“Before bed, while you brushed your teeth, you’d go on and on about things you didn’t want to forget. You’d always ask me to remind you—we need chicken, or we’re getting low on soap—but I didn’t even need to remind you. You’d remember before I could. I’d think,here’s a woman who is considered a living dance legend, leading productions of hundreds of dancers, and she can remember that her husband needs deodorant.
“Then you became silent. It was stolen from me in a fucking blink of an eye. The quiet drove me to almost madness. I clung to the noises of the house, not really listening, just filling in the emptiness so other things couldn’t creep in. I would’ve broken sooner if not for the constant flow of life in the villa. When I did break, and you came to me, I heard you again. I heard the sound of my life. I have no fucking clue how I made it this long. The words are not even important, though they are, but the sound of you—like a few minutes ago, when you laughed.” He raised his arm, showing me the goosebumps that corrugated his skin. “I had to take you away with me. I need you all to myself. You. Only you. You are my life, Scarlett Fausti.” He said the words so low that I barely heard him.
I shifted my feet, trying to wake up my frozen limbs. “I need you too,” I said softly. “Just you.”
We both felt the truth, though we spoke another version of it. There was distance between us. So it was no surprise when he spoke the next four words.
“We’re going to hurt.”
His meaning was clear enough.There is no more drifting away now. Down here, there is only moving toward each other. There is no running, no hiding. This is going to hurt because it means everything. He meant everything.The “we” he offered was refuge, but not total protection. We both knew that was impossible. It was “our” loss.
There was no response I could give, but there needn’t be one. The current of my consent ran through me like a volt, and his ran to me, causing me to feel both terrified and safe with the shock of its force.
He moved his arms in a way that told me the matter was settled. Then he rose, making the sound of a man who was both content and unsettled. He looked me in the eye. “Can I kiss you?”
It took me a moment to answer. “No,” I said finally. The top fell from my fingers and I set my hands to my sides, balling my fists.
Anger flashed quick and hot, turning his eyes hard, before he tamed it down.
If I were English, I would have saidbloody hell, but instead I settled on another lameno, but this time with more irritation behind it. “Not until you stop asking for what’s always been yours.”
“It does a man good to hear yes from his woman from time to time.”
“Yes,” I said, my heart thrumming faster, even with the pill relaxing me.
My husband grinned, the look in his eyes more playful. “In that case.” He kissed me like he had when he thought he’d never be able to again, leaving me breathless and unsure if my legs were on steady ground. He squeezed my behind, or what was left of it. “It’s time for a shower. Grab your things, baby.”
* * *
I stole a peek at the bathroom, afraid he might see and take the paper before I could read it. Rooting through my bag for the bottom to the pajama top, I had come across an envelope that was sealed and addressed to me.
My Dear Niece,
Do not allow your husband to hide behind his bravery—though he is gallant, he is no more logical than any man who is deeply in love. Believe me, if you breathe, he breathes. Here rests proof of a man’s unyielding devotion to his wife. Reckless? Sì. A crazed romantic gesture? I will leave that up to you.
With Love,
Uncle
My eyes devoured the second paper, folded and tucked behind the first. Brando chose this moment to emerge from the bathroom. I hid the letters behind my back before he could see. The top dangled back there, so I hoped it concealed them well.
He was naked.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.
I had seen him naked over the last couple of months, but not when I was fully within my senses and feeling. He was skinnier, the deep V making an even deeper concavity, but it only meant thathestood out more.
Our eyes met and held. Signal sent, my body responded with fervor, and I shivered, my lower stomach tightening, the pulse throbbing, proving that some parts still worked, even if others were faulty. The ache for him was so acute that I didn’t believe it had a name. It felt warm against the flesh and burned down to marrow. I had been in the darkness too long, and he was my light. He stood in a stroke of sunlight that pierced the layers standing between the ocean and us, haloing around him in a bright, wavering glow.
If a word existed that meant far beyond beautiful, it would be Brando Piero Fausti.
Averting my eyes, I looked toward the bed. “You’re too skinny,” I mumbled.
A laugh broke free from his chest. A painful tearing sound that yanked at my heart, but true nonetheless. “You’ll fatten me up.”
I realized that I was staring athimagain, unable to look away. My cheeks rushed with hot blood.
“That’s not what I meant.” He laughed some more, leaving me in the room alone. He came out of the bathroom not long after, briefs on.
