Mick went to shake the men’s hands. Looking out of the many windows, I could see Mitch in the backyard, dressed as a referee, blowing a whistle at intervals.
I set the gift down on a table reserved for that, and Violet came over to meet me.
“He’s having fun,” I said, nodding toward the scene.
Violet turned to look. “When does he not?”
“True.” I grinned. “How’s everything between him and Mick?”
She shrugged. “Worse. But they’re able to put aside their differences for today.”
“That’s mature,” I said.
“We’re nothing if not mature.” She stuck her tongue at me.
“Grape!” I pointed accusingly at the purple stripe down her tongue. “You’ve been drinking something grape flavored.”
“Punch,” she said, using her head to nod toward a round table that was set up outside of the kitchen, where the women hovered. “I even added raspberry sherbet to it.”
“Buona mamma,” I said, going over to the table, pouring myself a cup. I made an appreciative noise as the sugary liquid danced over my taste buds. It was cold and made me shiver, but it was worth the added chill.
Violet wrapped her arm with mine. “Santiago is here,” she whispered in my ear. “And now that the women are all drooling over your husband and Rocco, and the other three Italian stallions, he’s staring at you.”
I looked up automatically and met his gaze. He waved. I gave a lame wave back. Brando was deep in conversation with a group of men, and though I didn’t see him watching, I knew he was. He had eyes on all sides of his head.
Burying my face into the cup, I walked forward, going for Violet’s mother who held Wendi, but was stopped by a hand to my arm. I looked down at it until it was removed.
“How are you?” Santiago was decked out in his old teams’ soccer gear, his black hair combed over, falling above his shoulders.
“Good,” I said, taking a deep drink. “How are you?”
“Enjoying the party.” He smiled, white teeth almost shocking in contrast to his tan skin. “Violeta was kind of enough to invite me. She knows I am alone here.”
Violeta passed then, about to make her rounds as mother of the birthday boy, giving Santiago a quick pat on his head. He smiled even wider. He had a genial smile, but the competing athlete wasn’t far from his eyes.
Had he been drinking grape punch? I smelled it on him and almost felt faint. Did this man have something to do with our future? No, I shook my head, dismissing the thought as soon as it came. It was only my husband’s suspicious nature driving me insane.
Brando and I were fated to be together, but that didn’t mean that, after the initial introduction, we were not free to choose our paths. We had chosen each other. The tangle of our existence would forever lead us back to each other.
“This is good drink, no?” He turned and retrieved his grape punch from the counter, lifting it. His eyes stayed on me as he took a deep gulp.
I set mine down. “It is.” I wiped my clammy palms against my jeans. “But a little too much sugar for me.”
“Cierto,” he breathed out. Grape essence perfumed the air. “But we have fast metabolisms. A treat is fine once in a while.” He winked at me.
A warm, secure hand came to my lower back, and the other reached out to shake Santiago’s outstretched hand.
“Santiago,” Brando nodded.
“Brando,” Santiago nodded.
Brando reached around him, going for the cup I had put down. He drank, and for whatever reason, the fact that he did made my heart swell. Even if it was all foolishness, it still made me feel better for some reason.
The other side of this situation gave me a wary feeling.
Soccer was brought up, since it surrounded us, and the two men started to go back and forth over the sport. Brando brought up the time we met a famous team a few years back. I had met them by accident in Ireland when their bus knocked our van over the side of a cliff.
Santiago nodded, and this train sparked up more conversation, revolving around acquaintances of ours and friends of his. On the surface, all was friendly between them, but underneath, something dark bloomed. I didn’t care for the smell of it. The only reassuring thing was that this man might be an athlete, but he was no killer. This was plain old man versus man.
