Brando must not have been willing to wait for a replacement and took the first man available, or closest in distance. Which, under the circumstances, told me a lot, though not nearly enough.
Still, as angry as I was at Brando’s implied insult, I could feel his unease. Those damn eyes…the lost stare, even with all its rage, made me want to take him in my arms and love him until he couldn’t see straight. Maybe because he didn’t have much nurturing growing up, I always longed to do that for him. Especially when I could tell he was hurting but covering it up.
I hadn’t figured out what Guido hadn’t told him, but whatever it was, it had no bearing on my feelings for him. It wouldn’t matter, not then, not ever.
“Brando,” I whispered, turning his face to mine. “Look at me. Please.”
It took him a little time to meet my eyes, but finally, he did.
“I don’t know why I said what I said,” I whispered. “I was asleep. I could’ve kicked you—or thought I did. Or stole all of the covers. Something as simple as that.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand, Scarlett.”
“Make me understand.Talkto me.”
He stared at me for a few seconds before he shoved my purse in the car and then brought the two sides of the jacket together. “You apologized for something that hasn’t happened yet.”
More time went by, and he didn’t go further, only stared at me, as though his will alone could summon all of my future actions to his thoughts, so he would know how to stop something that was coming.
“I still don’t understand, Brando.” I couldn’t stand the silence a second longer. And I didn’t understand or have a clue how to solve this. I didn’t even remember the apology or why it had been offered in the first place. It was one of those dreams that drifts and then fades into smoke, leaving the scent behind but not the ashes.
“I don’t either.” His grip on the jacket tightened, pulling even tighter. I almost squirmed from the pressure, from the intensity of his eyes.
“I do know this, though.” The words were spoken without an ounce of lightness, as final as his last words, the words to be etched into his stone. “You’ve always been mine. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing.Il mio cuore sbriciolerà nella cenere prima che accada.”
My heart will crumble into ash before that happens.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Scarlett
Part of the riddle was solved three weeks later, at Paul’s birthday party. Violet and Mick’s house was full of guests in a frenzy of activity—adults and children alike. Paul had chosen a soccer theme, and their backyard had been turned into a proper field.
The draw for the female parents, though, was the exotic soccer player from Spain. Until the two Fausti brothers walked through the door, followed by Guido, Nino, and Vincenzo. After Brando gave Gudio the option to stay or go, he had decided to stay.
Pausing in the doorway, I almost beat the wrapped gift in my hands against my head. Why hadn’t I realized it before?Of course.
Brando assumed it was Santiago who sent the flowers. Guido and Nino hadn’t told him that Santiago made an effort to talk to me the few times I went to Paul’s practices. Of course they hadn’t. We hadn’t spoken alone, he hadn’t gotten too close, it was casual conversation, one that Guido and Nino had taken part in.
I was almost positive that Guido had looked into the mysterious pink roses that were delivered the night of our anniversary, and nothing had come up. No finger pointed in Santiago’s direction.
This information seemed to keep Brando somewhat satisfied, but having the man at the party ignited the fire again. Proof may have been provided, but he was still suspicious.
“He’s an athlete. I’m an athlete. This is a small town.” Those words came back to haunt me. It had stirred something in him and made him consider the possibility that the unconscious apology I had offered up had something to do with this man.
Insane? Quite possibly. But Brando never thought inside of the box. He could never be contained to a box—he’d blast the walls down with the force of his will alone.
It sometimes escaped me just how much responsibility Brando took on in regard to me. He had called Santiago safe. In his mind, I knew that translated to an easier life for me, one without all of the extra dangers. Brando believed that he was the reason we were always in hot water, with his last name and the life the Faustis chose to live at the core, ignoring that I was the one who was central to all of the mess.
Again, he was a man who didn’t shy from responsibility—he carried it all on his back without a single complaint. I was ingrained so deeply into his life that all of the trouble I had caused, to put it simply, was his.
Perhaps he assumed I craved something simpler—an easier life with someone other than him. Santiago the soccer guy.
I knew my husband wasn’t going to cause a scene here, but the mischievous spark in his eye made me uneasy.
Paul ran past, chasing after one of his friends. Then a herd of boys slipped in, laughing all the way to the table full of snacks. Mary was the monster chasing them.
Some of the tension seemed to be carried off with the laughter.
