I had my pride as much as he had his, so neither of us put forth much effort.
That’s not to say that his actions were well received. On the contrary. His distance became the catalyst for the plague of whys that sickened me; there was more to his withdrawal than me thinking over our conversation. I went over every conversation, every interaction, and then one day it seemed to come to me, like the stifling heat from summer.
“Done,” he said, his grip on my arms tightening. “If that’s what it takes. Done. But I get something in return.” He released me, and fell to the ground, his knees meeting cold cobblestone. His warm hands found my hips, making me feel slight in his embrace. His eyes searched mine, glossed over with the moment, the heat of passion and the haloing lights of the night. “You’ll marry me, Scarlett Rose.Prendi me, il mio nome e sii mia moglie. Eternamente.”
After he had asked me to marry him,whyhad come to me, but the wrongwhy. He had asked me for something in return for him taking the money from Luca Fausti to pay the house off. My hand in marriage in return for what I had asked of him.
That wasthewhy I should have been considering.
Why did taking the money from Luca Fausti, his own father, constitute such a huge commitment, such as marriage, from me in return? It wasn’t the first time that I felt something was amiss in that regard, but I had set it aside for a more pressing issue.
This being: the relationship between Lucious Fausti and his son.
I had finally untangled the complicated web of Brando’s thoughts and emotions. Or so I thought. At least I was close. Had to be. I knew him better than I knew me.
He refused the fund from Luca because his father had done nothing for him except tell him he could be better if he were more like him. If he wasn’t, he wasn’t worth the air he breathed to live. Therefore, taking the money would be like selling his soul to the devil.
Luca represented everything Brando despised but saw in his reflection anyway. If I had the nerve to ask him to do such a thing, he wanted me to do the same. Give myself to him fully; theangelo sbagliatain my life.
He felt it was an even swap, and that the only reason he’d be good enough to marry was because I had asked him to do something equally soul compromising. Our requests were equally matched. There would be no chance for me to regret my decision, unless I regretted asking him in the first place.
When it came to him, my life in general, I didn’t do regrets. Once committed, there I was. Some consider dancing a metaphor for life. If so, I was the girl who never sat one out. And a dance with Brando Fausti that lasted the rest of my life? I was there yesterday.
After the mystery of Brando’s sudden behavior had been solved, I held the answer towhyhe had begun to pull away. His father. He had gone to see him, as he had done before. Right before he sent me to Paris, myfarfallawings branded with his name, without him.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered into my pillow. “Hard to love?Ha!”
I fell asleep that night with tears in my eyes and hate in my heart. I dreamed of things that couldn’t be caught, all pale hands searching in the darkness, and when the next morning came, I came to in a panic.
My ring.
It was gone from my finger. Another had taken its place. A pear-shaped black center stone surrounded by white diamonds.
“Est-ce ce que vous cherchez, Ange?”Is this what you are looking for, Angel?
I released a hell-worthy screech, pulling the covers over my naked breasts. Olivier Nemours had brought in a chair from the patio, had set it before the balcony door, and now held up Brando’s ring. Beams of sunlight broke around him, hiding him at the same time they haloed his appearance. The ballerina ring caught the light, rejoiced in it, setting off tiny sparks.
“I apologize,” Colette said from the door, looking between Olivier and me. “I asked him to wait, but—” She shrugged, as if to say,there is no help for it.
“Ferme la porte!” Olivier snapped. The order had come out like a whip.Shut the door.
She bit her lip but did as she was told.
Olivier stared at the ring, admiring it from every angle between his pointer finger and thumb. “He has good taste, no? But does not have the means to support such beauty. I see he has left you with an arsenal of ammunition. Once again.”
“Give me my ring.” I refused to get out of bed, naked as the moment I was born, but I hoped that my voice rang true with strong intent.
A tone was lost on a man like Olivier Nemours.
He made a disapproving sound with his mouth meant to placate. “Do not be angry with me, angel. I am worried about you.” He wheedled, his soft voice caressing skin that refused the touch. “This is why I have come.”
I held up my ring finger.
“Ah, yes.”
Slipping the ring off, I hummed it at him. It struck with a thump against his chest, coming to land on his lap. He laughed, calling me fiery in French.Fougueux.
His laughter ceased abruptly. “I am not a man to take no easily, angel.” He picked up the ring, admiring one next to the other. Then he rose, revealing himself in his true light—as handsome as can be, as cunning as the devil himself. He took a seat next to me. Our faces were a mere touch away.
