With our patio doors open, I could hear murmuring coming from the streets, a steady stream of people coming and going in octaves. A warm breeze moved in and out of the open door, rustling the curtains.
As she sat down to get ready, it brought back memories of when she’d perform at the ballet. Actually, the times before her performances. No one was allowed in the room while she put herself together—no one but me. She once told me I could be as silent as a ghost. My presence soothed her but didn’t distract from the silence she needed to get in the right state of mind.
I wondered if that was what she was doing. Getting in the right state of mind. Not for this but for things to come. She hadn’t been sleeping well, needing a pillow to set between her legs, to take some of the strain off of stomach and back.
Insomnia had started to plague my wife, as had nesting syndrome. She insisted that every detail needed to be perfect. Eunice helped as much as possible, but most of the time Scarlett wanted us to do everything together.
She’d wash and fold and put away, while I put together all of the contraptions the baby needed and moved furniture around until it was just right. All of the pictures we hung together—her vision and my handiwork.
“What?” Scarlett asked softly, breaking me out of my thoughts. She gently put down her lipstick, meeting my eye through the mirror. I had already dressed. A white button-down that was rolled up to the elbows, with a vest and trousers.
“I usually have trouble expressing how I feel.” I spoke in Italian. “Not tonight. You have eyes that would make men go to war. I should know. I went to war for them. For you. In your eyes is the truth, my wife. And when you kiss me, I can taste it.”
“Men would go to war?” she answered in the same language and then gave me a shy smile. “For what? You’re the only one I share my truth with. Always.”
“They can see it. Feel it. A certain kind of man can, anyway. Despite the fact that they’ll never taste it, they still want it. And whatever they want, they try to take.”
She laughed a bit. She hadn’t gotten dressed and was only in a bra and underwear. “Funny. Not ha-ha funny, but ironic. As you were staring at me, I thought you were a man that women would go to war for. You’re perfect, Brando. I’m not just referring to the physical.”
“You went to war for me.” I came to stand behind her, touching her gently on her shoulders.
“You went to war for me, too.” Her eyes were fierce, burning green through the mirror. “I’d go to war for you again.”
I took one knee next to her, looking up. I placed my hand on her stomach, knowing that she would soon bleed for me so that a part of me could live on.
A selfish person cares only for one, but a selfless person offers themselves up for the sake of others. That was what my wife was going to do. Offer up her body and soul for the sake of this child. Mine.
There were reasons for me not wanting to have children—the ones that she knew. Deep down there was more to it. I refused to lose her.Selfish.
Maggie Beautiful almost died having me. She couldn’t have any more children. I ruined her.
My wife was offering herself up so that I could exist—so that our love could be eternal.Selfless.
Yeah, men had gone to war over much smaller things than the truth in a woman’s eyes and in her kiss. I knew it the first time I saw her dancing in the window of her parents’ studio. I knew the scent of it my entire life. I was addicted to the flavor. It tasted like heaven to this sinner.
She turned to me and fixed a strand of my hair, setting it back in place. Regarding me for a long minute, she tilted her head. “Let’s not talk of war anymore. The last time you did, when you told me I had eyes that made men go to war, you were about to surrender your life for mine.”
I stood, taking her hand to help her up. “It’s time to get you dressed. Or we’re going to be late.”
The dress she wore was the same texture as a black leotard, skintight, and hugged her in all the right places. Her auburn hair and skin seemed brighter tonight. After I helped her in, she told me where to find her shoes.
After I strapped them on her, I stepped and looked at the leopard print heels, then at her stomach, and then met her eyes. “Baby.”
“What?” She smiled. “Too much?”
“Too high.”
They were fucking sexy, but given the fact that her stomach seemed to outweigh the rest of her, I wasn’t sure if the laws of gravity were on her side.
“I can do it. If not, you can carry me.”
She gave out awhoop!of surprise when I lifted her up, carrying her out to the waiting car. Her stomach might outweigh her, but she had nothing on me. I could carry her all night, and would.
“I’m not leaving your side tonight. You might fall.”
“Why do you think I wore them?” She lifted an eyebrow at me, making her look mischievous. “I want you next to me. You’re like a gorgeous, sly lion in a gazelle herd.”
I laughed and her eyes grew wide, almost innocent, sparks of light from Rome in the green and gold depths, before she smiled with me. “You should do that more often, Fausti,” she whispered, her cool hand touching my neck. “The sound does something to me.”
