfather and me as if he were trying to figure things out. I decided to help him.

“You didn’t tell Oscar I’m a sympathetic vomiter.” I held my stomach and leaned my head against his shoulder. “So, now he knows.”

“Mio Dio,” he murmured in shock, putting an arm around my shoulders, steadying me. “What happened with you two?”

“Dinner,” Oscar said. “It was a bit spicy for me. Lexi came to check on me and unfortunately saw me in action. Apparently, she has a condition that compels her do the same if she sees someone vomit. So, here we are. Jolly good on us.”

Slash closed his eyes, and I wished more than anything I’d stayed safely in my dinner seat.

“I think I’m finished, though,” Oscar said, trying to be upbeat but not quite succeeding. “Which should be a good thing for you, Lexi. Right?”

“Right,” I quickly agreed.

“Are you okay, cara?” Slash asked, tipping my chin up and studying my face in the moonlight.

“I think so,” I said. “Luckily I didn’t get anything on my dress… I hope. Can you check?”

Slash turned me toward the light and examined me. “You look fine. Oscar, are you steady?”

He sighed. “Actually, I’m a bloody wreck, but I’ll manage.”

Slash handed his stepfather a handkerchief from his pocket, a gesture I found both heartwarming and sweet.

Oscar took the handkerchief and wiped his face and hands. “Much obliged.” He tucked the cloth in his pocket and straightened, fiddling with his tie. It was a losing battle, but to his credit, Slash didn’t say anything or try to fix it. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to your mother.”

“My lips are sealed,” Slash assured him.

“Mine, too,” I added. “As long as there’s no more vomiting. Deal?”

“Deal,” Oscar said as we headed back inside.

Slash and I hung back a little, and he pulled me in closer to his warmth. “This isn’t my fault,” I whispered before he could say anything. “I actually thought dinner was good. Maybe a little spicy, but not that bad. Oscar doesn’t like spicy food. He left and was gone awhile. Since your mother was talking to my mother, and I didn’t want to interrupt, I went to check on him. As soon as I saw him barfing over the balcony, well, it was all over at that point.”

“How long have you two been out here?” he asked.

“Five minutes? Twenty? Hard to say. Feels like a lifetime.”

“I thought you’d gone to the bathroom. I should have checked sooner.” He muttered something to himself in Italian.

“It’s okay. You know, I kind of like your stepfather. I have no idea what he thinks about me after the barf-fest, but at least we sort of bonded. Right?”

Slash kissed the top of my head, but it worried me he didn’t answer my question. “We only have a little longer to get through dinner and then we’ll call it a night. Think you can manage?”

“What else could go wrong?” I asked and then covered my mouth. “Nope. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“I’ll be watching you, so if you need to escape earlier, just tap your nose as we planned, and I’ll make up an excuse, okay?”

I wanted to leave immediately, but I knew that would be impolite and draw attention to us, something I loathed more than sticking around. I figured if Oscar could suck it up, so could I. Plus, I would feel bad abandoning Oscar, in case something happened to him again. “Okay. Thanks.”

We had just seated ourselves when the dolce, or dessert, was served along with coffee and a digestivo, an after-dinner liqueur that I recognized as limoncello. I avoided that, given the shaky condition of my stomach. Mia informed me the dessert was zabaione, a whipped light custard made with egg yolks, sugar, and a sweet wine and served in a dessert glass. It looked delicious, but I didn’t feel like eating, so I poked and pushed it around, pretending to taste it. I noticed Oscar was doing the same when I glanced at him. He gave me a little smile, which made me feel that maybe we had made a connection of some kind, as strange as it was.

After another forty minutes or so, the table was cleared, and we were invited to retire to the lounge for a nightcap. I signaled to Slash that I was done, and he rose from the table to retrieve me. Everyone was milling about the room, laughing and chatting, so I thought it the perfect time for us to slip out. We headed for the exit but stopped when we ran into Father Armando.

“You promised me a minute to speak after dinner,” Father Armando said to Slash.

“I did, but Lexi is tired. Perhaps we could do this tomorrow?”

“It’s important to have a word with both of you tonight, but I promise to be as succinct as possible.”

Slash looked at me uncertainly, but I nodded. “I’m okay, Slash. We can do it.”

“Thank you,” Father Armando said. “I know a place we can speak privately. Please follow me.”

We trailed him out of the dining room, past the lounge, and into an unoccupied room that appeared to be a small interior office. A desk with a computer and a chair occupied one side of the room while a couple of bookshelves overflowing with books, boxes, and folders lined the other wall. Father Armando waved us toward a few chairs, and we sat down, looking at each other.

“Emilio, before you say anything, I have to thank you for whatever part you played in securing this venue for Gio and our family,” Slash said. “I can’t tell you how much this means to him, especially after all he’s been through to get married in the church. He’s thrilled to have this opportunity.”

Father Armando placed his hands on his knees, smoothed his cassock. “Yes, about that. I must tell you, I had nothing to do with changing Mr. Zachetti’s mind—well, at least not directly.”

“How’s that possible?” I asked. “A few days after I mentioned to you that we’d been turned down to visit the castle, his staff called to say Mr. Zachetti had changed his mind. No way that’s a simple coincidence.”

“You’re correct. It’s not a coincidence.”

“Then what is it?” Slash asked.

Father Armando shifted uncomfortably in his chair and avoided eye contact with Slash. “Well, I may have mentioned it in casual conversation with…a certain someone.”

“What certain someone?” I asked, looking between the two men.

Slash closed his eyes. “You didn’t.”

“I did, but I didn’t mean to,” Father Armando confessed. “I was just updating him on the plans for Gio’s wedding and the topic may have come up. What happened afterward was entirely up to him.”

“Wait, are we talking about the pope?” I asked. “You told the pope I tried to get us into Zachetti’s castle?”

