“Intelligente,” he said, grinning at me.
I was nothing if notintelligentwhen it came to him. He was unsure of having a baby, but even more so by the thought of the baby being a boy, which he tended to believe, since his family seemed to produce all men.
I was lost to this thought when he tucked his finger under my chin, urging me to lift it. His head came underneath, his mouth finding my skin, placing kisses along my throat, over my breasts, to my stomach. He placed a hand on each side of my hips, imposing and strong, his hold tight and secure. “You carry all of me within you,” he said in Italian. “My heart, my soul, my love, my vows and devotion, my secrets, my body. My wants. I need you to carry more of me, my wife.”
In his language, and with pure truth behind them, his words flowed like the river of life.
I stayed perfectly still, allowing him to come to me with his secrets and desires. I would carry them all like a stone figure in church, receiving and then giving peace in return, nothing more, nothing less. I did this for him as the stars in heaven did this for me.
“Ho bisogno di te,”he whispered, almost a plea, though his eyes spoke a different language. They burned with a low fire in their depths. “I need you so fucking much.”
It didn’t take him long to lose the restraints of his pants. An almost silentahslipped from my lips as he entered me, a sudden burst of pleasure rushing every sense. He moved so slowly, with such deliberate care and attention, our eyes open and connected only to each other. Tears overflowed from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks in slow lines.
My dress had opened to give him access. The long pieces fluttered around us, shielding us both. With my back arched toward the ledge, I could’ve been on the edge of the world, dangling by the precarious hold of a branch. One strong gust and I'd be set free, loose on a tempest surging from the sea.
My husband kept me tethered to him,hisin every way, and as we came together, his body shuddering in time to mine, his warm seed in my womb kept the physical rooted, while heart and soul floated up to touch the stars.
Chapter Seventeen
Scarlett
The second wedding in August came off without a hitch. Maggie Beautiful wanted a sunrise ceremony, a symbol of a new start, opposed to the sun setting on their day. Brando and I stood across from each other, me behind Maggie Beautiful, him behind Aberto, and as the sun cast a red hue on the world, I found my heart near to bursting with happiness for them both.
My mother had organized the affair. She provided the dress, the flowers, the cake, and even the “reception” afterward, which was just a bunch of us toasting the happy couple, eating a delicious brunch, and dancing until the stars came out.
Sometimes I wondered if my mother did nice things for Maggie Beautiful because she felt she needed to atone for Maja bringing Luca into Maggie Beautiful’s life. It hadn’t dawned on me before. Not until I figured out how Luca came to be in all of our lives. For all that the man was and wasn’t, I couldn’t help but love him for all that he had given to me.
“Listen to me, Scarlett,” Brando said, capturing my attention. He watched his mother and new stepdad—he refused to allow me to call Alberto that out loud—dance. “It doesn’t seem normal for a man to wear a sweater out in this heat.”
“It’s a cardigan.” I grinned. “Sit back and enjoy the fact that your mother is happy. Stop being jealous.”
He made a disgruntled noise. “Me? Jealous?”
“Asif,” I brought it back to the ’80s for him.
He eyed the wine in my hand and then took it away. “I’m not,” he said more firmly.
Hetotallywas.
After the wedding, our lives seemed to be filled with one thing after another. When my parents invited us on a friend’s yacht with them, we accepted and went. The web I stepped into below deck stole the post-wedding bliss fog I had been in.
Brando, Mitch, and Mick had decided to put on their bar show, the one Brando sometimes did with my brother when he was alive. Violet sent me down below to grab a bottle of champagne. She wanted to show off her own skills as a bartender.
The noises didn’t seem to register until I entered the room. My father sat along a long couch, one of the young women from the party straddling his hips. I had caught glimpses of his affairs over the years, but only this close once.
The sudden urge to snap the bottle against the wall stole over me, to let them know that his daughter was there. Instead, I turned on my heel and ran up the stairs, hiding in a corner like the coward I was and hyperventilating.
Why does this affect me so much? Shouldn’t I be over this by now?
My eyes found my mother. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a headscarf. Her classic black bathing suit showcased a body that didn’t seem fitting for a woman of her age. She was near perfect.
Brando found me after a few minutes, eyeing me with suspicion. One of my father’s friends emerged from below. Brando looked between the two of us, almost ready to charge the man, thinking he caused whatever he saw on my face.
I snatched at his swimming trunks, stopping him. “It’s not him,” I whispered. “I swear to you. But I want to go back to the villa, Brando. Please. I don’t feel good.”
“Tell me.” His body vibrated with the need to know.
“I—I can’t. I can’t talk about it. And you can’t make me!”
