The look on my face made her speak.
“It’s—I had a glimpse of us, if we had a daughter.”
“Hypothetical.”
“It’s all I have, Brando.”
I put a hand to the side of her face. I hated how despondent she seemed when our imagined kids were brought up. I hated myself for not being able to give her the real thing.
“No,” I said, releasing her, turning back to the window. “My daughter would never go on a date.”
Everett laughed and laughed at this.
* * *
Love was in the air after Eunice and O’Sullivan left. With dinner over, some slow music was put on, and the room settled down, everyone swapping stories of how they met, first dates, anything of romantic importance.
Then somehow wedding albums were brought out. Some of the men had to run to the other houses to get them. Our entire coffee table in the living room was full of pictures.
“Ah!” Romeo laughed. “Look at this gangster!”
He held up a picture of Tito and Lola on their wedding day.
Tito snatched it from him. “Do not begeloso, nephew. I had better hair!”
A bunch of low oohs and ahhs went around the room. Guido lifted his glass and declared this the truth. Romeo slapped Guido in the back of the head, making his hair stick up.
“Lou will have to fix it for you.” Dario wiggled his eyebrows at Guido.
Guido flicked him the bird.
I pulled Scarlett closer, kissing her temple. My hand was over her shoulder, and she gave me a squeeze. Juliette asked her a question about our wedding, about the roses, and she bent forward, looking at the picture Juliette had her finger on.
One thing led to another and then wedding videos started to play. Ours first.
As Scarlett walked down the aisle toward me, the camera alternated between her and I, and it caught the look in my eyes. Her eyes had brimmed with tears, and one of mine spilled over. I could still feel the rush, the overflow of feelings that left me breathless.
Scarlett and I started to kiss more, touch more, and by the end of the video, I was ready to carry her upstairs. Over my shoulder if she fought me. She was caught up in all of the love. She must’ve cried for each video, and by the time a movie was suggested, she had fallen asleep against my chest.
Calling it a night, I picked her up, carrying her in my arms.
“What time is it?” she said with a yawn when she felt us moving.
“Too late for a ballerina who needs to get up early.”
“I need to take a shower.”
“You can take one in the morning.”
“No. Shower. Then bed.”
There was no use in arguing. I wasn’t going to win this one. I put her down in our bathroom, leaving her to undress and hop in the shower. I went into our closet and found a pair of soft pajamas for her to wear for when she got out.
Layers were always a fucking nuisance to me, but when it was cold, it was a matter of her teeth chattering all night. During the winter, I doubted there was enough room for a hand to come between us. She was drawn to my heat and stuck to me like a second skin.
By the time her clothes were ready, she was getting out, starting to dry off.
“Sit down,” I said, pointing to the chair she used when putting on her makeup.
