I attempted to force the seat back even further, to make room for her body and mine. I had long legs—the seat was almost to its limits.
“I don’t care,” she rushed out. “I don’t care about what you did before me. In the moment, I do! But…I love you so much that you still make my heart do funny things. And when I saw that woman touching you—”
“I know, Ballerina Girl.”
She paused her frantic rush of words, pulling back to see me better. “You do?”
I had to force myself not to grin. She seemed so innocent and still so in love.
“You know I do.”
“I was acting like a crazy person!”
“Yeah, I know that too. Nothing new.”
She almost grinned, but she did pinch me. “I’m being serious.”
“I am too.” The words came out soft, and I put a hand to the side of her face, using my thumb to stroke her cheek. “I love you, Scarlett.”
She almost whimpered, “I love you more.”
“Despite all that I’ve done?”
Her head came forward and ducked under, hiding underneath my chin. “Don’t do that,” she mumbled.
“Tell me what I’m doing.”
“Making me feel even worse than I do.”
“Look at me.”
Her hair tickled as she moved slowly from her hiding spot.
“Tell me,” I said, “that you love me despite it all.”
She nodded and placed a hand to each side of my face. “Despite it all and nothing,mio marito, I love you so much it hurts to breathe sometimes. Out of all I’ve done in my life, out of all of the accomplishments and accolades, the best thing I’ve ever done—the best thing I am—is being your wife, Brando Piero Fausti.”
If feelings were a grenade, I’d have been blown to smithereens. I went completely hollow. Our eyes became even more serious, more connected, and again, I knew without a doubt that no matter what happened to my flesh, she’d keep my heart and soul with hers beyond kingdom come.
That rush I had felt when she had walked toward me in that church, on a small island in the midst of Lake Bled, had only surged and become wilder, even more intensified—it was the only current that was strong enough to send me adrift. Somehow, by her direction, I constantly moved in and out of her secret places, flowed toward the ones yet to be discovered.
“We’re good then,mia moglie,” I said, my voice low and gruff.
She rested her forehead against mine and then closed her eyes. “No,” she said. “Kiss me.”
By the time we were able to pull apart, the windows were fogged and the sun had risen. Slow-moving clouds crept toward its light.
The kiss was so good it hurt my heart to separate.
“Now,” she breathed. “Now we’re good.”
Chapter Eight
Brando
I’d decided that fighting and making up was a rite of passage that caused two people in love to feel as though they had accomplished some awesome feat together—like climbing Mount Everest. And it almost made me feel high.
The spark between us had become hotter, more intense, and we couldn’t seem to keep our hands off each other. Which, considering that we were always drawn to one another, made for three weeks of time that felt warped. The memories were almost distorted.
