“No one else.”
I growled, mimicking him. “You know what I mean. I want you to sleep next to me. You keep me warm. Why couldn’t we sleep in front of the fire?Molto romantico.” I drew the words out.
“Not a drop to drink,” he muttered. “It’s not safe to sleep in front of the fire. You could burn.”
“Oh, well, that’d be okay.”
“Okay,” he repeated.
“Sure.” I took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly. “We could be like the two lovers from Pompeii. Both of us perish to ashes together, at the same time. Tangled up together. Nowthat’swhat I call romantic. And not selfish at all,Fausti.” His name came out accusingly, as if he had done something wrong. Which, he had, I realized.
“I’m going to fucking regret this.” A second later, his breath came out heavy. “Explain.”
“He—” I sniffed. “He shouldn’t want to die first and leave his lover behind to suffer without him! Better she go first, so she doesn’t have to feel the horrible loss. It’s not fair, you know. It’s selfish.Egoista.”
“You’re tired, baby.” I think he muttered delusional too, but I wasn’t positive.
What did he expect? He had loved every ounce of energy out of me, and I was the consistency of a jellyfish.
“So? I’m speaking the truth.”
“All right.” He kissed my hand. “I’ll consider it.”
“Grazie, Godfather.” I went to grab his hand, to kiss his wedding ring, but he wouldn’t let me.
“Scarlett.”
“You can’t fuss at me right now. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m tired.” A few heartbeats passed, one, two, three, four… “But I’m speaking the absolute truth, like a drunk or a small child.”
I considered this until the visions in my mind rotated, around and around. One minute I was considering the selfishness of his beliefs, his wants, and the next, I was envisioning goddesses of fertility and all of the men who were touched by their hands, all powerful and full of everlasting virility.
Grapes and other fruits from a silver platter being fed to me, my body growing plump with the manna offered. It wasn’t uncomfortable—the opposite. I felt like a piece of fruit being ripened by the sun. I enjoyed the sensation.
“Scarlett.” It wasn’t my name being called from the depths that brought me to. It was the tone, and the fact that my shoulders were being shook. “Tell me what you’re sorry for.”
“Hah?”
“Tell me what you’re sorry for.”
“I’m sorry?”
I blinked a few times, catching snippets of his face close to mine. But I couldn’t be concerned with his concern. I was too lost to the wonderful escape of sleep. I took his hand, placed it over my stomach, sighing, and floated once more.
* * *
I woke up, but I didn't open my eyes. In a state of blissful inertia, I didn't have the mind or will to move, though I felt invigorated. I knew it was late, my internal clock alerting me to this fact. For so long I had beaten the sun, keeping to the clock I had been raised to tick to.
My stomach growled, letting me know we had missed breakfast.
There was a wonderful thought.Food.What I wouldn't give for a bowl of pasta. My mind mentally rummaged through the pantry and fridge.
Aunt Lola had sent tomato sauce from Palermo, from Brando's aunt, who made bottles and bottles of it by hand every year, when the tomatoes sang to her. But I didn't have enough left to make a pot of meatballs. Nor did I have the time. I liked to make a day of it.
Lasagna. We had enough for a deep pan or two. My stomach growled again.
Grapes.I'd have to get a bunch of those, too. I wondered what grapes meant in a dream? I made another mental note to ask Eva the next time I spoke to her.
I sighed, rubbing my legs and feet against the cool softness of the sheet. Snippets of the night before came back to me, swaying in time to the fire.
