Though I could confide in her, my very owncustode segreto,secret keeper—the thought of her knowing of these risks made me sick. Not because I was afraid of the blood that ran through my veins. I just knew her curious nature would lead me straight to them, therefore, involve her in a life that wasn’t good enough to touch the bottom of her feet.
The entire scene made me think of a dove in the midst of a bloody battlefield. Ruthless was a compliment to who those people were and what they were capable of, of what had already been done for years and years by their hands.
She’d have to switch sides—she’d have to turn into the huntress, the lioness, to survive living in a pride of savage lions. I knew she had it in her. She had a fierce streak that most people overlooked because of how graceful she was. But ballerinas were no slouches. Dancing the way they do takes stamina, great strength and conditioning, and an insane amount of control over the body. They were athletes, as tough as the rest. Even more so—they had to defy the eye so that all that registered to the audience was the ethereal. And Scarlett was one of the best.
When a lioness hunts she practically performs—they are excellent at coordination, and during the explosive moment, they rely on practice to see them through.
Yeah, there was no doubt that Scarlett had sharp teeth and claws and a speed that defied her build, but that was only half the battle. She had the other half of it on lock down too—she was clever enough to outwit the prey at the game.
Though I knew this all to be true, it didn’t sit right with me. I was her protector and I’d run the rest away. But running the rest away sometimes meant leaving her vulnerable. Not a chance easily taken when I stood to lose it all.
I sighed, running a hand through my slick hair.
Maybe another part of me thought this situation was too good to be true. Marrying her. When I woke up tomorrow or the next day, it would all be a cruel joke, life effing—yeah, now her weak slang word was trapped inside of my head—with me for the fun of it because I fought hard enough to control what most claimed was uncontrollable. If I ever lost her—
Glass shattering in another room forced me to turn away from my reflection and the rampant thoughts. Mitch. He had made plans to bring Peter fishing and wanted to borrow my tackle box. The kid was like a little ferret, always digging around the house, looking for the shiny stash of suckers.
It was probably for the best that my attention had shifted. If I lingered too long on the thought of life without her, I became a man possessed by his own fear. Losing the one person, place, thing that ever belonged to me. Her.
Snatching the towel from the holder, I wiped my face and chest before tying it around my waist.
“Lewis—” I stopped. “Where’s Peter?”
Mitch stood by the kitchen table, Penny next to him, looking over the magazines I had left there. Janet/Jane hovered by the mantle. Her face flushed red when we made eye contact. She had been staring at a black and white picture of Scarlett and me that had been taken in Paris. We were standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.
“Damn, Fausti.” Penny whistled. “Peter’s behind that towel, but he’s not hiding. So you’re not just a pretty face. I’ve always wondered…” She opened her mouth wide, letting out a barking laugh.
“You were taking Peter fishing.” I addressed Mitch, holding the top of the towel so it wouldn’t slip.
“I am. Violet’s dropping him off in a few.” Mitch waggled his eyebrows, his eyes moving in a suggestive way toward Jane.
Our eyes met again. This time she didn’t look away.
“What did you break?” I glared at Mitch.
“Oh, that was me,” Jane said, hesitant. “I swept up the pieces, since I know where you keep the broom. The picture is over there by the sink. I’m real sorry. I was looking at your photos and I accidentally knocked one over.” She lifted her hands. “I’m clumsy.”
I nodded, mentally tallying the pictures that were on the mantle. A black and white of Scarlett in one of her frilly outfits had gone missing—or broken. It was one of my favorites.
Taking the picture from the water puddle it soaked in—she must have done the dishes too, making the water run over the side of the sink—I went to our room, setting the picture in a hot beam of sunlight. After throwing on a black t-shirt and jeans, I met them in the kitchen.
“Brando.” Jane put a hand on my arm, her fingers hot.Too hot.“Can we talk?”
“About.”
“Well.” She steered me away from Mitch and Penny, out of earshot. “About the night that I…” She bit her lip. “I wanted to apologize. I never got the chance to. I had no right letting myself in.”
I nodded.
She continued. “I kissed you, but I can’t say that I’m sorry for that. Even if you didn’t kiss me back.” She sucked a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. Her breath smelled like candied cherries. “I don’t want things between us to be awkward.”
“Hey, Fausti!” Mitch called. “Wouldn’t you say that I’m right?”
“About?” I called back.
“Get in here!”
I went to walk away, but she squeezed my arm in a way that made it clear she wasn’t finished talking. Refusing a repeat of that night, she was either going to let go or I was going to drag her along. Her grip kept steady, but she followed me.
