Brando and Gabriel continued to chat about everything and nothing. Eva and I looked at each other and narrowed our eyes.
Brando’s accepting demeanor toward what had transpired nagged at me more than if hewouldhave started something. His calculating attitude made me more than suspicious.
Food was served—I had the healthiest salad they offered, and Brando had oysters—and after dinner, Brando and Gabriel went to the bar in search of whiskey. The area was packed, and from the long strip of mirror, I could see reflected faces. Girls started to hover, a few around Brando, a few around Gabriel, like bees to honey.
Eva sat up, her eyes honing in on a woman who put her hand on Gabriel’s arm. “I don’t mind them looking,” she said almost to herself, “but I draw the line at touching.” She stared at the woman so hard that finally she turned around, probably wondering why her side was on fire. When their eyes met, Eva sat up straighter, her lips in a position that backed up her eyes. The woman withdrew her touch, turning to Brando.
“Teach me the technique,” I said.
“Hmm? Oh. You just have to mean it.” She took a drink of lemon water. “And don’t feel guilty about it afterward.”
Noted.
The celebration continued at Gabriel and Eva’s place, the journey back dull in comparison to the forward journey. It was blessed dullness, in my opinion.
Inside of their place, we met more Irish, who seemed to be waiting. Gabriel introduced them. Andrew and Seamus, along with their wives, and another man that he called his brother, and his wife, Layla. She was a statuesque blonde who seemed to be all sweet, southern humor.
Brando and Gabriel’s brother faced each other, in the same manner men do when they have an even competitor, but after Gabriel slapped both their shoulders, both men grinned at each other.
“Michael Roberts,” Brando said.
Michael was built like a tank. A scar crossed his face, but it didn’t detract from his attractiveness, only added to it. His Irish lilt was as powerful as Gabriel’s.
Michael held out his hand. “None other.”
Brando gave him his hand. “I watched you fight McGregor. You destroyed him.” The light in his eyes grew brighter.
“Aye, I did,” Michael said, nodding. “Good times.”
Gabriel told Michael that Brando was a “water man,” and the three of them, along with the other men, all dispersed into Gabriel’s music studio for more whiskey.
I could feel the frown on my face as Brando vanished.More whiskey.
Eva and the other women pulled me along, though, claiming that we needed something for ourselves. Pistachio gelato. We took it in a glass-walled room, sitting around the fire on a rug made of white fur. I learned that Layla was a singer, Michael had been a professional boxer, and they had three little ones at home.
Even with the ice cream, the fireplace and the amount of bodies made it hard to breathe. I excused myself to the courtyard. Eva and Layla followed, both seeming to need fresh air too. We each took a seat facing the back of the house. I sighed, looking up at the stars.
The three of us sat in silence. It was so peaceful that I almost slipped off to sleep. Roaring laughter caused me to sit up and take notice.
“They’re having a jolly ole time of it, aren’t they?” Layla said.
“Sounds like it,” Eva said.
My eyes locked on the figures lining the balcony, three formidable shadows that had emerged from the room. Brando, Gabriel, and Michael. Brando peered down at me, a glass of amber glinting in his hands. He stood outside longer than Gabriel and Michael, watching, before he finally disappeared.
In the shadows no more.
“I wonder what they’re so excited about?” Layla said, sitting up. “I’ll be back.”
Eva grinned, watching her go. “She’s going to snoop.” Then a few minutes later she sighed, before she said, “I dreamed of your husband too.”
Sitting up straighter, I removed my eyes from the sky, giving her my undivided attention.
“There are times the dream is entirely symbolic, and I have a time trying to decipher what it is I need to convey. But—your husband was as clear as a bright day.” She turned to me. “He was in dark water, stormy water, solid like a sheltering rock. That’s what he was to you.” She turned her attention to her hands, rubbing a finger over her nail for a moment.
“No matter what happens—” her eyes glanced at the balcony where the men had been hovering “—I need you to lock this someplace safe. Your husband is your rock. Your love is strong, but sometimes we are tested beyond our limits. He won’t let you drown. Hold on to him. He’ll see you through, and the storm will pass. He’ll lead you to still waters.”
“That—that was your dream?”
