He grinned and went in for a kiss, but the brim of the hat blocked his attempt. He slapped it out of the way, his mouth finally meeting mine. “Yeah, because of you, Ballerina Girl.”
“There’s more. Not about you, but about my mother.” I held on tighter to him, taking comfort in his strength. “I never understood, Brando. Not really. I do now. I—I don’t know how she survived it, losing her son and not having what we have. My father’s not… They’re not like us.”
It’s all I could say. How alone she must’ve felt. Perhaps my father felt alone too. But to carry a child and then to lose him, to have that life ripped from your heart, was much worse than losing your own life. And to not have the only other person who could understand be there to share in the loss… My heart hurt deep inside at the thought. I never realized how deep a heart could hurt until we lost Matteo, how a part of it could die but yet still live. “I don’t know how she didn’t lose her mind,” I whispered.
He held me closer. I knew the feelings that ran through me were running through him too. How easy it could’ve been for us to drift so far from each other that there was no bridging the distance. But something whispered to me then, slicing through the wonderful humming in my blood like a spear, that we would reach out to each other no matter what. It was more instinct than thought.
“Sometimes what we see on the outside is not reflective of the inside,” he said. “They’re still together. Maybe behind closed doors it’s different.”
“I know what he does,” I said, admitting it out loud for the first time. “With other women.”
He took my face in his hands, studying my expression. The look he gave me when he ordered me to never see Luca Fausti had nothing on the way he looked at me now. I could clearly see his truth through his dark eyes, rising up from a sacred place—I’m not him, and I swear to you that I’d never hurt you in that way.
I turned from him, not able to hold his stare, right into the glare of the sun. Fiery blotches seared my retinas, whiting out parts of my vision no matter how much I blinked.
Brando sighed. He swam us around for a while longer, every so often dunking us to keep cool. He brought us closer to the shore, then stopped, dislodging my hold from around his neck. He prompted me to stand before him.
“What?” I said, sensing something I didn’t understand coming off of him.
“Give me a minute.”
A warm wind blew, rippling the water, and I held on to my hat to keep it from taking flight like a straw bird. He meant it when he said he needed a minute. We stared at each other, me without a clue and him full of them.
After the allotted time, he cleared his throat. “Go on a date with me.”
I blinked at him. Laugher bubbled up inside of me and exploded from my mouth. He had to be kidding around—no, he wasn’t. His face was humorless, his lips pinched.
“You’re being serious?” I sobered, wiping my eyes.
He nodded once, slowly, cautiously. Definitely not joking then.
“If I say no?”
His eyes turned from watchful to guileless. “You still give me—you still make me feel—fuck me.” He slapped the water in frustration, though he didn’t make a huge splash. “There’s no getting over you unless it’s dying. Even then—” He shrugged. “If you say no, I’m done. You’ll break my heart.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. I stared at him, not even one blink to clear the shock.
“I’ve never done this before.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but clearly it was. “Andfarfalle. That’s what I was trying to think of. That’s what you still give me.”Butterflies.
I forced the words out. “You're doing fine—actually, better than fine. You overshot your mark. I don't think some marriage proposals have that much conviction and passion.”
“Yeah?” He grinned, satisfied.
“Yes.”
“Yeah as in—you'll go with me?” He wiped a hand across his head. He was sweating, even in the water.
Should I play hard to get? We had never really dated. Not like this. I couldn’t believe I was considering playing hard to get with my husband! But he was out to show me a good time, something I didn’t get to experience during my first trip to Fiji. “One date.” I lifted a finger, grinning on the inside like a lovesick loon.
“Then?”
“Ifwe have fun, we’ll have another.”
“That’s a yes.”
“Well, you didn’t really ask, but…yes!” I laughed at his insistence.
“There’s no way you’re going to say no to a second date. I made plans while you were thinking on the hammock.” He came in closer, going in for a kiss.
