MARRIED TO MY ENEMY

TAXI WAR

**CHAPTER 2: THE TAXI WAR**

I push through the glass doors and the hot air hits me right away.

It's thick and wet. It sticks to my skin. The parking lot is almost empty. Just a few yellow lights buzzing overhead. I’m so tired and hungry. I wasn’t sure I was going to want this night.

I pull my pink suitcase behind me. The wheels wobble on the cracked pavement.

This is not like any airport I've ever seen. There's no driver waiting with my name on a sign. There's no black car. There's no security.

It's just me. Alone. At midnight. In a country I've never been to. I have been to different countries but not this.

My heart is beating fast again. I'm scared and this looks like the start of a horror movie. The dumb rich girl who runs away and gets lost.

This is the first time I've ever traveled alone. The first time I've ever really run away.

I take my phone out of my pocket. It's dead. I forgot. I threw the SIM away inside. I have no way to call anyone.

I have a crumpled receipt in my other hand. It says Blueview Hotel. That's it. No address. No number. Just the name.

I look down the curb. There are three taxis parked. Two of them have their lights off. The drivers are asleep inside with the windows down.

One has its light on. The engine is running.

"Taxi!" I call out. My voice sounds small in all that empty space.

The taxi with the light on starts to roll toward me. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Thank God.

It stops in front of me. I grab the back door handle. The car smells like old cigarettes inside.

"Blueview Hotel," I tell the drive.

He nods. He doesn't even look at me. "Okay."

I'm about to get in when the other back door on the other side opens.

Someone else is trying to get in at the exact same time.

"Hey," I say. "I called this first."

I look up.

It's him.

Airport guy,Green eyes,White shirt.

Of course it's him.

"You have got to be kidding me," I whisper as I glared at him.

He looks at me and his eyes narrow. He knows it's me. He looks annoyed.

Good. I'm annoyed to and he was smattfeeew

"It's my taxi," I say louder. "I called it first."

"Nope," he says. He holds his door open like he owns it. "It's mine."

"You did not!" My voice goes up. I hate when it does that. "I was standing here. I called it!"

I'm pointing at the ground like an i***t. My mom would kill me if she saw me like this.

He leans against his door. He still has that black suitcase at his feet. His shirt is still wrinkled. "I saw it first from over there," he says. "First come, first served, princess."

Princess again. He says it like it's a bad word.

No one calls me that. My brothers call me principessa. Men in Milan call me miss. Strangers don't call me anything because they're scared of my last name.

"Call me whatever you want," I say. "It's still my taxi."

"Sir, can we go please?" I say to the driver. He's awake now and watching us in the mirror. He looks tired.

Airport guy moves fast and grabs my door. He tries to pull it shut while I'm still holding it.

We end up in the stupidest tug of war ever. Both of us holding the same taxi door in an empty parking lot in Bali at midnight. Me in my cheap dress and sandals. Him in his wrinkled shirt.

If my father's men could see me now they would quit.

"What is wrong with you?" I shout. My voice echoes. "Let go!"

"You let go," he says back. "This is my cab."

We sound like two little kids fighting over a toy.

The driver sighs loud. "Who called first?"

"I did!" we both say at the same time.

The driver rubs his eyes. "Look, I don't know. Just share. It's a big island. I can drop you both."

I stare at him. Share a taxi? With him?

No way. I'd rather walk. Barefoot. Through the jungle.

"No," I say. Then I look at him and he's actually smirking at me. That makes me madder. "No! I'm not sharing anything with him! This is my taxi!"

He just looks amused. Men are usually scared of me. He isn't scared at all. He doesn't even know who I am.

The driver shakes his head. He's done with us. "Forget it."

He puts the car in drive.

Before either of us can move, he just drives away. Fast. The tires kick up little rocks that hit my legs. The red lights disappear down the dark road.

We're left standing there in the quiet. Both of us still holding air where the door was.

I watch my only ride leave.

For a second we just stand there.

Then I turn on him. "This is all your fault!" I yell. "My taxi is gone because of you! How am I supposed to get to my hotel now?"

He doesn't even answer me. He just looks down the road, then back at the airport, then starts looking for another taxi like I'm not there.

He's ignoring me. My father pays people to not ignore me.

That makes me even more mad.

The place is dead. No cars. No people. Just the buzzing lights and crickets somewhere and a dog barking far away. The air is so thick my dress sticks to my back.

I make a frustrated noise in my throat. He glances at me for one second, then walks a few feet away from me down the curb.

Rude. I'm great company. I have a trust fund. Well, I had one.

I stand there tapping my sandal on the ground. Minutes go by. I'm starting to panic for real. No phone. No SIM. No language. Just a hotel name on a wet receipt in my hand.

What if there are no more taxis? What if I have to sleep in the airport? What if my father's men find me because I'm too stupid to get a cab?

I tell myself to breathe. Chloe would tell me to breathe. She would also tell me this was a bad plan.

I'm about to sit down on my suitcase and cry when I see it.

Headlights. Far down the dark road. Coming slow.

A car is coming.

Thank God.

I grab my suitcase and run toward the lights, waving my arms like a crazy person. It's another taxi. An old silver Toyota. It slows down and stops right in front of me.

I don't think. I throw open the back door, toss my suitcase in, and jump in after it. I slam the door shut.

I look out the window. He's still standing under that streetlight, black suitcase in his hand, watching me. He didn't even try to run for it.

I can't help it. I smile. The biggest, most smug smile I have.

"Blueview Hotel," I tell the driver. My voice is sweet. "And please, drive fast."

The taxi pulls away. I keep my eyes on him in the mirror. He just stands there, getting smaller and smaller, hands in his pockets, face blank.

He lost. I won.

And it feels so good. Better than shopping in Milan. Better than first class. Better than anything.

Take that, princess? No. Take that, jerk.

The driver turns onto the main road and Bali is dark outside my window. I finally lean back against the seat. My heart is still pounding.

I tell myself I don't care that I left him there. I tell myself I don't care if I ever see him again.

So why do I keep looking back in the mirror?