“EEEEEEEEE!” she screeched like a banshee.
“Fuck!” Brando almost dropped me but caught me in time, turning his back to her, to keep me safe.
“He he he!” Theresa went, stabbing a nubby finger at us. “You.” She pointed at me. “Undress.”
Brando put me down gently on the floor. I could almost hear his heart knocking against his ribs. His eyes narrowed and his lips pinched. “The bearded lady strikes again,” he muttered.
After quickly changing in the simple bathroom, I handed her the costume and narrowed my eyes. “We had a deal,” I said.
“Only includeyou!”
“No.” I raised my voice, matching hers. “Includes the both of us.” I made a hand gesture between Brando and me.
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No, no, no, no!”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes!”
“Okay,” she sighed. “You win. Only because you pretty! And I like them! I never had such things before.”
“Remember,” I told her as I watched her disappear into the shadows. “We have a deal! Or I take them back.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered, and I thought I saw her make a crude hand gesture.
Brando stood behind me, one hand on my shoulder. “Fuck,” he said again, shaking his head. “Where did I bring you? What was that about? Why is she wearing your boots?”
Three questions in a row, it should have been recorded in a book somewhere.
I shut the door, locking it. Not that I thought it would stop cuckoo Theresa, but at least we might have some warning.
“The Doc Martens were exchanged for peace. Be thankful or you might have woken up to live crabs in your bed. She doesn’t pick favorites like Serafina or Mamma. She’s an equal opportunity harasser.”
“Damn,” he said, shoving me into his body. He was as hard as a rock. “You learn quick.”
“NoInglese.” I fanned my lashes at him again and rubbed the old boot up and down his leg in a suggestive manner. “Aiuto.”
He grinned, and in the tender glow of the small burning lamp on the table, he seemed wicked, all white teeth and dark skin and raven hair. “I’m a good teacher.”
No doubt about it.
He locked the door before he taught me a few lessons.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Scarlett
Winter came with a vengeance, and I realized why so many of the sister’s grandchildren were due nine months afterward: a lack of television on the farm.
The days were short, and the nights were long, all those hours in front of the fireplace cuddling together to keep warm. The small windows in the tiny stone villa were coated with thick shimmering snow, candlelight making the fresh white seem even more luminous, giving the impression of being encapsulated in a private world.
All had been quiet and serene. No word from the outside that we had been had or that murderers lurked behind barren trees. We were in the midst of February, a cold, hard month that seemed unforgiving and relentless, yet all I could feel was thankful.
Thankful that we had had a beautiful anniversary, a white Christmas on the Sicilian countryside, and that we were able to celebrate another New Year; that we had celebrated Donato and Chiara’s pregnancy news with a toast of red wine; that Rosaria and Rocco were still on the path of rediscovery; that Romeo was free of the vow and seemed more at peace; and that Dario and Carmen and Diego had taken the cottage next door.
We were thankful that we, Brando and I, were closer than ever.
