“È un rapporto che è diventato la somma di uno, ma dipende da due.” I kissed his lips. Marzio’s words—“it is a relationship that has become the sum of one, but depends on two”—sounded more romantic in Italian. “Il nostro amore è stato scritto nelle stelle, mio marito.”Our love was written in the stars, my husband.
He cocked his head to the side, studying me. “Later,” he said softly, knowing that the sudden romantic streak in me was not due to a strike of lightning.
“Later,” I agreed.
Every item on my plate was something he knew I would enjoy. I twirled spaghetti around my fork, small bites of fresh crab in the mix, lemon floating underneath my nose. He stared at the offering for a moment before he opened his mouth, letting me feed him.
“Mmm,” he said, closing his eyes, a wide smile coming to his face. He cut a piece of his steak, offering it to me. Rosemary whirled with lemon in the air.
“Mmm,” I said, mimicking him.
We kissed, laughing, continuing our feast until neither one of us could eat another bite. Uncle Tito hunted me down when dessert (dolce) was being served, wanting to know if there was a problem with the cherries and wine. He didn’t get any.
Brando and I tried to stifle our humor, and I hoped the blush that came to my cheeks was not telling. I assured Uncle Tito that there was enough just for him (from a smaller batch I had made before Brando dumped the big pot over my head) and served it to him personally.
Uncle Tito’s cheeks went pink, and his demeanor became proud when the older gentleman next to him asked why he didn’t get any. Uncle Tito responded with, “I am special to her. She is a famous ballerina, you know this?”
The pitch of the party rose again, family swapping anecdotes, friends sharing a laugh or two, a plentiful amount of “salute” blessing our tables. Scarce leftovers stilled on plates, bottles clanked with even more fervor, bodies danced together among the fragrant lavender, underneath the lemons to Italian melodies, and the stark sun melted into a halcyon glow in the distance.
Marzio still hadn’t made his decision. He was the life of the party, laughing raucously, reliving his youth by dusting off stories from old memories.
Brando melted into a sense of his own comfort. His sleeves were rolled up, skin shimmering, eyes soft, and his countenance respite with the fullness of manna. He stood, offering me his hand, nodding toward nature’s dance floor. “Do me the honor. Dance with me,mia moglie.”
We left our shoes under the table, like two lovers racing toward the hills. He twirled me softly before he pulled me in. One hand wrapped around his neck, the other secure in his, close to his heart, as our eyes held.
God, if only moments could be bottled. I’d collect this one and place it front and center.
I sighed against him and then breathed him in, refusing to let him go. The warm air made the scent of his skin even more potent. The distinct aromas of garlic, rosemary, onion, and lemon faintly drifted from his hands, whiskey on his breath, and I swayed in his arms with no inhibitions.
A wave of heat billowed over us, as if we had danced too close to a nonexistent fire. Breaking our gaze, I found Ettore watching us. Marzio had just tilted his head back to take a drink of red wine when he noticed his son’s attention. His eyes followed the line of malice directly to us.
Marzio said something sharp. Ettore retracted his fury, most likely swallowing it down for later inspiration.
“He believes you have enchanted his father. He called you sneaky,” Brando said, a slow spreading grin coming to his face.
Pulling back some, I eyed Brando with a narrowed look. “You didn’t argue the point, I’m sure.”
He laughed, bringing me close again. “I know that you’re not sneaky, but he doesn’t. I refuse to defend anything to him, or anyone else. He doesn’t even trust his own shadow. Still, the truth of the matter is that you are clever, Ballerina Girl. And you know it.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Know so,” he corrected. “You planned this party around the old man’s memories.”
“True.” I sighed. “But I wasn’t being sneaky. On our walk back, I explained my reasons to him. It wasn’t my intention to show him something done before, only to remind him of the familiar. This party is full of new, but the foundation is the one he and your grandmother built for their family.”
“Specifics.”
“Love, my angel. I wanted him to feel it again.” I snuck a quick peek at Ettore, who wasn’t staring but was burning all the same. I found myself moving even closer to Brando, my hold tightening. “Are you afraid of him?”
“Ettore? No. Should I be?”
“No,” I shook my head, bringing my head close to Brando’s heart. “But don’t get comfortable.”
* * *
Chianti called to me, but I hadn't had more than a drop to drink since Greece. Just the thought of being powerless to a substance made my hands sweaty. But ever since our dance, I had been swinging between thoroughly enjoying myself and ruminating on the wordvengeance.The word won out and I gave in and had a few glasses to relax the sudden and inescapable tension.
What if requital wasn’t enough for him? What if he needed more? What if he craved it? He was a born leader, and although he was not raised to know his place in that world, he still had instincts.
