Rocco agreed, but only after I spoke to my father and had him take part in the subterfuge. My father convinced Brando that he had a rare and irreplaceable package that needed to be picked up, and he only trusted him to do it. The plane that he was on had my father’s name on it as passenger, not even Brando’s. Ettore couldn’t trace him.
What I had told Donato was not a lie. Seeing him felt like life or death. This way, I could fly back with him and no time was lost.
“You didn’t tell me he was an Italian model.” Eva laughed. “He’s similar to his brothers, but different.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But don’t tellhimthat.”
“Let’s not mention it to either of them.” She took my hand, cold from the drink, so stark in comparison to the heat of the iron railing. “There’s a word in my husband’s language that seems to explain what you share with him.”
I finally turned from him—he had looked down to check the address, and then urged Eunice forward—concentrating on Eva.
“Fhíorghrá,” she said, eyes glistening. “True love.” She closed her eyes for a moment, a second before the music stopped. “Mine will be looking for me.”
She pulled me from the balcony, both of us laughing as we made our way out. She stepped out first, and Brando was there, looking between her and the address on the building.
“Brando?” Eva said.
He nodded, eyes serious, and I had to stifle the laugh.
“Your beautiful wife has told me a great deal about you.”
“My wife,” he said, cocking his head to the side.
“Yes,” I said, stepping out from behind her. “Your wife.”
Eunice squealed before he could get to me. She hugged me with such gusto that the bruise behind my skin tightened with pain. He must have noticed the look on my face because he pried her away, lifting me in his arms. So gently that I felt like I rose on a cloud. He pressed his lips against mine, our gravities clashing in a dizzying explosion.
“I’ll be in the kitchen!” Eunice said, ready to man her station.
“You’re the rare and irreplaceable package,” he whispered against my lips.
“Yes,” I said, holding his head against mine. Dear Lord, I always felt like a thirsty flower drinking from the pouring rain after his absence in my life.
“I felt you even before we landed, baby. Thought I was going insane.”
For a moment, we had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Then I remembered. I slid down from his body, but he kept me close to his side, one strong arm around my stomach.
Gabriel Roberts, in a thin blue t-shirt and old jeans, stood before us, his hand on his wife’s neck. After Brando cleared his throat, and I still hadn’t looked away from Eva’s husband—staring at him was a bit like staring at the moon—Brando pulled me in even closer. I noticed Eva stared at Brando in a similar way.
Brando and Gabriel stared at each other in that proprietorial way men have of claimingthis is mine. Eva and I caught the other’s eye at the same time. We grinned. It was sort of a waste. Neither of them was looking at either of us. It was the male equivalent of pissing on your own lawn.
“Brando,” I said, keeping an arm around his waist. “These are our neighbors. Eva and Gabriel Roberts. They live—” I pointed across the street. “Eva was nice enough to come over and say hello. She’s an author.”
Gabriel gave Eva a curious look. He seemed to know that the visit was not only to say hello. She didn’t seem like the type of woman to stop by for no reason. His deep brown eyes, the same color as Brando’s, studied her for a moment before he turned back to us and held out a hand to Brando.
The two men shook, and Brando’s eyebrows rose in recognition. “You’re—”
“He’s a musician,” I said, before Brando could call him a movie star or some equivalent. “I just had the pleasure of listening to him sing.”
Brando’s hold tightened on my waist at the word pleasure.
“Gabriel, this is Scarlett and Brando Fausti. She’s a ballerina in Italy, at the moment.”
“Ah,” Gabriel said, a blazing smile coming to his face. It softened the hardness of his eyes. He turned to Brando. “Are you a mod—”
“He’s an offshore diver, my angel,” Eva said, diffusing the situation before it got too hot. “Scarlett told me you were in the Coast Guard, at one point? A Rescue Diver in Alaska?”
“Yeah,” Brando said, the familiar term of “my angel” making him study them a bit harder. In Italian, it wasmio angelo.
