He smiled, lazy and slow. “He also orders that we should be buried a certain way. He will be the meat to our sandwich. You should be on one side of him and me on the other. Not even in death does he want me to touch you. Above all, no falling in love, or learning to love.”
“Romeo.” I squeezed his arm. “Go after Juliette. Now. Don't wait.”
“I cannot. I’ve made peace with this. For now.”
“Because you gave your word?”
“You know better than most what our word means. If something happens to my brother, you will be left without half of yourself. I will sacrifice my half. Perhaps we could find a whole.”
Our group stopped for a moment, giving us a chance to catch our breaths. I touched his chest, feeling his heart beat under my hand, hurting for what he claimed and couldn't go after because of me. “Such a good heart you have, brother,” I said to him in Italian. “But if something happens to my husband, your word will not matter. I refuse to make him wait long for me.”
He nodded once. He stroked my cheek with his thumb again, coming in even closer. He was breathtaking, a reflection of his three older brothers. He smelled like heaven and sin, forgiveness and retribution, and I couldn't look at him and not see my husband.Those eyes.
I never felt that Romeo’s touch or his company was imposing. Not like with Rocco who was set and determined. Romeo’s touch brought comfort, though if he meant it to mean something else, there was no doubt that it could change as quickly as a Fausti’s mercurial mood.
His mood was changing. He came in even closer, the heat between our bodies as hot as a flame. It was more so from Brando. I could feel him looking on, that eerie stillness radiating off of him like ultraviolet rays. More surprising than anything I had ever encountered was that he wasn't stopping the scene that played out right in front of him.
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered. “To him?”
“He will remember it.”
“You mean…?”
“Sì. A man will pull from his reserve even when death has announced victory. Some memories are stronger than flesh, blood, and bone.”
I suddenly understood so much, particularly why Brando hadn't put a stop to Romeo touching me. I glanced at my husband. Quick. I wasn't strong enough to hold his stare. Not then.
He was using this as fuel,damn him!In case something were to happen, the thought of someone else having to take care of me might…
A sob almost broke free from my throat. I pushed it down with everything else that had been building, like the pressure in a hurricane, as of late.
“Look at me, Sissy.”
I lifted my eyes to meet Romeo’s. Darkness matched against lightness. I let go, standing back, allowing whatever to be. There was nothing. Not from me. Not from him. We shared only a sibling kind of love.
No one could get past the barrier—only one man ever could. I knew he always would. I carried too much of him within me.
My eyes snapped to Brando. He watched Romeo with a reserved fury in his eyes, the same fury I saw in Ireland after Romeo had stained me with his blood. He caught me staring and his eyes turned soft, melting my heart. What existed between my eyes and his was so powerful that it almost seemed like it could pick me up and levitate me to him.
I sucked in a breath of hot air. My heart fought against my chest and my soul clawed to be free. In answer to the silent question only I could hear from my husband, I shook my head.No. Nothing. Only you. It’s always been you, dammit! So don’t even try it!
He mouthedbabyat me and opened his arms. I went liquid—except for my heart and soul, both of which felt torn in two, aching for him.
I ran to him like I hadn't seen him in years, the short distance between us spanning endless miles and separation. He pulled me to him, kissing me as though he felt the same.
Romeo encouraged Lothario and Rocco to move down a few more steps to give us space.
I touched my husband’s face, wanting to absorb the memory into my skin. I wanted him to absorb me in his and carry me with him like he carried me in his arms. I kissed my husband again before we moved. This time it was me who stole his breath, and when I pulled away, I whispered, “Remember this too. Please,mio angelo. Remember this too.” I leaned my head against his heart, listening to the sound of its beautiful drumming.
Dear God, please let him remember.
* * *
We went to the beach to relax, but I wasn’t so sure that was possible. When we arrived, Collette’s football player and a few of his teammates met us, the one Rosaria had taken for a test drive not among them. Her shoulders relaxed and her face softened when she noticed. Despite her tension easing, there was an uneasy vibe the Italians were giving off in light of the men’s appearance.
Rocco was the worst. Understandably. But he seemed to be controlling the urge to pounce, since the right man wasn’t around. Even Romeo eyed the man Collette met with a hint of—well, I wasn’t sure what to call it, since no feelings existed between them. Still, he seemed offended, puffing up his chest and flexing his muscles. Or they could’ve been twitching. His circumstances had him itching for a fight.
Brando took them in but didn’t react. This made me relax a little.
