“You’re drunk already,” he said.
“No,” I put my glass down. “Just feeling pleasantly warm. It’s called afterglow.”
“Same thing. For you.”
“You don’t want any?” I wielded the bread around. “You have to be hungry.”
He took a drink of whiskey. “Nah, I’ll wait for the main course.”
Ah, ever the schemer. “I caught that, you know. Subtle, Fausti. But not subtle enough.”
Just then the server dropped in, slipping our plates before us. The smell reached my nose and my stomach rejoiced in triple pleasure.
“Hallelujah!” I said without really thinking.
Brando threw back his head and laughed. “You hungry, Ballerina Girl? You must’ve worked up a healthy appetite.”
I waved a hand, intent on the job at hand. “Eat. Just eat.”
Ravenous, I hardly stopped for a drink. I had never had a problem with the size of my plate before, but the entire serving seemed much too small, though it was generous enough.
About to take another bite of food, I felt the stare, more than noticed it outright. My fork paused in midair and my eyes narrowed on a piece of fish. It wasn’t a stranger in the restaurant staring. It was Brando. No, not a heated look, but an unguarded one, his thoughts strong and at the forefront of his expression.
“Something wrong?” I placed the fork down gently, then dabbed my mouth with a napkin.
He used his hand to motion to me—from the top of my head to the beginning of the table. I assumed he meant my dress. A black design of my mother’s—a custom Pnina creation—labeled Midnight in Paris. Fitting for a night out. The form of the dress was tight but ended just above my ankles, with a keyhole back and long, billowing sleeves that fitted around the cuffs. Colette had taught me how to achieve Brigitte Bardot “hair,” and that’s the look I went for.
“You’re in mourning already.”
My eyebrows drew into a tight point. He wasthe manin black. Black jacket, black sweater, black pants, black boots… I doubted that anyone saw either of us coming, though I was pale enough to provide some contrast.
“You’re right there next to me. What are we mourning? I must’ve missed the news.”
He looked away from me, his napkin falling to the table. “Your decision,” he said.
It took me a moment to catch on.
“To marry you?” I asked, almost stupidly.
“Yeah,” he said, turning back to me. He held up his pointer finger. “Once. That’s it. I’m only doing this once. The end. Before you, marriage wasn’t something I had wanted, but I always thought it was a commitment that didn’t lend itself to wavering. It’s an everlasting vow. There’s only two ways out—death or you falling in love with someone else. In either case, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be right beside you in the ground, or serving life in jail next to Luca Fausti.”
“Is this because we’re Catholic? I know the rules—”
He laughed, truly laughed. “This is my religion we’re discussing. You, Scarlett Rose, are my religion. I live according to the sanctions you provide. Just as you live according to mine.”
He leaned forward and picked up his glass of whiskey, taking a drink. He sighed when he set it down.
“Vows spoken in front of God, our signatures on paper; proof that can never be hidden from the world. You’ll have my name. You’ll be mine in every possible way. I’ll be a different man. I’ll be the man who finally has the woman who has belonged to him from the beginning.Ufficialmente. When I say that you’ll be mine, believe me.” He stuck his pointer finger to his chest, right over his heart. “Mia moglie.”
Again, when he saidmy wife, there was no denying the possessiveness in his tone. The intense look in his eyes made it hard for me to meet his gaze and take a breath, but I did, knowing that if I turned or gasped, he’d seize the chance to challenge me. A frisson of excitement seemed to pass over me at his intensity and goosebumps rose on my skin.
“We both know that life isn’t easy, Scarlett. Neither is marriage. That I know for certain. Hard times will come. When they do, I won’t lose you. I’m not always the easiest man—”
“Done,” I said, reaching out for his hand.
Besides, who wouldn’t want to marry this man? He was… Oh God.He was everything.
Before he took my hand, he said, “I wasn’t meant to have children.”
