Maggie Beautiful raised her son. It seemed a bit of tenacity from her, and a guiding hand from fate, had stirred the waters enough to keep Brando in place. All I could do was thank God and wonder whether our love had anything to do with it. I knew my place, and I’d never deny it.
“How sick!” Maggie Beautiful flung off the covers, announcing what had been in my thoughts only a second ago. “He was going to givemybaby to that…” She started rapid-fire Italian insults.
She hopped out of bed, pacing the floor. “I know you girls think that I’m a horrible mother.” Maggie Beautiful began to cry, the intensity of the situation recreating a reality that I was sure she had avoided for a long time.
“No!” Violet’s voice came out harsh, ragged.Shestarted to cry. “I’m a horrible mother! Look at ME! I’m in love with two brothers!”
It was the first time she admitted it out loud, and I hoped it was cathartic.
“Well,” I said, my lip trembling. “My husband doesn’t want to give mehisbaby! What does that say about me?”
Laugher had long ago turned into tucked-away remorse. The three of us played out this melodrama to an impossibly sad tune, while candles swayed ominously and the storm grew meaner.
“I think we need something stronger than wine!”
I stopped Violet before she left the room. “Leave the whiskey.” I wiped away tears. Then the news that I’d have to deliver hit me hard… “On second thought, bringmethe whiskey.”
The time had come to tell him everything—the villa and what I had found in Italy. Though our home wasn’t ready, I was ready, and a clear sense of mind told me that he was probably past ready. It was time to set the secrets free.
Clinking bottles, no glasses, announced Violet’s return. What was the point of glasses at this point?
“Look at us!” Maggie Beautiful hiccupped. “He isn’t even here, and he has us all crying! Thebastardo,” she growled, spittle flying in all directions. “I gave him all of me! The beautiful years! He ruined me for ALL others. All I think about isLuca, even when I’m with someone else. I still want him! I see him!”
Violet and I looked at each other, not even sure how to respond. But I hoped Violet took the threat seriously. It was the truth.Just with an effing look.
“He stole it all away. The choices!”
“Why, Maggie Beautiful? How could he—”
If Violet questioned it, I knew she wasn’t meant for it—I didn’t even have to question it. Some deep-seated instinct inside of me instinctually knew. And I also knew that it meant she was still in love, twice over. She came here to search for something, but she wasn’t digging deep enough.
“Those eyes, they could lure the most timid of animals. And his touch.” Maggie Beautiful sighed, remembering. “Or he could rage, as passionate as a storm in my hands! Do you know how powerful a woman feels when she can control a mighty storm? It’s a wildness that you can’t really put a name to! It’s like love—it comes in the form of many names. I can’t pick one. But it’s not hard to imagine, is it?”
No.
She laughed sourly. “When he spoke to me, he did so in a way that only I thought I could understand. I didn’t think anyone else could understand his language. Only me. I still crave that look. I ache for his touch. He filled me completely. Balls the size of a bull’s, a cock that could belong to a stallion. But what did I know? I thought they all looked that way.”
“Tough act to follow,” Violet agreed with a somber nod.
“I was so…INNOCENT!” she screeched, coming down hard on the floor.
I left the bed, hitting the side table with my hip, before meeting her down in the trenches. I pulled her to me, shushing her.
“That’s right.” I rubbed her head tenderly. She flung her arms around me, searching for comfort. “You were innocent. It wasn’t your fault. He shouldn’t have—shh, shh.” I kissed her head. “You did the best you could. Brando knows that.”
“He doesn’t.” She sobbed even harder.
“Iknow that.Violetknows that. Perhaps a man can’t understand. You fought for him, Maggie Beautiful. You fought for us to have him. You were fierce. And Luca Fausti didn’t steal everything.”
“No?” She looked up at me, as timid as a child and as strong as an adult who has endured. The shadows dancing across her face told her story without words.
“No.” I wiped her tears. “He couldn’t steal your son. Brando became your innocence, didn’t he? You could love him without shame.”
I knew in doing so, she had stolen Brando’s innocence—the molecule he had been born with. She never nurtured it because she didn’t know how.
She longed to hold on to whatever she could of her childhood, so she could escape reality. She lived through Brando, next to him, because he was all she had left. Her parents had shamed her, and the only man she ever loved had left her.
“Thank you,” I said to her. “Thank you.”
