Brando pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t get serious on me now,” he whispered in my ear.
There was no time to get serious, because not long after, I fell asleep with the stars still spinning behind my eyes. Snippets of the conversation moved in and out with me, marking the passage of time. The last I heard before we pulled up the driveway to my parents’ place was Lou wondering aloud where a proper wedding should be held for her and Guido.
Lou had put stipulations on their upcoming nuptials. She’d choose a date, but that was not a promise that she’d marry him again. She wanted to take time to get to know him first. Perhaps that’s why Guido was so sour all of the time. He wanted her with all he was worth, and she held back.
Don’t hold back the tide, I muttered in response to my thoughts. Then,Venice, Venice would be the perfect spot for a gorgeous wedding. The boats, the beautiful buildings, the water… We had considered it.
In the next moment, in some dreamy haze, Brando held me in his arms, and his heart beat against my ear. Brando had covered me with the sweater I kept in the car. Yes, the weather sweltered, but it also saturated clothes with humidity, and when we were inside, the cold air clung.
I didn’t feel it this time. All of the windows inside my parents’ home had been opened, lace curtains shivering with the light breeze that filtered in. When I took a breath, it was hot and full of moisture, like taking a sip of tea.
“The air conditioner must’ve gone out,” Brando said. “The rain might bring us some peace until tomorrow.”
“It hasn’t rained ye—”
In rebuttal to what I was going to say, the house blanched with electric light, and then thunder barreled in the distance. If my feet would’ve been on the floor, the echo of it could have rattled bone. Rain started to fall in heavy sheets. No pitter-patter to kick off the storm. It was a reckless downpour that caused the air to explode with even more moisture.
“It hasn’twhat?” Brando said, putting his ear closer to my mouth.
In response to his smugness, leaned up and took his lobe between my teeth, enjoying the taste of salt on his skin.
He was quiet as he carried me up the grand staircase, eyes intent on mine. He used his foot to open the door, and then he set me gently on my feet. He went to my old dresser, holding out a simple white nightgown for me.
It was an older one, short, with lace trim and cap sleeves, a row of buttons down the middle—and suddenly I wasn’t the age that I was, and neither was he, and we hadn’t been married but were at the start of our relationship.
A frisson of nervousness stole over me—strong butterflies flittered in mad flight, heart-pounding madness sending them twirling, and the hollowness of taking the plunge off the tallest peak with newly created wings made me feel weak in the stomach.
He removed his light gray t-shirt. My breath caught, and the nightgown fell from my fingers, pooling on the floor in a stark puddle.
Another shock of lightning brightened the room. Soon after, a roll of thunder trembled the windowpanes. All of the lights in the house went out; the sudden click of electronics disconnecting was like dominos falling, and what little light we had faded to black.
A few seconds later, Brando struck a match that he had found in the bathroom and lit the candles that had been left behind, before I went for Paris—only a few, but enough to make the room glow.
One of the flames hissed in reaction to the moisture in the air, until it overcame the sogginess with its heat.
Quickly, I removed the orchid-colored dress and swapped it out for the thin gown. Brando was still in nothing but his torn and tattered jeans, the band of his boxer briefs peeking out, and all of the muscles in his back were highlighted by the wavering flames, showcasing each one.
“Holy, holy,” I breathed, hopefully low enough that he didn’t hear.
The sight of him made me feel flighty. My mouth felt parched, though nothing but water seemed to surround us, bringing us underneath its depths. The candlelight paired with the rain made for a spectacular show in the grotto.
“I’ll be right back.” I lifted my finger.
“Where—”
I didn’t pause to hear the rest. I took off down the stairs, padding barefoot down the steps and into the formal dining room. The object was right where it had been left. I hauled it back upstairs.
Brando had opened the doors that lead out to the veranda, where he used to climb up and tap on my window some nights.
The rain smelled fresh, and it dredged up scents of mud and leaves. The smell of candles and my light rose perfume, along with his spicier scent, was embedded in the sheets, and it was stimulating, circling around the room with the sound of the storm. Altogether it formed a sweet, fertile aroma.
“You were gone too long,” he said.
The sight of him in my old bed—hands behind his head, bare chested, his bronze skin shimmering with the soft light, his long, muscular legs stretched out—made me turn away from him. “Oh my God,” I mouthed to myself, even though he wasstillin his jeans.
I had slept with him in my bed before—we had been staying with my parents for a while—but for whatever reason, tonight fell almost…forbidden. Almost as if he shouldn’t be here, which made me want him even more.
“Scarlett.”
