Ever the professional, now with sweat dripping from his temples, he made no noise about the suspicion, just got back to work.
I didn’t need Mitch to refresh my memory. “No,” I said.
“What did I say?” Mitch said, turning to the side, checking himself out. “Even on your wedding day she wouldn’t know who you truly are.”
“She knows,” I said. “Better than I do.”
I looked down at the tailor. He glanced up at the same time and our eyes met. He said nothing, but my eyes didn’t miss the subtle nod he gave to himself, and the fear. If he could, he would’ve clutched the religious medallion around his neck and said a quick prayer. He would spill his guts about this visit to the next Fausti that walked through the door, too afraid to keep quiet.
I wondered if he was the same tailor who created all of the custom suits for theFausti famiglia. The men who came to visit Luca and to keep tabs on me always had the finest suits available. Some I suspected cost more than some of the houses in Natchitoches.
“What’s in a name?” Mitch gave a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. He whistled low. “I’d say there’s a lot of weight to the name.” He nodded to the little Italian tailor. “Suspected, at first, now confirmed.Myhow the air has changed in the room.”
I’d give Mitch that much. The air had changed. Become tense, uncertain. This man didn’t know me, but he knew that somehow, I belonged. Therefore, I doubted that he knew what kind of man he was getting.
It all depended on the ranks and the reason for the visit. The sons of kings and princes—I almost laughed—rarely got their hands dirty, unless it came down to fighting another for the throne. Lucious was the exception to the rule. He enjoyed getting his hands dirty more than most.
“Listen to me, Fausti,” Mitch said, putting emphasis on my last name. “You’re giving her your name and all that comes with it. I’m no expert, obviously, but this—this she needs to know. A whole lot of shit is going to rain down some day, and this wedding could be the pressure needed to start the storm. Do you think Luca is going to allow his only heir to go that easily, especially now that he has a wife? And if she isn’t prepared, then what?”
At the mention of Luca’s name, the man’s deft hand trembled. He stood, turning from me, and as predicted, lifted the medallion and put it to his lips. With eyes closed, he whispered out a silent prayer, before calling to his son to come out and help. It was the poorest excuse for a cover up, but he had no reason to fear me. The man was magic with fabric.
“She’s mine.” I shrugged against the shirt on my shoulders. “No one will touch her.Nessuno tocca ciò che è mio.”
A moment passed before words came again, giving father and son time to digest that statement into their memories so they could pass it on without getting it wrong.
“Scarlett Rose Fausti,” I said, three words that belonged to me and me alone. “She’ll grow into it. It’s been hers all along.”
A slow grin spread on Mitch’s face. “No shit,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve never used her last name. Now I know why. You refused to. It wasn’t yours.”
No, she’s mine.Me, she was all me, down to the rib she had stolen. The only person I had ever allowed to steal from me. She was the exception to all of my rules.
Not another word was spoken as the little Italian tailor finished up.
* * *
After we arrived back in Paris, her silence still lingered. While she was at the last fitting for her wedding gown, I took a trip to the apartment she shared with Emilia and Colette.
Though Scarlett had told Maggie Beautiful that Nemours had asked her to marry him, she didn’t give specifics. At first, she became defensive. She tried to give me the “it’s none of your business” bullshit line, knowing her refusal bothered me beyond stomach issues.
That wouldn’t fucking do. So I took matters into my own hands.
The French rat wanted her. The reason didn’t matter, but my response to it would. He wanted to marry her to control her. Nemours was a man after money and power, and he had tasted both the night Scarlett had danced in his seedy nightclub.
I had gone to see him before I left Paris the first time, an appointment that had made me late to meet her after practice. Enter the growling ballerina, Cerise.
Of course, Nemours knew who I was. He also knew that I had never claimed theFausti Famigliaas my own. Though in the great scheme of things, that hardly mattered. No matter how much distance between us, in one way or another, I belonged to them.
Still, the ties that didn’t bind me pleased him. He might dangle the information over Scarlett’s head as bait, but he’d rather her not know either.
He didn’t want thefamigliato intervene. He was afraid that she would run to them if she found out exactly who I belonged to, or what, exposing him for what he was, a man who used highly talented women to dance for his own claim at fame and fortune. There were even rumors that he drugged them to encourage them to be more uninhibited.
From the start, he knew that the drink he had given Scarlett at the underground club had created an adverse effect in her. It had made her face her demons and then dance for them. She was the perfect specimen to him, all that he had ever wanted.
During our appointment, I had laid the situation out plain and simple.She’s mine. You fuck with her, that means you fuck with me.I’ll cut your heart out while it beats in your chest.Clear enough. It wasn’t her he wanted to hurt though; it was me. We had come to that understanding as well. If he hurt her, she couldn’t dance. She would be worthless to a man like him. Which is why I hadn’t quit my job and stayed behind. He wanted to please her and kill me.
He also knew that to harm me would cause an adverse reaction from Scarlett. He seemed to sense the connection between us and knew that if I were no longer around, she wouldn't dance. He’d keep her as happy as possible until he reached a limit, and then he would use a different course of action.
Over my dead body, and even then.
