He smirked at that.
Still, after all of this time, he made me weak in the knees and sent the butterflies fluttering in madness. If butterflies had the equivalent of catnip, that was what he fed mine.
“Little miss curious isn’t curious to know why her obsession bothers me?” He tilted his head, a thoughtful look overcoming his face. “You’re losing your edge.”
“You don’t particularly like the taste of mint?” I ventured.
“Baby.” He shook his head but grinned, coming even closer. He leaned down, eye to eye, his mouth a touch from mine. “I don’t want you obsessed with anyone or anything but me.”
Oh, God, I felt weak. Why did he have to be so effing charming? His words set the butterflies free of their cage, and with them, my heart. It seemed to float above my head.
Finally,finally, he closed the gap and kissed me. I would say that he put me out of my misery, but his mouth only ignited other needs.
The pulse between my legs was going to set me on fire.
Slow moving footsteps came toward us, almost silent in the tufts of still grass. Lothario cleared his throat as he came closer. Ciro, Lothario’s cousin and first man in charge, walked next to him. Both men mopped their heads with handkerchiefs.
Brando stared down at me for a moment, but he didn’t move too far—just enough room for us to breathe without having to share our breaths.
“I have always loved this land,” Lothario said, his tone thoughtful. “We used to play here as children. Not much has changed.”
Though Brando gave a nod, his mood shifted again. Lothario’s appearance set him on the track he had been on before we started our walk.
After a few minutes of cordial conversation between Brando and Lothario about the property and other properties thefamigliaowned in Italy, the two men left us alone. It wasn’t until their forms had faded into the distance that the earlier irritation I had came back. Ciro was a hard man to read. I couldn’t feel one thing coming from him. For some reason that weighed on my mind.
I had thought of this before, when he would linger longer than usual. He was not one to loiter longer than he had to though. But when he did, his presence frustrated me. Not for the first time, I wondered if it was comparable to Eva’s dreams. Sometimes they were straightforward. Sometimes they were not.
Only time would tell.
I wanted to know—soon. Despite the nothingness of his essence, somethingwasbothering me about him. Was it because I couldn’t feel anything because he didn’t have anything to give? Or was it something more? It bothered me that I didn’t know more about this gift. How it worked, per se. There were no rules. And sometimes Brando was able to understand what I told him better than I understood the feeling. I created it. He interpreted it.
“What is it,” Brando said, looking down at me. He frowned, eyes serious, his brows drawn down in concentration. Lothario had handed him whatever he had in the office once again. He couldn’t hide the pressure of it from me.
Smoothing out the creases, I gave him a soft smile. “I was worried that you’d take me against the tree and I’d get splinters in my ass.”
He blinked once, then a huge grin spread across his face. “You know me too well,” he said, taking my hand in his again. He was joking too, picking up on what I had tried to do, lighten the mood. “But there are too many people around. And we still have to talk.”
* * *
Lunch was a simple but delicious affair—mostly antipastos that Eunice put together for us, along with chilled fruit, and an entire bottle oflimoncello. This may or may not have been a mistake. Vodka was a slow haze inducer, but at least the zest of all the lemons was refreshing.
Brando rested one arm on the blanket, fiddling with a piece of grass. He studied it as though it held all of the answers. Or wished it had.
He had led me to a lower slope of our land, to the olive groves, perhaps because more trees was on his mind, he wanted to plant more and start making our own olive oil. I had to admit, the idea thrilled me. Frightened me too. If he had confidence that we could, though, what did we stand to lose? We discussed this over our meal, and after the last bite had been devoured, we settled into the midday sun and the peace we found in the land.
During the silence, Brando’s face changed, clouded over, and I knew he was about to discuss the issue that had brought us here in the first place.
“He was in the same room with the man and didn’t kill him,” he said, twirling the blade between thumb and pointer finger.
“Who?” I looked down at him, giving him my full attention. I placed the last glass oflimoncelloto the side.
Little ants began their march to claim the sunny liquid. I wondered if they would march back drunk, in tipsy lines, and get in trouble with their captain. I giggled at this and Brando gave me a hard look. I sighed and forced the irreverent thought to the side.
“Nemours,” he said, voice ice cold.
That sobered me up. Quick. “What about him?” The tone of my voice matched his, only lower.
Despite my bravado, all of a sudden, the hillside of Tuscany undulated, as if I were on a sickening ride. I rested against the tree, my eyes closed, my heart hammering, my hands trembling. I felt cold, in spite of it being the hottest time of the day.
