“For what?” Her voice came out small, whispered, as if she had never been thanked before.
“For keeping him. You kept my heart. You didn’t lose it. It was waiting for me to claim when the time was right. I love you, Maggie Beautiful.”
“I love you too, Maggie Beautiful,” Violet said, coming to join us.
“Oh,” she sighed. “That feels nice. Thank you. And…you’re welcome.”
Violet and I held her close, and then the three of us drifted off into a drunken sleep.
Chapter Ten
Scarlett
To say that the whiskey was harsh on me would’ve been a lie. It damn near killed me. The only part of the escapade to be thankful for was its residual numbing haze. If there ever was a day to need something to subdue my erratic nerves, it was today.
The kitchen was quiet as I made coffee and prepared a container of grapes to take with me on the ride to Milan. I decided to drive instead of fly. I needed some time to think over exactly what I was going to say to him and how I was going to say it.
No more secrets, Brando.
Violet was busy thinking about her date with Romeo that night, and Maggie Beautiful chattered on lightly about a man she had met at the market—he wore round glasses and a wool cardigan, but he seemed like he could become a good friend. He was going to pick her up later and they were going to the theater.
I left Violet with a sexy silk leopard-print dress that came to her ankles; I left a simple pair of diamond earrings for Maggie Beautiful. They both wished me luck and saw me off. I laughed a little at their faces when I drove away—somber with a bit of hope.
I listened to four hours of nineties music as I navigated the roads of Italy, trying to come up with a plan. But I knew that nothing planned was good enough. It was useless to even try. I’d probably end up blurting everything out like I always did when I had something unpleasant to tell him.
The closer Milan came, the more I fought the urge to pull over and release the contents of my stomach.
The apartment felt cold, sterile compared toDare Alla Luce.There was no warmth to the walls, no delicious smells always floating in the air, and no laughter echoing in the hallways. Still, I tried to put on a brave front.
My energy was close to nonexistent, but my anxiety kept sending sparks of inspiration, and I’d find something or other to do. I dressed in a soft, floral maxi dress, wore the perfume he liked, and tried to make myself look as appealing as possible. I cooked a simple lunch.
Then I settled in to wait. Actually, I daydreamed.
He’d come storming in, we would argue a little, and then I’d tell him everything. I’d beg him to come with me to Siena, and I’d finally show him what I had done—for the both of us. Then intuition knocked and reality stepped in.
He was going to destroy my bubble with his reaction.
I must have fallen asleep, because I awoke groggy and confused, until I realized that the phone ringing, shrill and demanding, had dragged me from sleep.
Brando.
“You’re not coming home. Again?” I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, sure that I had heard him wrong.
“Not this minute.”
“Why?”
“They’re down a guy.” His response was short and simple, his usual as of late.
“Are you ever coming home?”
“Yeah.” He laughed, but there was nothing funny to be found in the sound. “But I’m sure you have plenty to keep you occupied until then.”
“Brando,” I whispered. “I have to tell you something.”
“Save it.” His voice was ice cold. “Until we’re face to face.”
I told him that I loved him and then hung up. I packed the lunch, and on the way out of the apartment, I offered it to a homeless man. I drove back to Siena, not even remembering the trip after arriving home.
