I came in closer to the picture, wondering what the fuck BFO was.
Violet laughed. “Her bitch face on.”
“She was judging a dance competition,” I said.
“Yeah, but when she gets like that, it doesn’t inspire confidence.”
“No,” I said, moving on. “She’s savage when she needs to be. She’s a woman who knows what the hell she’s doing. Better she gives it straight before someone else does. That doesn’t make her a bitch. That’s knowing what the hell you’re about.”
“Husband love,” Violet muttered.
Romeo’s head came around, staring at the screen. He grinned. “Have you seen my page,fratello?”
“You have a page.”
“I have two,” he said, grinning. “One of me is just not enough.”
“He made me!” Violet said, pushing him. “He has one for his person and one for his, um…”
Umcould’ve been anything with him. Scarlett followed him in this madness, so he used her profile to navigate to his page. He had more followers than she did. Then he used his page to navigate to another.
Before he could respond, I had my answer.
“The Hair,” I said. His page was full of pictures of his hair—stroking it, at the hair salon, from all different perspectives, strands taken with a micro lens. He even had video tutorials on how to achieve his level of hair.
“You’re pathetic,” I said, attempting to go back to Scarlett’s page.
“You are just jealous.” He turned to the nearest mirror, running a slow hand through his locks. “I am famous. We both are.”
“Not as famous as me,” Rocco said, shoving him out of the way. He took the same steps to find his page.TheRocco Fausti.
Dario shoved in next, finding his page.The(architect) Dario Fausti.
“Aliens fucking invaded,” I said, looking around at all of them. They all seemed excited about this. “There’s no appeal.”
“I want one,” Guido said, sounding like a kid who wasn’t invited to a party. “Why has no one offered me one?”
“Ooh!” Violet popped up. “Let’s get started!”
“What are you on about?” Dario said to me, messing Romeo’s hair to piss him off. “You have the most popular page,fratello. The Hair isgeloso!”
Violet became still.
“Violet,” I said.
“It wasn’t my idea! Women kept posting on Scarlett’s page, asking about you. Okay.” She huffed out a breath. “Maybe it was my idea. But it helped!”
“Show me,” I said.
“Here,” Romeo said, taking the lead. His eyes scanned the screen as he expertly clicked his way to a page with my picture on it.
There I was, in a circle of my own. Rising up out of the Mediterranean Sea, water streaming down my body, one hand in my hair.
I had my own line of stats—posts, followers, following. I had more followers than The Hair. The list of pages I followed was just as slim as Scarlett’s. I followed my own wife. Half of the pictures I had never seen before, taken without my knowledge.
“TheBrando Fausti,” I read. Underneath my name the description said The Hungry-Eyed Beast. “Violet, what the fuck is this?”
“Well…” She twisted her hands. “You see. Ur, well, women—”
