Fiveof them.
I choked on a breath of air and then shivered.What if—no, I cut the thought off.
He had refused to take pain medicine to ease what I knew had to be throbbing before we left to sightsee. It made me uncomfortable not to have him at home, ice on his face and in bed while I took care of him.
Such a hardheaded Italian…beast!
“Repeat that.” He kept our hands entangled as we walked the busy streets. He refused to let me out of his sight and stuck closer than usual.
“You heard me!” I waved our hands around together. “You’re a hardheaded Italian!Testardo.”
“Not the first time I heard that.”
“No doubt it won’t be the last either!” I glared at him, as hard as it was to do. “Brando, it would makemefeel better if you took something.”
“No.”
“All right,” I said. “How about a friendly wager to settle the matter?”
“It is settled,” he said. “But you’ve piqued my interest. Continue.”
The wager was quite simple. Whoever could break eye contact first was the winner. If I won, he had to take the medicine. If he won, he told me that I’d find out later. Really, there was no stake for him. He got what he wanted regardless.
There was something he wasn’t counting on during our staring contest. Connecting with him in that way made me tear up, starved for so long as I had been. He broke first, complaining that a man in love with a woman could never out stare her, especially when she started to cry.
He didn’t renege or demand a rematch. We both knew he wouldn’t. In this, I was the victor, tears or no. What he didn’t understand, or refused to acknowledge, was also the fact that his eyes rendered me powerlesstolook away. Once locked, there was no turning from him.
He took the pills ungraciously, making noises fit for a suffering wild animal, while muttering underneath his breath. He refused the water and swallowed them down dry.
Since the Eiffel Tower could be admired from a sitting position, as well as an erect one, I suggested that we visit there first. For a winter’s day, the sun was out full force, coercing the cold to the corridors and areas reserved for shade.
Taking advantage of the respite, we bought soft blankets to put down on the grass and foods that were meant to eat with fingers.
Brando spread out next to me, one hand on my back, one across his stomach, a bit of his muscled abdomen and carved pelvis exposed, the skin there smooth and golden bronze, long limbs extending off the comfort of the fabric. He used his jacket as a pillow.
His swollen eyes were shielded from the glare by Ray-Bans, his raven hair hidden by a beanie. The watch on his wrist sent off tiny sparks when the bright light teased the metal.
Before we left the apartment, I had offered him the things I had bought for him over the years. He hadn’t hesitated to wear the watch on his wrist and use the cologne on the dresser. He hung up the rest of the items and organized the shoes next to mine in the tiny Parisian closet.
The pills, though over the counter, seemed to have an effect on him. He was able to relax, his features settling into the closest thing to a natural position as possible. His breath came nice and easy. His heart beat in a steady rhythm.
Using the tip of my finger, I traced the lines of each bruise and cut. When I came to his lips, stunning, straight white teeth bit down on my finger; his tongue tickled my skin. After he had released me, the tingle lingered.
Now that we were more or less settled, it didn’t take long for me to remember another pressing issue that had been ignored.
Sunlight caught the facets of the ballerina ring, almost making it seem as though the longer diamonds undulated around the center, and sent the glaring reminder.
It was better than thinking of the alternative, at the moment. The attack. This thought didn’t bring fear or uncertainty. It made my heart float.
The issue being, I wasn’t sure who moved the ring to my left hand, ring finger, him or me. I hadn’t even noticed until we had left the apartment and I went to dig in my bag to find my glasses. The night before it had been on my right hand, third finger, where it had been, more or less, since he had placed it there the first time.
Oh God, did I do it in my sleep? Wanting it so much that I couldn’t stop myself?
Not that it didn’t feel right on my ring finger, but it didn’t seem right if I were the one to have done it.
Reflecting even more deeply on this dilemma, I turned the ring around my finger, squinting at the sun behind vintage Ray-Bans that matched Brando’s.
Was he paying attention to me?
