He laughed, raspy and long. “Too bad. You’re here. You’re going to listen. Sit the hell down, Scarlett.”
She huffed when she plopped down in the velvet chair, crossing her legs, her eyes finding mine for the briefest of seconds, as searing as a brand.
Mitch’s guitarist began to strum his instrument before the drummer came in with a beat, and Mitch began to sing. I watched her face carefully in the glow of the light above, most of her in shadow but her most prominent features. Her eyes, cool as steel, started to melt. The icy distance dissolved into something else, fascination.
I had watched Mitch sing to Violet from time to time—his voice held a hard edge, but with an undertone of pleading that was unmistakable. Violet moved into him, an almost unconscious reaction, and he deployed this same tactic on Scarlett. I knew more than anything, though, that even if his voice conveyed the remorse that needed to be expressed, she was listening to the lyrics.
Her body tilted toward him, rapt.
Occasionally, she’d wipe at her cheeks, trying to hide the tears. I saw and felt them regardless. Each one was like a drop of blood from my own supply. I had hurt her before, but this time there was a difference; I was dangerously close to the flatline. Her forgiveness was the beat I needed to live on.
The intensity of the song increased and her hands gripped the sides of the chair, white as snow. He finished with, “I’m sorry,” and the entire room fell into deep silence.
She sat there for some time, looking away from Mitch, from the band, from me. One of the guys coughed and it seemed to echo. Finally, she rose, taking slow steps toward me, moving like a woman who knows her body and how to make it sway with natural cadence. She stopped when we were face to face. I met her imperious glare but didn’t challenge it.
“Mitch,” she said, her focus on me. “Give me your knife.”
“I didn’t bring one.” His answer came as quick as lightning; too quick. Mistake. She picked up on it.
She knew he never left home without a knife. He often lost them, but he always replaced them the next day.
“I saw it,” she said, her voice causal. “Attached to your pocket.”
“They wouldn’t let me bring it on the plane.”
“It’s my father’s plane, Mitch.”
“Scarlett…”
For a moment all I could do was wonder what Violet had done to him. He was more than hesitant to give Scarlett the knife.
“Give it to her, Mitch,” I said, reflecting her focus.
He blew out an exaggerated breath before he placed it in her waiting palm. She removed the smallish dagger from its leather holder. The metal glinted in response to the chandelier, and it was cool as it touched my throat, sharp as it slipped down to the beating of my heart.
“What did you tell me in that restaurant? Let me remind you. I’m your religion. Well, let me give you this sanction, Brando Piero Fausti.” She said my name just as it should be said, with the perfect Italian intonation. “I refuse to allow you to hurt me anymore.” Her breath came even and as cool as the metal. I could almost taste the wine she must have had earlier. “I want these people to hear me. I want you to hear me. If you ever leave me again, in the ways that you keep leaving me, and without even talking to me, I will split you from heart—” the pressure of the knife increased, sliding all the way down to the crotch of my jeans “—to scrotum.”
One of the band members sucked in a breath. “That’s about the same thing,” he whispered. “Can’t lose one without losing the other.”
“You’re doing somethingto me,” I whispered, copying her words from another time. She was. It took a certain amount of bravery to stand up to me. She had it in spades.
“I’m meaning to.”
“You finally get it, Ballerina Girl. I belong to you, just as much as you belong to me.”
“I knew that from the moment out in the snow, but I was never woman enough to stand up and claim it,” she said, her voice as fierce as her stare. “Claim you. You do belong to me, Brando Fausti. And anyone who tries to take you from me, includingyouoryourfather, will be damned. I’ll make sure of it.Ascoltami, questa è la mia sanzione.”
Hear me, she had said,this is my sanction.
“You didn’t give fair warning in that restaurant to give me an out.” She shook her head. “No, there is no true out for either of us, is there? No. You instructed me to think on your words. But it wasn’t a warning for me to either say yes or no to. When you want, you take. The warning was simply for me to accept. I know you as well as I know the beating of my heart.”
“Is that knife clean, Mitch?” I said.
“Yeah, I just bought it. Why?” He sounded suspicious.
“Give me the knife, Scarlett.” I held my hand out.
She took a step back, keeping the knife to herself.
