He was quiet for so long that if the humming between us didn’t exist, I would have checked to see if he had left. He hadn’t.
Then, like a wild animal pouncing on smaller prey, he moved so quick that the pecan pieces flew up in the air and the bowl landed with a crash on the floor a second later.
He held me by the shoulders, his grip firm, his breath coming out in hot streams, reminding me of the dragon some people called him. “You have a right to your feelings,” he said, his voice stone cold. “But you will not be indifferent to me, am I clear?”
I shoved at his chest, but he wasn’t to be budged. Instead, he kissed me, with enough force that our lips smacked and our teeth clacked. All of the fight drained out of me, and I knew I had gone limp in his arms when the pressure on my shoulders increased to help keep my knees from going out.
His eyes were hot on mine, making sweat start to collect underneath my breasts, as he broke the kiss. He spoke in Italian—almost slowly, to make sure that I heard and understood each word. “If we were alone, I’d have you up against the wall, fucking you until you screamed out what I want to hear.”
My assent came out as a moan. His threat almost had me packing up my things, begging him to take me home, and all he had done was kiss me.
A second later, the door opened and Eunice came in, humming softly. She was here visiting while Burgess was off doing his boxing thing with Primo Bruno. Brando must’ve heard her before I had, hence the “alone” comment.
“I’m going for a run,” Brando said, leaving me in bodily confusion and without a backward glance.
Eunice, sweet, oblivious Eunice, peeked into the oven. “Oh, doesn’t this look nice! I love a good hummingbird cake.”
I brought my hand up to my lips, reveling in the tingle he had left behind and missing him as though he had left me forever. I almost ran behind him, but I forced my feet to stay put.
“Look at you!” Eunice made her way over to me. She eyed me with a disapproving look,tsking. “Some of the flour still made it onto your pretty outfit.”
I looked down to refocus my attention. That morning, we had taken Mitch to finish selecting the paint colors for his house. Violet felt that even though my parents were taking good care of him, he was a man, and sooner or later, he would have to learn to live with himself again. Brando had agreed.
I had thrown on a soft, flowing black jumper, and after we arrived home, I’d added a thin gold poncho, because my father kept the house negative below. The humidity from outside made me feel wet. The two together made me shiver.
The fabric was stained with poofs of flour and touches of powder from chopped nuts.
Eunice leaned forward, taking one piece of the soiled black fabric and rubbing it insistently with another clean piece. She grunted with effort, trying to erase the stains. Then she paused, looking up at me. “Oh, Scarlett.”
“What?” I replied softly.
“Sit down, Kewpie.” Rarely did Eunice call me Kewpie anymore. She had once told me that my hair reminded her of a Kewpie dolls when I was a newborn. My mother didn’t like the nickname, so it didn’t stick, but Eunice sometimes whispered it behind her back. “You’re all flushed.”
My hands went instinctively to my face, cold fingers to scalding skin. She led me to a chair and had me sit. Then she put water in the kettle to boil.
“Let’s have some tea.” After the tick of the stove and the hiss of flames, the smell of natural gas floated in the air, reminding me of cold mornings and warm drinks. “You know,” she said, staring hard at the rose pattern on the kettle. “Your mother had different symptoms for each of her pregnancies. For Charlotte, she could not stand to even see food in the morning. For Elliott…oh, it was pineapple! Had to have it. And for you, it was ice cream topped with fresh fruit, and she couldn’t stand thesmellof chicken. But for each one, she had the flush.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, and again, I touched my cheek. “The flush?”
“Yes. Her skin would get as thin as paper, and the rush of blood to her cheeks would stain like cherry juice. Your father would thrill to see it.”
“He would?”
Eunice opened the cabinet and took out two teabags, fragrant with cinnamon and spices, then dropped them into mugs.
“Parents are funny, aren’t they?” She smiled, almost knowingly, into the empty mug. “We think we know them. Of course, we’ve lived with them our entire lives, why shouldn’t we? But do we, really? We know our parents as parents. Consider this: once upon a time, perhaps your mother stole away in the middle of the night to meetyourfather—inhisold Chevy.”
It took me a moment to realize that she wasn’t talking about my parents at all. She was talking about me. “Eunice!” If my cheeks were aflame before, now they were burning to a crisp. “You knew about that?”
“Eunice knows everything!” She giggled, pouring steaming water into each cup. “I might have been an old maid, but better to observe, hmm?”
“You never ratted on me.” I thanked her as she set the cup in front of me, the fragrance a warm blossom, tamed with milk and a hint of sugar. I put my hand over hers, to stop her from moving. “Why?”
She squeezed, causing the metal of my wedding rings to dig into my skin. “I don’t suppose I did. As to why—love is never wrong when it’s real. I couldn’t stop what was meant to be. Neither could your parents. That’s why, well, that’s why your mother let go.
“Not that she wanted to, but her options were limited. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Brando Fausti—she did and she does, like her own—but she also worried for her daughter’s heart. A man like him—” She shook her head. “He’s one big, fine-looking man. He has a lot of charm, when he wants to use it. You should know as well as anyone that being casual with him would be very hard to do. Yes, an arrangement was made, but I believe it was done for more than one reason.” She sighed. “In any case, he turned out all right. Love got ahold of him too. As soft as it is, it’s the hardest teacher.”
“It wasn’t just about my career?”
