I wasn’t sure what to say. She was holding something back, something powerful, almost frightening. With a start, I realized that Violet, the one-woman army, was terrified.
“I can’t have anymore. Babies.” She swiped her cheek, wiping the tear she didn’t want me to see. “What happens…I mean, what if these two grow up so fast that I barely have time to blink? It happens that way, you know.” She sniffed. “One minute they’re in your arms, the next they’re off with friends, and then what happens after that? Gone.”
“No.” I rested my head against her shoulder, not able to do anything else with my hands. Levi put his hands to her mouth, and she kissed them. “Your children are never gone, Violet. A love that runs so deep transcends. No matter where they go, they’re yours to keep. That’s the honor of being a mother.”
Violet could never be pushed into talking; it was just who she was. But I knew there was more to her fear than her kids leaving and not being able to have more. Those were the reaching arms, not the heart of whatever scared her.
“Scarlett.” My husband’s deep voice called my name.
Violet and I both turned toward him. Brando stood a few paces from us, eyeing us warily. Violet stood straighter, her shoulders squaring, and took Levi from me.
“I’m going to get a coat on him and then see you both outside. I think some fresh air will do us some good.”
After she had gone to the nursery, Brando asked me if everything was all right.
“If you’ve called this entire ridiculousmatchoff, then yes, everything is fine.”
“It’s only a game,” he said.
“Is it?”
“Baciami, mia moglie,” he whispered, then touched his lips.
“You could seriously injure him,” I said, my voice almost a whisper. “This isn’t a game. Not for him.”
His eyes narrowed into dark slits. “He knows the risks.”
“Does he?”
He nodded once.
“And what does he win? If he happens to make it out of this unscathed.”
The silence stretched between us. The sound of Levi’s chirpy babbling seemed to float down the hall, Violet talking to him came in return, and then the sound of the back door shutting, a final softclick.
“Does he…” I swallowed hard. “Does he win me?”
“Sei mio.” Those words, spoken underneath his breath, were meant as a dare, not even an answer to my question.
“If I’myours, then why do this? What do you have to prove, dammit!Niente. Not to me.”
He closed the space between us. “I give you my word, I won’t hurt him, unless he gets rough with me. But I’ll win.” He took me by the shoulders. “Kiss me.”
I did, and then he took me by the hand and led me outside.
“You’ve already won,” I whispered as I took my seat to watch, eyes only for him.
* * *
The ridiculous nature of this entire situation hadn’t escaped me. We were at a birthday party, and my husband was defending his honor by kicking a ball around. Still, I had been right to worry.
Brando kept pace with Santiago, and the game was tied, and Santiago didn’t like that. He was a professional soccer player, hailing from one of the best teams in Spain, and the fact that he had not already crushed this Italian swimmer/baseball player seemed to insult him on a deep level.
Fun time had ended a few minutes into the game, when he realized Brando was no slouch.
The game had become so tense that people leaned forward in their seats, almost falling over the edges, and some had to stand to ease some of the anxiety.
The weather was bitter cold, but the sun was out full force, which meant that for someone running around like a maniac, the cold was a balm. Sweat poured from their heads, soaking their shirts, which clung as if from static cling.
