“Is that so?” Gabriel’s tone turned curious. “I know a bit about water me self.” His soft Irish lilt was almost hypnotizing. “My grandfather was a sailor in the Irish Navy. Never took to the water like him, but my sea legs are steady enough.”
Brando nodded. “What kind of music do you play?”
The tension seemed to break then, the pieces of it swallowed up by the breeze. It felt almost cool, the temperature coming down with the oncoming evening. Eva and I smiled at each other while they moved beyond terse politeness and roamed around the edge of comfortable friendliness.
“We should leave them, beb,” Eva said, moving to Gabriel’s side and patting his stomach. “They’ve been apart for two weeks.”
“That sort of distance is hell on a man’s soul,” Gabriel said, reaching for Eva’s bike, keeping one of her hands in his. “Just from here to there I was missin’ you somethin’ terrible, love.” He pulled her hand to his mouth, placing a kiss there.
Brando seemed to look at him in a different light then. It was like he was blinded by two poetic moonbeams.
“Oh!” I said, after sufficient goodbyes had gone around. I turned to face them, and Brando nearly pulled me inside when I stopped. “Eva, how about dinner?”
Though I wasn’t ready for the dream before, I was suddenly so curious that I could smell the scent of her words. Almost taste them on my tongue.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“We were going dancing, at this little place we like to go,” Gabriel said. “You’re more than welcome to come then.”
I looked at Brando. He wore a curious expression. He shrugged.
“We can walk it,” Eva said. “Meet you at seven? The stars will be out.”
* * *
After the initial shock of seeing me, reality set in. I had surprised him once again, and judging by the raised voices outside of the bedroom, his displeasure would be heard.
Before he went to challenge the cavalry, though, I had asked him to do me a favor. I wanted him to give Donato the night off.
While in waiting, I decided to put together my outfit for the evening. The open French windows not only allowed light in, but cool air. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped dramatically. I laid out Brando’s (my) leather jacket, a thick black sweater, tight black jeans, and a cashmere grey scarf. I set a pair of black suede peep toe booties to the side.
Brando’s voice drew nearer, and he said something derisive in Italian before he entered, shutting the door behind him with a softclick. He fixed me with a look. “Restare fermo. What do those words mean, Scarlett?”
If his look was any indication of mine, I gave him a blank stare.
“Restare fermo,” he snapped.
“I heard you! I’m trying to think…”
“How aboutrestez en contact?”
French. I understood that. “Stay…Oh.”
“Oh,” he mocked me, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stay put, in two fucking different languages, Scarlett. Since English doesn’t seem to work, I thought maybe a variety might help you understand.Stay put.It means don’t move. But to you it meansgo. Because here you are.”
“You’re not happy to see me?”
“Tell me what was said to persuade them to bring you here.”
I shrugged.
“You baked Donato cookies.”
I rolled my lips in, trying not to laugh. He was being serious. “Perhaps.”
He strode over to the window, gazing out over the street. The muscles in his neck twitched, and his tendons flexed. “I had to fight my brother and his first man in charge for the honor to take my wife out.”
