“If I wasn’t the son of—”
“I forgive you,” I said. He needed to hear it for some reason that was lost on me. I could sense it—the urge to be forgiven for something he couldn’t even speak out loud. It was stronger than the air around me. “No matter what you’ve done. Iforgiveyou. If I don’t blame you, you have no right to blame yourself. Not only do I forgive you, but I love you more than words can say.”
I knew him seeking mercy had something to do with his father, but what, I wasn’t sure if he’d ever tell me. What my husband did in his life mattered, and perhaps at some point he would have to ask for forgiveness from someone other than me, but whatever it was, I was his regardless. Very few things would make me walk away from Brando Fausti, and he knew them all by heart. Whatever this was, it wasn’t one of them.
“Say what you mean and mean what you say.” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“My word is as good as my husband’s blood,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t take this lightly. Not this.La mia misericordia è tua.”My mercy is yours.
He nodded once, the suspicion in his eyes turning into a semblance of acceptance.
“Vieni qui,” I said, opening my arms.
He came to me willingly, and I brought his head to my chest, bringing us both down on the bed. “Rest,mio angelo,” I whispered.
He mutteredtwice on Sundaybefore he fell asleep in my arms.
* * *
The island came alive at night. The sea shushed the shore to whispers, reminding all of its inhabitants to be quiet. Palm fronds rustled overhead, their susurrations picked up by the cool breeze, sweeping into the cabin like tickling conversations.
A hawk moth had gotten tangled in the mosquito net, but it seemed more like a plaything instead of a trap. Even with its wings partly folded, the insect was well over three inches. It reminded me of a small bird with gossamer wings. As expected, a moment later, it fluttered, easily dislodging itself from the soft white fabric, taking off for the wooden perch.
Brando’s even breathing was even more gentle than the wind. Every once in a while he would sigh. I wondered why, and then realized that while the island captivated me with its murmurings, I had been caressing his skin with my fingertips.
Sleep wouldn’t come, and I didn’t want to disturb the first deep sleep he had in months by moving, so I stared above at the ceiling, thinking about the reason Brando never returned my wedding rings.
Although it seemed like a small detail in the midst of what we had been through, it wasn’t like him not to want them back on my naked fingers. They were as important to him as clothes on my body. “These are not optional,” he had told me on our wedding day. “They have a home, and that’s where they’ll stay.” Then he had placed a kiss on each of my knuckles, sealing the vow.
I hadn’t willingly taken them off, so why was he waiting to give them back? I refused to come out and ask. If anyone should bring it up, it should be him. He had them, after all.
Lifting my left hand, I felt a stab of panic at seeing my finger so bare. In fullcompos mentis, I knew it was silly. They were just rings. But the romantic part of me highly disagreed—it felt deprived of the symbolism. The grooves the rings made on my skin as a result of never taking them off became a constant reminder of what I had lost and wanted back, a sense of normalcy.
Nothing will ever be normal again. The gaping hole left an ugly scar.Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I cried quietly.
He sat up so suddenly that I almost thought someone had pulled imaginary strings attached to him. His hair was a mess, and he ran a hand through it before he went, “Ah?” He looked left and then right, a confused man searching for direction.
“Brando?”
He blinked a few times.
“Brando?” I said again, this time louder.
“Scarlett.”
“I’m here.”
He looked down at me, a look of surprise on his face. “You’re dressed.”
I ran a hand up his back. His skin was smooth and hot. A few beads of sweat trickled down.
“I’ve been dressed,” I said.
He stared at me for a few more minutes, then scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. “I must’ve been dreaming,” he said, sounding truly perplexed.
“About?”
“Tell me why you’re crying first.”
