“Trust me.”
The battle raged. She was torn between handing it over and running. She wasn’t sure what I intended to do with the weapon. After some serious deliberation, she finally placed it in my control.
Before she could stop me, I carved anSinto my palm. The blood below the surface rose like bubbles before the liquid joined into a thin river.
She snatched the knife back, slicing a thin line across her own palm. The last time I had been in Paris I had found that her palm had the lines of a number three. The straight slash she made completed theB. I took her hand in mine, holding my palm tightly against hers, the only chain that bound me.
“It won’t happen again,” I vowed. “La mia parola è buona quanto il mio sangue.”My word is as good as my blood.I’d spill even more if it meant her forgiveness. “You have my word, Scarlett. You’ve always had all of me.”
She nodded, removing her hand from the oath first. She gave me a long stare before she turned and went for the door.
“What the hell just happened here?” one of the band members asked.
“Love,” Mitch answered, sounding all choked up. “The kind of love that only happens once in a lifetime.Ifyou’re lucky enough to even find it.”
I followed behind her, closing my hand to keep her blood with mine.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brando
As it turned out, her forgiveness was not so easily won. I had done her wrong and she meant for me to feel it.
Her treatment was not in vain. I deserved her wrath and more.
She had banned me from staying with her in the apartment she shared with Emilia and Colette, sending me packing to the apartment we usually shared together when I was home. Paris had become home to me because she was there.
Mitch stayed with me, using the excuse that the plane ride back was just too effing frightening to even contemplate. I knew the ride was not the only idea too frightening to contemplate. He was in hiding, biding his time until Violet gave birth to Mary.
The situation suited us both. He could spend some time with Scarlett and keep an eye on her when I went back to work. When my two weeks on would come to an end and I’d head back to Paris, she demanded a call before I arrived, and she would take her time deciding whether or not she felt like seeing me.
We held hands, but when I went to kiss her goodnight, she’d turn her face, offering me her cheek. I’d ask about the wedding and she’d shrug and say,we’ll see.
Yeah,we’llfuckingsee.
For a man not used to losing control, all of these demands and rules were starting to grate on raw nerves. I had given her what constituted as seconds in my world before. This time was different. Her punishment became law. After spending so much time together over the last months, being near her made seconds feel like actual seconds again, and my impatient nature had begun to take its toll.
Unless I didn’t mind carrying her into the church kicking and screaming over my shoulder, I had to atone for my sins. There was no doubt that I would, but so far, our plans had not been cancelled.
When her father came to town about a week after my latest return, he brought Mick along and the four of us flew to Italy, where we were measured for bespoke suits. Everett slapped a gigantic hand on my shoulder, squeezing.
“I only have two girls, Brando Piero,” he said, his tone cordial enough, but his eyes and grip held the implied threat. “Scarlett Rose is my baby. Always has been.”
He let go and said no more on the matter.Messaged received,my solemn nod answered.Scarlett’s father had never really showed any protective measures over his daughter before. I respected him more for it.
After stepping down from the platform, he went to make a call, dragging Mick with him. Everett had planned a stag party, expensive cigars and the finest whiskey included. He invited people. Every affair was a business opportunity to him.
The little Italian tailor continued to take my measurements, glancing up at me every now and again, his eyes and nose both sharp. There was no doubt that he was one of the finest in his field, though looking at him, he concealed his talent well.
Sprezzatura. Meaning, he was a man who made what he did look effortless, though what he would produce would be far from the norm.
The religious medal around his neck barely made a sound as he moved with deft fingers and light steps. Saint Homobonus, the patron saint of tailors.
Mitch stood next to me, staring in the opposite mirror. His face had been pale ever since the plane ride, his stomach producing enough fumes to keep us in the air. Worse than a fucking skunk.
He cleared his throat. “You tell her, Fausti?”
At the mention of my name, the little Italian tailor dropped his tool, staring at it long and hard before he picked it up. It was the first time that my name had been mentioned, which I assumed confirmed his suspicions all along.
