Not meaning to, I smiled a little at that. Charm on him was a weapon. “Do you sing? Dance?”
“Neither.”
His body moved closer to mine and he leaned on his elbow. I could feel his eyes on me.
I asked him a few common questions (favorite food, favorite place to visit) and then a few that were not (favorite dream, favorite thing to do at night).
The last two he answered, simply, “You.”
I became quiet, thinking about the most important question before I asked it. “I am still here,” I whispered. “Why didn’t you take me back to New York? I know you could have found me sooner. You stayed inForza d’Agròlonger than you had to.”
His eyes were still on my face. After a few minutes, he turned away from me, reaching for something, and then it touched my leg. I took it from him, holding the picture up to the light to see it better.
“That,” he said.
I was around eleven, kneeling in church, amantelloon my head, my eyes closed, my rosary pressed to my lips. Candles burned in the background of the black and white photo. Mymammakept it on a table in hercasa.
“There is no color in that picture except for you,” he said. “I could see it. The life inside of you burning to be set free.”
“And you fell in love with me,” I teased.
He became quiet. I looked at him, meeting his eyes this time. He lifted his little finger. The round diamond and the smaller ones that created the band glinted against his skin.
I stared at the ring and then glanced at his eyes, at the ring, and then back to his eyes again. “I don’t understand,” I whispered.
He took my left hand and slipped the ring on my finger. It felt perfectly. I took it off and handed it back. I grabbed a sheet from the line, covering myself. Then I stood before he could grab me, but that did not mean he could not stop me.
“Alcina,” he said, settling comfortably, the calm in his voice unnerving now.
“We cannot!” I hissed, like someone could hear. “There are arrangements—for you and for me.”
“I knew you’d say that,” he said. “And I have an answer.”
“What is it?” I asked when he did not go on.
“Fuck the arrangements. I’m not bound, and neither are you.”
“I am!”
“You’re not. You’re bound to one man only.” He pointed at his chest. “Me.”
“They will kill you!”
“They won’t fucking touch you,” he said. “Or me.”
His arrogance suddenly made me want to strangle him.
“My choice,” I said. “And my answer is no.”
“You have no choice when it comes to us,” he said. “You know it as well as I do.”
“I will not curse my only love to death,” I said. “I will not!”
“You won’t,” he said.
“You are wrong.” I went to turn when he called my name again. I stopped, holding the sheet tighter to myself.
“Have you ever heard of Italian Roulette?”
