What needed to be said finally came forward—me first.
“I’m sorry, Brando. I misheard her.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You heard what you wanted to hear.”
“What Iwantedto hear? Jesus, Brando! You refuse to give me a child,yourchild, and then I hear—” I flung my hand toward our house. “No woman wants to hear that! Especially not after her husband refuses to give her a child of her own.”
“I have my reasons.”
“You’ve made them clear. Luca—”
He took me by the shoulders, silencing me with his intense gaze. “Don’t say his name.”
I nodded. “All right. I won’t.”
“I won’t say this again. There is no child of mine in this world. I never finished inside of a woman, except for the woman I call mine. You. I protected myself at all costs. Protected the world from another him. Another me. Protected the child I’ll never have from me and the name I carry. And if that child were mine, that meant I had an affair. Do you believe that of me?”
“What if it happens with me?” I almost sobbed, seeing the hurt in his eyes that I had caused. “What then, Brando?”
“My answer must not be good enough, Scarlett.”
“It is.” I went to touch his cheek, but he moved his face. I deserved that. “Will you walk with me? Instead of running?”
He stared at me for a little time, his jaw ticking and his feet itching to hit the pavement. I looked down at the ground, at my crimson rain boots.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered. “Not like this.”
Surprising me, he took my waist in his hands, pulling me forward, my stomach pressing up against him. My softness to his hardness… Of course, I had just fought him. Beat against his chest like some idiotic damsel in distress. Somewhere in the anger he had found passion.
“You looked ridiculous running in those boots.”
I looked up to find his lips twitching in amusement. “Grr!” I took him by the shirt, yanking him down. “I am yours, Brando Fausti. There’s not a part of me that doesn’t belong to you, and it’s hell when someone else has so much power. You can flip me like a damn switch! I—I made a complete fool of myself!” I blinked up at him, fighting the urge to yank his hoodie toward me, kissing him until neither of us could breathe, and then begging him to take me home. He wasn’t the only one turned on. We were effing insane!
“If you’re looking for an argument, you won’t find one here.”
“No.” I drew a line against the gravel with my ridiculous boot. “But I would like a kiss.”
“I’m owed more than that.”
“You are,” I said. “You won’t get an argument from me.”
He lifted a brow, then looked up to the sky. “Un miracolo.”
“A miracle? I—” I opened my mouth to respond, but his covered mine, moving in a slow, sensuous rhythm. To have my soul taken during a kiss made total sense to me.
“Scarlett,” he said, breaking the kiss, keeping his eyes closed. “Don’t ever fucking doubt me again.”
It was a hard command—nothing soft about it.
“Non lo farò,” I whispered, touching his cheek. “I swear.”
He pressed his face deeper into my hand, kissing my palm. “Let’s walk.”
We held hands as we strolled down the street, taking in the remainder of the day. It was still cold out, but the warmth from the sun lingered, a sign that spring was close at hand—a new season on the horizon, new growth fighting to be set free from the restraints of winter so that all of the pretty things could sprout and grow.
