“That’s a good question.”
“And if Luca didn’t kill her, why is he sitting in jail?”
His hand made a backward wave motion before it came forward and rested on me again. “God only knows.”
* * *
We slept. Or I did. When I woke up for the second time, Brando’s eyes were closed, but somehow, I knew he wasn’t fully asleep. A gun had emerged and was next to his hand.
Whether it was from all that happened during the day, or the fact that I had finally shared something traumatic that clung to me since childhood, desperation hit me hard. I slipped the sweater off as Brando opened one eye, and before he could mutter a word, I climbed on top of him.
I leaned over, a few wild strands of hair coming forward with me, and kissed him long and deep. It only took a second to turn him on, and my hips started to move. We were still cloaked in darkness, what felt like an endless refuge around us, protecting our private moments.
“Scarlett,” he whispered, reaching up a hand to touch my face. “La mia luce.”
The cold air touched me, puckering skin and nipples, but his heat kept me internally warm. I craved the fire, raced toward it like a fiend.
Making love outside was underrated. There was a freedom to it—the breathing of skin and the openness to share words that could get trapped inside of a stale room. Here, it felt as though a part of us would live on forever.
I rode him hard until we were both covered in sweat and not able to speak—a guttural noise that came from his throat made all of the hair rise on my body, and my womb tightened—and then I collapsed on top of him, fading off to sleep cradled in his arms.
Blinking away the sleep again, I saw that the sun had replaced the moon, the first touch of light making the scene around me entirely new. I could distinguish shapes, and touches of dew had moistened my lips. Tears streamed from the sides of my eyes as I reached out for Brando but couldn’t find him.
“Brando?”
“Over here, baby,” he called out.
Then I heard what I had missed, and directed by the sound, found him standing with one arm braced against a tree, his naked body shrouded in thick gold mist. Sharing the same spark with his skin, the morning seemed to create him from the night—perfect, but with a sense of humanness, flaws that make the desirable even more wanted.
If the night had been kind to him, making him wickedly mysterious, the morning was in love with him, answering all of the questions and emboldening them. Each fine detail was highlighted—a back full of defined muscles, and powerful legs that could swim and run for miles and miles and not tire—yet softened and made supple by a light tender enough to make me wonder if I’d died and gone to heaven.
Had I been crying in my sleep? Again, I felt almost panicked, needing to be near him. I couldn’t understand the reasons behind the intense yearning.
I fell back asleep when his feet were directly aligned with my view, coming back to me. This time I fell hard, and when my eyes opened again, I was inside the house, dressed in the nightgown, in my old bed. A sinking sense of desperation clawed at my heart.
The bedroom was empty.
I sat up, listening for bathroom noise. All was quiet, except for the sounds coming from downstairs, the house waking up. I ran a hand through my knotted hair, and when I set it down, something crinkled beneath my palm. A note. Brando’s handwriting stood out, a thin, long scroll, words written with care—he hadn’t rushed this decision or his thoughts.
Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Come home to me, my wife.
I barely took the time to change my clothes—an oversized t-shirt and a pair of leggings, stuffing my feet into a pair of my Italian tennis shoes, and I spared no time for my insane hair. I snatched the Range Rover’s keys from the dresser, my Ray-Bans, all the crumbs placed exactly where he knew I’d find them.
My unsettled heart rushed with blood, and every part of me tingled with anticipation and dread.
Charlotte stood by the top of the steps, her arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
If she wanted to start a war, she’d have to battle with herself or her husband—I had no time to spare for her. I ignored her as I went to hustle down the stairs. A huge mistake on my part. I didn’t see her foot come out. Instead, I saw a long, winding staircase ahead of me, and felt its steps as my body collided with each one.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Scarlett
Have you gone mad?was the first coherent thought that I had. No. No. It wasn’t a thought. It was a question that translated from Slovenian to understandable in the fog of my mind.My mother.
“Lil’ darlin’?”
My father.
