* * *
Surprises when it came to Scarlett were my Achilles heel. To say that I hated them was the understatement of the decade. When she kept something from me, she could’ve just dangled me upside down in the River Styx to make my life easier. Knowing this, she waited until the last second to tell me she had something planned.
“A surprise, Brando,” she said, giving me a mean look, “does not mean doomsday!”
All I could do was grumble in response. She mimicked me but stopped when she realized how serious I was.
“I promise—gah!” She took a quick step back, closer to the door leading out of the apartment, further from me. The apartment had wrap-around windows, and from the iron-railed balcony, living room, dining room, bedroom, and kitchen, a clear view of the Eiffel Tower was visible. Her eyes seem to glitter with Parisian light. “I’m taking you to see something.”
“Tell me.”
“Full circle, Brando.”
“I don’t like this. And I don’t do well with code, Scarlett. Is one of those voices in your head me? Because if so, it should be rattling your brain right about now, demanding to know what the fuck is going on.”
She hesitated for a second, nostrils flaring in indignation. “Get in the car, Fausti. Have a little trust. And I’m not so sure youcan’thear the voices! It’s almost eerie the way you read me. Before I can even ask, you speak the answer. Explainthat, will you?”
I couldn’t even see what she was wearing. She had hidden in the bathroom and then covered herself with a long black coat before coming out. Her hair was done in a Brigitte Bardot up-do, and the makeup on her face sparkled against the haloing lights of the slick night. The ballet slippers on her feet gave me a clue, but it was minuscule and not enough.
She made me promise I wouldn't force the surprise out of her, and if I did, she'd refuse to go and be heartbroken. This both intrigued and tortured me.
“You can’t distract me, Scarlett. I always know which cup the ball is in.”
“Pfft!”
I waved off the attendant from the apartment, opening Scarlett’s door myself. She hopped in, saying hello to Guido, who was the designated driver.
“You knew about this,” I said to him after the attendant shut the door.
“I know our direction,” was all he said as he smoothly pulled out into traffic.
“Traditore.”
He ignored this, pretending like I didn’t exist. He was lucky that he was family. And that he was finding marriage to a hot-tempered woman harder than he had bargained for. A few times I almost offered him the stomach pills Tito had once given me, but I decided to let him take the initiative for his own health.
I was drowning in my own crisis at the moment. Some people are terrified of planes or heights or being submerged underwater, where all control has to be forfeited in exchange for the experience—this, this situation right here, was on the top of my list of things that made me fucking sweat.
Paris was no longer in the freeze of winter. Early signs of spring had started to creep in, all of the ice melted, flowers starting to bloom. The air was still cool, though, not yet fully giving over to the next season.
All I felt was the fires of hell. Five shades of fucking Hades.
Scarlett peered out of the window. “Almost there,mio marito.” Then she turned and wiped beads of perspiration from my head.
I took her wrist and held it. Her feline eyes took me in. “I promise,” she whispered. “This is good.She is yoursto giveyoua gift.”
Whatever she saw on my face made her go limp. I decreased the pressure I had on her wrist and she moved in closer to me.
“We’re going to the Palais Garnier. Is that enough?”
Not nearly. After twenty minutes of hell, where I was pretty sure I met the devil and argued with him, along with picking up a few voices of my own, we arrived at our destination. The breath in me came easier. A cool breeze blew against us, relieving ice against flaming skin.
Palais Garnier partnered with Scarlett’s ballet shoes made sense, and my heart started to beat overtime for a different reason. Expectation.
The feeling made me reach out, and I pulled her to me, harder than intended. She gasped but molded into me. She was as cool as the wind, her fingers as soft asfarfallawings against my throat.
“Baciami,” she said, her eyes pleading, her hands fisting in my shirt.Kiss me.
She closed her eyes in anticipation, her lids shining in the dark night, shimmering like the cobblestone streets lit by gas lanterns. I leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against her lips. It took her a moment to open her eyes, to focus, but once she did, she took my hand and led me into the building.
