“I’m sorry. You’re right.” He was. I would have been worried about him. It wasn’t like me not to tell him. “But I’m not alone.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You mentioned that.”
I looked back toward the yard. Rocco was watching me. “Brando…” I glanced again. “How much do you know about Luca Fausti?”
“Tell me.Adesso.”Now.
“I’m curious.”
“The basics,” he said, his tone turning sharp. “That’s enough.”
I drew a line in the dirt, moving my sandal back and forth. “Can you call me a bit later?” I asked.
He went quiet again. Rocco laughed at something on his camera.
“Scarlett.”
“I love you, Brando. Call me later.”
Then I hung up. If my husband turned sharp at just the mention of his father, his family ties, what would he do or say if he found out that I was a breath away from one of them?
“You did not have to rush on my account,bella.” Rocco smiled at me as I returned. “I have plenty of time.”
“Good. Why don’t you tell me…more about you?”
I found that Rocco was pleasant company. We talked about his work, his life growing up in Luca Fausti’s shadow; apparently he was encouraged to follow in his father’s footsteps, but he didn’t find it appealing. As minutes turned into hours, it was close to midnight before he offered to cook something for me.
I hesitated.
He put a huge and warm hand over mine. “It will be edible.”
“How about you come back tomorrow?” I moved my hand, fixing my hair, not wanting to be rude. “During the day?”
He placed a chaste kiss on my knuckles. “Promettere,” he said.Promise.
I wondered if his word was as good as his blood?
Before he left, he gifted me a bottle of perfume—spicy, a bit floral, but more sensual than what I was accustomed to. He said it matched my hair.
As promised, he returned the next day. He cooked a dish for me—his special pears with pecorino cheese. His idea of cooking and mine varied wildly. He considered cutting pears, slicing cheese, and drizzling warm honey and pepper over the plate a dish. I wasn’t so sure. But after I tried it, I gave him a high five.
He was a big help around the villa too. He kept the workers in line. He looked over the plans. He told me Rosaria had gotten me a great deal on the place. I kept trying to sneak questions in.
“What was it like growing up with a famous racecar driver?”
He waved his hand. “He wasn’t around much.”
“Do you get along with him?”
A shrug. “He is my father.”
I sensed a pattern here. “Are you an only child?” I blurted.
“Is there a reason you wish to know,bella?”
“No.” I waved a hand. “No reason. Just curious.”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you look so much like my husband that it makes me want to cry and smile at the same time.
