He wrapped his arm around my neck, pulling me close. Our hands entwined, and we resembled a pretzel as we strolled the riverbank. He put his lips to my temple and inhaled. “I love you, Ballerina Girl.” His breath was warm against my skin.
“I know you do,” I said, leaning against him, squeezing his hands. The memory of our night in the snow lingered, thawing the chill that had settled between us, and I felt warm all over again.
* * *
Like a child, I had always been enamored with fireworks, in awe of them really. If it happened against the sky, I found that I could sit and gaze for hours, finding true peace.
I ignored Romeo’s low laughter as he watched my face. My mouth was probably hanging open, but I didn’t care. Mitch threw popcorn at me to try to make it in.
With the blasts of exploding color against the night sky set to holiday music, at some point, I started to cry. Fat, slow-emerging tears froze to the sides of my cheeks.
This was nothing compared to the stars and the moon, all of this manufactured light, but still, the show along with the music moved me.
Romeo stopped laughing when he noticed. Mitch handed me his entire cup of popcorn. Rocco said something rude to the both of them, which made Dario laugh, and Brando pulled me closer.
Despite the tears, I had a wonderful time, and the group of us sang holiday songs—in a mixture of Italian and English, to the amazement of onlookers—as we all headed toward our cars.
I dallied by the open car door, the breath coming out of my mouth in frostbitten clouds. Brando leaned over and threw the bag I had left in the studio into the back seat.
“Time to go,” he said, nodding toward my seat.
I nodded, but I made no move to get inside of the car. I kicked the tire, hard, with my boot.
Brando narrowed his eyes. “Okay, Ballerina Girl?”
“Yes—no—I don’t know!”
I was fine, up until the moment we separated from the group, and then a sudden feeling came over me. Worry, but most of all, irritation, because I couldn’t pinpoint it.
“Is it—”
“I don’t know!” I almost screamed in vexation. “I don’t know a damn thing, just—the twirling feels like it’s picked up in speed, and I’m dizzy, not able to catch a single item that flies past, and I’m frustrated!”
“All right,” he said, his voice soft. He wasn’t trying to placate me, I knew, but he was attempting to calm me down so that perhaps I could figure out the issue. But I had tried before, letting go so I could swirl with the storm, answers coming to me in the calm.
“It’s no use, Brando,” I said, smacking the side of the car. “I can’t—my feelings are all over the place.”
He set a hand on my shoulder. “Can you still feel me, baby?”
“Yes. Stronger than ever.”
“I wonder if you’re shut off from the rest because we’re closer? The feeling consolidated to only me.”
“Could be,” I muttered, my breath fogging up the Range Rover’s window. “I don’t know how this works. Unfortunately, I didn’t come with a handbook when I made it into the world. A handbook for ‘special’ Scarlett.”
Brando grunted at that. “I’d like to read that myself.”
I twisted my neck to see him better, cold glass against forehead making a squeegee noise, and narrowed my eyes. “You and a dozen others,” I said.
“No, the book would be mine only. Since I married you.”
“Oh, I forgot about that rule—what’s mine is yours and all that. That’s the one you claim is in the Bible. I believe it had to do with certain physical parts and food.”
“Get in.” He nodded toward the seat again, holding the top of the door.
I did as he said, but with a heavy heart. It was a particularly hellish torture to know something was off, but not know exactly what. It reminded me of the night I had lost my brother. It was as though all of the wires were tangled, and one of them had come unplugged. I had no clue which one to plug back in for light during a horrendous storm.
I had figured it out after Elliott was killed. Brando was the line directly connected to me, and my brother could’ve been saved by default, if he would’ve only trusted me. Or wasn’t so hell-bent on picking up his girlfriend, who also had been killed in the accident.
