I scoffed at this.
Fausti men were not known for giving in, especially if another man was threatening to infringe on their territory. If a Fausti man loved a woman, she was his, end of story.
That didn’t mean the woman was helpless—far from it. Lou seemed to be keeping up with Guido. She was driving him insane and had been for some time.
Lou blamed all of the mess she found herself in on Instagram. Her best friend had encouraged her to join a dating website, and accidentally finding the wrong site, she joined Instagram, thinking it was for dating.
Guido had joined the same day, and she was the first to like his profile. He clicked on hers, and well, here she was in Vegas with him.
For two days we reveled in Lou and Guido’s love troubles, finding it meatier and safer than what waited for us beyond the gates ofParadiso.
The night of Primo Bruno’s match, Lou offered to do my hair and makeup. She said it would give her something to do, something other than arguing with Guido.
I glanced at the clock. She was late. I started to assemble all of the products myself. If she made it, fine, they’d be ready. If not, I’d go ahead and do it myself. Besides, my thoughts were still on Violet. She had called to tell me that she was pregnant again.
Brando had long since dressed, looking dapper in his suit and tie—and then dressed again. I had undressed him to be sure what lie beneath still looked the same. It didn’t. It was even better. He was like the gift that kept on giving, without giving me a child.
I detected a little sass from one of the voices inside of my head, but I ignored it.
A knock came at the door ten minutes later. From the plush bathroom—all Italian marble, crystal knobs, and gold furnishings—I could hear muttering. Brando’s voice came to me first, then Guido’s, and then Lou’s. Guido responded to whatever she said, and then I heard her groan.
“Baby,” Brando called. “You have visitors.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice. It was sly. And why didn’t he just send her back?
“What—” I said, entering the media room. Then I stopped when I hit the tension wall.
Brando sat on the sofa, a smug grin on his face. Guido was almost purple. Lou was as colorless as a carved stone in a graveyard.
“What did I miss?” I finally managed to get out.
“Ah,” Brando said, giving me a full smile. “Just their wedding.”
“Wedding?”
“We are married,” Guido said. There was finality to his tone that made me narrow my eyes at him.
“I want an annulment!” Lou said, twisting her hands.
“Oh.” I was taken back. “How long ago did this wedding take place?”
“Last night,” Guido said, turning toward the window and looking out over the yard, at the fountain trickling over.
Lou glanced at the sofa, but not wanting to sit next to the gloating Italian sitting on it, she seemed to slump into herself instead. I pointed to a single chair, but I don’t think she noticed.
“It is final,” Guido continued. “We consummated our marriage. She is mine.”
Lou flung her hands to her face, groaning and muttering unintelligible things. Then she released her hands, glaring at Guido’s back.
“Do you even hear yourself?She is mine,” she mimicked his tone, which was final, no room for argument. “Have you time-traveled here from the seventeen hundreds? Or do you come from further back?”
“I do not need to go back any further than last night, wife,”he said in Italian. Then he went and poured himself a drink from the wet bar.
“Wha?” Lou looked at me for help. “How is this supposed to work? Sometimes he refuses to even speak to me in English! I have some Italian, but only the bad words! What doesmoglieeven mean?”
“It means,” I said, attempting to hide my smile. Brando leaned forward and pinched my behind to try and get me to outright laugh. I smacked his hand. He was having too much fun with this. “It meanswife.”
Lou opened her mouth and then shut it on a snap. I sensed it then. She had softened at the word, but she recovered quickly. Not quick enough. Guido had sensed and seen it too. It was as though she had been hit in the stomach with a love ball and had become breathless.
