None of the men he came with would say his name, and when Anna had her husband, Fabrizio, ask Uncle Tito about him, he said it didn’t matter, because he would be leaving soon. He was only passing through. The money he earned for harvesting the pistachios would go for his room and board.
“Stop lying to yourself, Alcina,” Anna said. “He might be trouble. But youlikehim. Youlikethe way he looks. Admit it to me—or I will invite him over for dinner and prove it.”
“Do it,” I said, opening my arms, but secretly thrilling at the sound of my name, because it was rare when we got to use it. “You can’t tell when Ilikesomeone.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I can! You start blinking, like this—” She started opening and closing her eyes, going as fast as she could.
“You are lying!” I laughed, not really meaning to. She looked ridiculous.
“Am not!” She laughed even harder. “You did the same thing when Ezio, the Greek god, would talk to you. Right before we left Forza d’Agrò for New York. You would write his name in your notebook, and you cried when he got married. He was eighteen, you were eight, a baby to him.”
I turned to face the window again, looking out at the darkness, not able to see through it. I never could, not unless the moon was out and it shed some light on the everlasting night of my life. Even in the day, darkness cloaked me.
“Heisbeautiful, Alcina. In the way men are when they are strong and confident. And those eyes—” She sighed. “You’re not the only one who has noticed.Papàtold me Calista almost trips over her feet when he comes into the restaurant. Evenmammahas blinked at him a few times.”
I turned and she was blinking at me again, a smile lingering on her face.
“He is trouble,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “He knows who I am.”
She shrugged. “He only watchedpapàandmamma.”
“Studying them to get to me,” I said. “If the bull—Junior—” I hated to say his name, but I did it sometimes just to spite him. Other times, he was the bull.
“Uncle Tito wouldn’t have brought him if he felt he was a danger. And if he is—” She made a snipping motion at me. “You still have the shears.”
We stared at each other for a second before my grin matched hers, and we started laughing.
She lifted a pointer finger. “The bull—poetic justice at its finest. If you have to make this one into a eunuch, that would be such a shame. He issopretty.”
I shook my head at her. “I am taken, remember?”
“I remember,” she said. “So is he. Uncle Tito told me he is arranging his marriage. He will be married by the time he leaves. But.” She bit her bottom lip, tilting her head a bit. “We must fight fire with water. He is not married yet, and neither are you. If he claims you…” She shrugged. “Let him fight for you.”
I laughed, louder than she had. “Claim me?”
She nodded. “In a way that you have never been claimed before. The way he was looking at you today…” She nodded. “I recognized it. Most woman can’t, unless another woman tells them—a woman has no idea what it means to be claimed, untilaftershe is.”
“I thought the woman claims the man,” I said.
“True, we do, but we make themthinkthey claim us first.” She grinned, and it was evil. “You think you are sly, but I saw what you did. You dropped that glove on purpose, to have him pick it up for you.”
My heart fluttered a bit, remembering the moment. I silenced it with thoughts from the past. “It does not matter,” I said. “What is done is done.”
“Nothing isdone,” she called after me as I opened the door to leave, grabbing the shears I carried with me. “Not until your final breath!”
It was something ourmammatold us—life was not done until we were. If we were still breathing, we still had a reason.
The lights were on outside, old-style lanterns on the villa, and when I turned, I found jeweled eyes, the color of dark amber, staring back at me. He stood against the house, one shoulder against it, waiting.
“Alcina,” he said, and my name sounded so beautiful from his mouth.
Even when he had stopped me earlier in the groves, when I’d dropped the glove on purpose, his voice had that same calm to it, and it was smooth.Fucking, as they would say in America,deceptive.
He didn’t need to flaunt his power. It was just…his. He owned it, like the scent in the air around him. A fine cologne that was his alone and unforgettable. It was mixed with his sweat and the dirt from working the harvest.
I turned toward him, narrowing my eyes to see him better, and then, without thinking twice, snapped the clippers in the direction of his balls. “Stay away from me,scorpione,” I said, equally as quiet. Then I turned, the feeling of his eyes on my back refusing to leave me, even in my dreams. And even in dreams, he was never what he seemed.
8