“As I said before, I may have mentioned it, and he may have taken it from there.”

“I didn’t think Zachetti was a practicing Catholic,” Slash said. “Why would he entertain any request from the pope?”

“First of all, because he’s the pope.” Father Armando looked pointedly at Slash, and a slight flush crossed his face. “Secondly, it wasn’t a request. Not exactly.”

“What exactly was it, Emilio?” Slash asked.

Father Armando paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “As you know, the pope does not wager, gamble, or participate in any kind of betting.”

“Of course not,” Slash agreed.

“He may, however, have entered into a gentlemen’s agreement.”

“A gentlemen’s agreement?” Slash raised an eyebrow. “Involving what kind of stipulations?”

“As you heard tonight at dinner from Brando Porizio, Zachetti’s gamemaster, if you were to solve all the challenges in the castle, he has agreed to pay for Gio and Vittoria’s honeymoon and throw in spending money as well.”

“That’s quite generous of him,” I commented. “Not to mention motivating.”

“Yes, but you see, Zachetti was not convinced the wedding party could stand a chance at solving even one of his challenges. After all, if the brightest minds in the scientific and gaming world had teamed against him and failed, what prospect would a family of unassuming Italians, Brits, and Americans, with no known credentials, have to solve them? So, the Holy Father told Mr. Zachetti he had every confidence that you could take on all of his challenges and come out victorious.”

“All of the challenges,” Slash repeated.

“Whoa. The pope bet on us?” I said incredulously.

“He made a gentleman’s agreement,” Father Armando gently corrected me.

I looked between Slash and Father Armando, who were staring at each other. I wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but I had questions. “What happens if we don’t solve all the challenges?”

The father broke eye contact with Slash and turned toward me. “If you fail to solve even one of the challenges, you lose, and the pope must make a donation to a charity of Zachetti’s choosing.”

“That’s not so bad,” I said. “I fail to see a downside, except Gio and Vittoria don’t get their all-expense-paid honeymoon.”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Father Armando replied.

I sighed and leaned back in the chair. “When is it ever?”

A smile touched Father Armando’s lips. “The honeymoon story was told to the rest of the wedding party to keep them invested in solving the puzzles. And indeed, Dante Zachetti will grant Gio and Vittoria a spectacular honeymoon here on his island and yacht. But that’s not the full agreement.”

He paused, and I waited curious as to where this was going. “If you win and solve all the puzzles in the castle, Zachetti has agreed to make a significant donation to a charity of the pope’s choosing.”

I held up my hands. “Great. What kind of donation are we talking about?”

“Fifteen million euros.”

“What?” I whistled in surprise. Was Zachetti that convinced, or so egotistical, that he believed no one could solve his puzzles? “That’s a heck of a lot of money.”

“It is.”

“Which charity will be the recipient of the cash?” Slash asked, leaning forward and resting his hands on his thighs.

“The new state-of-the art orphanage the pope has been planning. It’ll be able to house one thousand children from all over Italy. You both know how close building the orphanage is to his heart. Given an infusion of this amount of cash, it would become a reality much sooner than he ever anticipated.”

Slash got a distant look in his eyes, and I could guess what he was thinking. He’d once been an orphan himself. That he could help bring the Holy Father’s dream to reality would mean a lot to him. I had to give it to the pope. If nothing else, he certainly knew how to motivate Slash and, by extension, me.

“That’s quite a challenge,” I said. “Obviously there’s a lot more at stake than a honeymoon. The orphanage, the pope’s faith in us, and the pope’s reputation are all riding on our capabilities. No freaking pressure.”

“We’re certain you, and your family, can handle it.”

Slash stood, walking the length of the room and back, his thinking mode. “So, all twelve of us must participate in the challenges, correct?”

“Yes,” Father Armando said. “Although I don’t know the exact rules for the escape rooms yet. I’ve been told those will be laid out for you tomorrow before the first challenge, but on that one, Zachetti was clear. All twelve of you must participate.”

That concerned me, because I wasn’t sure how my mother, Oscar, Vittoria, who was seven months pregnant, and a teenage girl were going to handle or contribute to the challenges. Not to mention everyone else I didn’t really know.

“Your presence here, Emilio, makes thirteen of us,” Slash said. “How does Zachetti account for that?”

“Oh, I’m here as the pope’s representative only, an observer to ensure the pope’s interests are protected. Dante personally invited me. I am not expected to participate in the challenges. And, please, no one else must know of the gentlemen’s agreement or it will become null and void. So, you will do your best?”

Slash exchanged a glance with me, and I shrugged, indicating I was in if he was, but leaving the decision in his hands.

A muscle in his jaw ticked before he gave a nod. “Your faith in us is not misplaced. We’ll solve the escape rooms, Emilio.”

“Of course you will,” Father Armando said as he stood. “We have every confidence in you and your families.”

While I appreciated that confidence, keeping everyone else engaged and committed to the challenges wouldn’t be easy.

“Emilio, where’s the orphanage going to be built?” Slash suddenly asked.

“Salerno, of course.”

Of course. The pope had thought of everything. Salerno was a special place to Slash and me. We’d recently been given the proverbial keys to the city after helping avert a major disaster that could have killed dozens of people, including children. Plus, it was the place where Slash’s biological father had been born and buried. It was a place we’d always hold close in our hearts.

“Salerno,” I repeated.

Father Armando placed a hand on Slash’s shoulder. “That’s not all. The orphanage is to be named after your father. His Holiness knew that would mean a lot to you…in many ways.”

Slash stilled, and after a moment, he slipped his father’s silver cross out from beneath his shirt and kissed it. “Si, it does. I will do my best to make you both proud.”

“You always do, my son.” Father Armando smiled and his smile included me. “You both do.”