He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, looking to the left and then to the right, trying to make sense of my sudden behavior.Tell mewas a command that I rarely refused to answer. My father came up then and called medarlin’. The way my body seized made it obvious.
Brando glanced between the two of us, my father’s retreating, oblivious back, my trembling body, and histell mewas unnecessary.
The young girl waltzed up a second later, her top full to capacity, her waist as small as mine, but her hips curved in a dangerous inverted arch, flowing into a bottom that jiggled. Jane Jones, the girl who was in love with Brando back home, came to mind, similar in build, and my stomach lurched. I let loose over the side of the boat, quick and violent.
We didn’t even have to make an excuse to leave. I was just thankful that what I had eaten earlier had been slight and mostly consisted of fruit. Eunice fussed over me, feeling my head, wondering if it was food poisoning or sunstroke.
My mother watched me closely, knowledge in her eyes but a shield in her brain. Like two passing ships in the darkness, one the mother of the other, a difference of attitude pushed us further apart.
“Are you makin’ me a grandfather again, darlin’?” my father asked, smiling at all of his friends. He was still brawny for his age and as handsome as he had been when he was a young man.
“If I’m a lucky man,” Brando said, lifting my bag and throwing it over his shoulder. He called to one of the crew to bring us ashore. “If not, it’s not from a lack of trying.”
The men all laughed and so did some of the women—the Fausti Four made an impression. Every so often I heard one or two of my mother’s friends tittering in her ear about how “handsome those Italian brothers are.” Most of them had attended our wedding, but I could tell they wondered how they had missed the other three.
I almost snapped back at my father that he might make me another brother or a sister if he wasn’t careful, but bit back the retort when my stomach heaved again.
Brando and I hardly spoke a word at the villa. Evening was upon us, and I slipped into bed earlier than usual, my thoughts bouncing back and forth between Maggie Beautiful and Alberto’s wedding, and the horrid scene on the yacht. I kept thinking about weddings to take my mind off the amount of emotions raging inside of me, but it was a vicious circle that went around and around.
One half of it was bright with the promise of a new start. The other half was dark with the treachery of reneging on those vows. How long had he been at it? For a long time, if memory served me right.
I sighed, a tired sound. Night had come, but it was hot. I kicked off the sheet, not wanting anything against me. My skin felt highly sensitive, and I cringed even at the softest touch.
“Stop,” Brando said, voice muffled against the pillow. He had one below him and one on top of his head. He was turned toward me, watching.
“What now? I’m naked—no layers between us. I haven’t saidloversor anything of the sort. I don’t want any covers, so I haven’t been hogging them! What am I doing, Brando?”
He put his hand over mine, stopping the motion I didn’t realize I made. “That. Don’t do it again. I don’t like it when you move your wedding rings up and down, like you’re fucking contemplating our marriage.”
“You know what?” I snapped. “You have a very dirty mouth!”
“You weren’t complaining earlier,” he snapped back. “Before we went on the yacht.”
“That was before.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about after. Tell me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You never do.”
“That should tell you something.”
“You know what?” He sighed, resigned. “You have a tongue as lethal as a poisoned fucking whip.”
“So?”
He flipped over, turning his back on me, keeping the pillows around his head like earmuffs.
The sounds were getting to me too. The house was solid and made mostly of stone, but for whatever reason, loud noises seemed to travel. Dario and Carmen’s room was next to our bathroom. All of the noises coming from their bedroom seemed to reverberate. I was just thankful that it was mostly muffled, like sounds underwater.
“Am I that loud?” I whispered, and then reached out a hand in search of his.
He took it, bringing it to his mouth. “Sometimes,” he whispered. “When we’re alone.”
“Dirty mouth,” I whispered back.
He shook with quiet laughter. “Lethal tongue,” he whispered back.
