His warm lips moved in a slow, lingering caress, skimming my wet cheeks, absorbing the cold tears there. He started to move again, something inside of me possessing him to continue, and he swallowed down the cries from my mouth with his own. The words he had just spoken rang loud with the truth, humming through the blood in my veins.
What I have given you is so deeply concealed that even I can no longer touch it. This is why I cannot stop touching you. Wanting you. Not even for a moment. My life. My wife. Forever. Mine.
* * *
After hours had passed, and my husband had thoroughly pleased me beyond comprehension, he drifted off to sleep. I had drifted too, but I couldn’t find enough peace to stay under.
Instead of fighting the resistance, I rested my face in my palm, watching him. In sleep, his expression softened, reminding me of a man who found his peace through surrender.
Making him wait had taken its toll on him. It had taken its toll on me. It had taken all of me not to give in to all of him. But I had to stand my ground and give him a taste of his own medicine.
Though the reason behind what he had done was understandable, it didn’t make his silence excusable. I was known to draw lines when a situation started to get the best of me. This time, I had to be firm. He wasn’t allowed to cross it—no matter what Luca Fausti said or did to push him over it.
It was the second time in our history that his father seemed to push him over a line that I had drawn.
How powerful his father must be, I thought,to sway the most hardheaded man that I had ever known.What Brando Fausti wanted, he took, end of story. So for him to hesitate over mere words made me curious about what kind of man his father was.
The night that Brando returned to Paris, the turmoil had been clear on his face. I felt it. Whatever his father had made him feel still lingered. I doubted that it would ever leave. There were times when I sensed that Luca Fausti fed the beast inside of his son.
What I didn’t understand waswhy.
All of these thoughts were the crux of my disquiet.
Through my own surrender, I had found that I felt both drained and energized. It was the same sort of sensation after a long flight. Both settled in my skin and fighting to get out of it.
The anniversary of my brother’s death contributed to the feeling, I knew. Elliott had died on December 12 at 3 a.m. Some years, the energy needed to put my feet on the floor didn’t exist. Other years, like this one, I experienced the painful feeling of growth that comes with the reminder of such a loss. I felt more nostalgic than anything, wishing he could’ve been there with us in the physical.
I also knew that most of the unrest was due to the man next to me.My husband. The thought sent a rush of pride over me and made me breathless. I smiled so wide that it hurt, as giddy as the new bride that I was.
Scarlett Rose Fausti. It was the first time in our history that Brando had ever called me by three names, and when he did, he do so with an Italian accent.
Resisting the urge to touch him, my fascination fell on the two new symbols he had given me during our ceremony. The ballerina ring now had a matching diamond baguette band underneath it, and another band he had given me during our vows on my right.
The second new piece was from a prominent Italian jeweler, created from their famed “tulle” technique—my finger seemed to have a band of lace wrapped around it, accented by white diamonds.
Tulle Ramage,which suited us.Ramage meant wild, untamed—what we were together.
The metal and diamonds caught the flicker of the candlelight, all of the rings shimmering in response, giving my skin a more tender appearance. I removed the band from my left finger, watching as it glittered, admiring the inscription—sempre. Glancing at his band, a matching white gold, I was thankful that I had had the same word inscribed on his.
A ring on each hand, he had said.No matter when you look down, you’ll be reminded of my promises.
My heart is the only reminder that I’ll ever need…
Smiling, I slipped the new band back on my left hand. A perfect fit. Then I laughed quietly, thinking of his face when the priest had asked the congregation if they had any objections to our marriage. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” Such a ferocious look had come over his face, his eyes daring anyone to speak, that a few people in the crowd tittered quietly. These people were Violet, Mick, and Mitch. No one else had the courage to.
I sighed, knowing that I’d never forget how it felt to pledge my life to him.
Knowing that sleep was futile, I slipped out of bed, leaving the king to his entire castle, and headed for the bathroom to freshen up. Brando had removed all the pins from my hair earlier, and the low chignon bun had caused my scalp to feel tender. My hair was thick and long, with its usual center part, and it wasn’t light on the head.
The hairstyle, paired with rolling under the sheets with my thunderous husband, among other places, left me with strands of hair that could’ve easily been mistaken as nesting snakes, all puffed out around my head. Even the small tendrils that framed my face had gone rogue.
Brando had called it a halo. Lovewasblind.
Brushing was a habit of mine, so I decided to tame the wild strands of my hair before brushing my teeth.
The castle held a chill that even the fire couldn’t touch. Succumbing to the cold, I took a warm bath, hoping that afterward sleep would come. But after the hot water ran cold, the air felt even colder in comparison to the womblike room I had been encased in.
Pulling the thick wool robe around me tighter, shivering, I stopped at the window on the way to the humungous bed, hoping that Brando’s warmth might be able to lull me to sleep now. He burned hotter than a furnace.
