“You wanted to go to Paris?”
My hand stilled on a hanger holding a black dress shirt—his scent echoed in its fibers. I had to shove down the impulse to sniff it like a bloodhound.
“No,” I said, continuing to root. “But I was saving this dress for a night out in Paris.”
“We can go. Just say the word.”
“And ruin the shock of this dress? I don’t think so. I’d have to change, we’d have to fly, and it would take too long.”
I felt rather than saw his nod.
Finding the coat, I pulled it from the hanger. Before I could make it out of the closet and hand it over, he cleared his throat. “I did some thinking. I’ve changed my mind.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” I held it up.
“Not about the jacket. About us.”
“Oh?” I froze, one foot on the bathroom floor, unable to take another step forward.
“What you said to me the other night. I’ve been thinking about it. And I’ve decided. You were right. But—let me finish.” He held a hand up, a blur in the darkness. “I won’t go first. We’ll go together. When we’re old and our beautiful years are done.”
The cold that froze me to my spot warmed. I didn’t want to outright laugh. What he was saying, he truly believed.
“All right,” I whispered. “But what if God has other plans?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. I want you to pray about it. We’ll both pray for the same fate. I don’t ask for much, Scarlett. You know as much. So I figure, the one thing I really want, He will at least consider. Besides, my wife prays enough for the both of us. She has enough faith for the both of us—maybe if He doesn’t hear me, He will hear you, baby.”
“He will hear you,” I whispered. “You don’t keep in touch as much. It might mean more coming from you.” I shoved the jacket out at him. If I didn’t move, attempt to defuse some of the emotion, I was going to cry.
He took the coat from me and then told me to stay put. “Accendi la luce. Lascia che ti veda.”Turn the light on. Let me see you.
The light in the bathroom could be turned on full-blast or dimmed to emit the softest illumination,candlelight, and I turned it on the softer setting so that the dress sparkled against the light. But he had looked at me before, when he had first come home.
“Is there something wrong?” I asked.
“No. You just seem softer somehow.”
“I’m not dancing, Brando. My lines are not as harsh.” I hadn’t put on much weight. I still exercised, but not as hard. Therefore, I had begun to soften some. I had noticed it too, especially in my breasts and behind, though I had a little of each to begin with.
“It’s that, but something else too. I don’t know what yet.”
I smiled. “You can stare at me all night. I don’t mind. Just so you can, you know, figure it out.”
His teeth almost glowed when he smiled. The whites of his eyes were in high contrast to the darkness of his irises. “It would be ludicrous, not to mention narcissistic, for me to even consider figuring you out, woman. I’m a mere man, not God.”
“Grazie. I think?”
Without warning, he reached out and wrapped his arms around my waist, bringing us together. His hands roamed lower, to my behind. He brought my hips closer so I could feel him pressing against me. He used his fingers to hold back the sides of the dress, my breasts spilling out.
Dessert was served before dinner.
* * *
We were somewhat overdressed for the restaurant along the Cane River, Brûler, but neither of us cared.
The place was dim, hurricane lamps making the bricked interior undulate with swaying light, and live music floated in the background. Outside of the glistening windows, bulbs swung with the breeze, sending sparks over the dark water.
I glanced at the last bite of dessert and Brando laughed, scooping up the remainder of crème brûlée and feeding it to me. “Mmm, this is perfect,” I said.
