“Would that be a reason for a man not to want children?”
“I suppose.” He shrugged. “Depends on the man and how much of a choice he thinks he has in the matter. It might be that he fears genetics will play a stronger role than choice.”
“Ask me.”
Mitch and I both turned at the sound of Brando’s voice.
He stood against a tree that was further out, arms crossed, legs crossed, taking in the scene with saturnine eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were going for a walk.”
“I needed to be alone.”
He looked at Mitch.
“I was worried about her,” Mitch said, standing. “After I told you that dinner was ready, I followed her out. I knew she wasn’t going to tell anyone where she was going.”
Brando nodded, eyes back on me, hard and serious.
“Good talk,” Mitch said, patting my veil with a grin. “I’m going to have that steak now.” He passed Brando with a nod and then disappeared down the path.
“Did you eat?” I said after his stare became too imposing.
“No. I expect you to eat with me.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You will eat.”
“I’m not HUNGRY!” I shot up and went to blow past him, but he caught me, bringing me back to the bench.
He came in close to my face. Our noses and lips almost touched. “Am I not good enough to talk to?”
“Talk?” I laughed sarcastically. “We haven’t really talked since that night!” I mimicked him, growling and complaining. “That’s what you consider talking lately.”
A beat of silence passed before we both cracked a smile at my theatrics, and he lifted me from the seat, depositing me on his lap.
“Do that again,” he said, a smirk on his face. “Growl.”
“No.” I looked away from him, but he turned my face toward his.
“Don’t look away from me.”
“WhyshouldI look at you?”
“You love me.”
Oh hell…stalemate.
He laughed quietly, like he could read my thoughts. It was the first true laugh I had heard from him in what felt like much too long. But the idea that he could laugh now, because he was free of the burden of a child, our child, made me cry.
Not that I wanted a baby at this juncture in our lives, but it was the death of what I had always dreamed of. A harsh reminder of what I sacrificed for love.
He pulled me closer, guiding my face to his neck. “Your nose is like ice.” He rested his head against mine, to further shield me from the cold. “And this thing needs to go.” Before I could stop him, he removed my mantilla, sending it flying with a surge of wind. I cried even harder.
“Shh.” He kissed me. He usually gave me what I called Italian kisses—fat smooches that were loud and placed all around the face—but this time he did it quietly. They were kisses meant to heal. “I know there’s more to this than Marzio.”
“A little.” My shoulders shook with sadness. “I do miss him.”
“Tell me what happened here.”
