Here we found ourselves, walking the tight line together, trying to decide if we should continue the balancing act or take the plunge to the bottom. Yes, this was steadier ground, but was it any safer?
“Your back is breaking,mio angelo,” I said softly. “Do you remember our wedding vows? ‘All that I have is…’” I squeezed his shoulders, leaning down, placing a gentle kiss on his neck, inhaling him in.
“Yours.”He put his hands to mine, entwining our fingers. “I remember.” He cleared his throat. “I remember it all. You dancing for me.”
We both smiled at the memory. I had choreographed something special for him to our wedding song. Before our dance had begun, I performed for him, just as I had that night out in the snow, in the window of my parents’ dance studio. The lights had been turned down, except for the one on me—just as it had been. He was in the shadows, watching as the lights moved around me in what seemed like snowy drifts. I could feel him falling in love with me again, and I had hoped he felt the same from me. And that he would always remember the feeling we had created that night, even during the heaviest times in our life. Somehow it would carry us to calmer waters. After the solo had ended, I had bowed to him, and he gave me his hand, dancing with me. He had whispered in my ear that the honor had been his.
Symbolic. That was what I had been aiming for.
“I still don’t know how you did it in that dress,” he said. “You were gorgeous. All lit up. Grace incarnate, even with the weight of it. The way you were moving—” He cleared his throat again. “You are my only gift in this life. A heaven for a sinner like me.”
I threw myself around him. “I love you. So much. So damn much.”
He kissed my hands. “I love you even more.”
The mood lightened, as I wished it would, but it didn’t change his resolve or lessen his burdens any. It only brought us closer together.
“Let me dance,” I said. “I—I can make this better.”
“Per chi, amore mia?”For whom, my love?
“For everyone,” I said.
“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t allow it.Se tu balla per quell'uomo, ucciderai l'anima mia.”If you dance for that man, you will kill my soul.
“And the souls of others? At what cost to them?”I asked him in Italian.
He knew the price of war, but as his wife, I needed to bring the cost to light. If I could stop it…
Quiet settled over us for a while. The abused blade of grass had drifted from my hand to his stomach. By reflex, Brando picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers. Jet made her way over, still in hunting mode until she settled next to us, licking her paws. Once all clean, she lifted her face to the sun, closing her eyes to the glare.
Brando cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes, flicking the blade back to its roots. “Qual è stato il mio voto per te?”What was my vow to you?
He had made a precious few, but they were worth their weight in gold in my life. Given the subject matter, I knew the one he referred to. “That you would protect me—give up your life for m-mine.”
I hated to even speak the last part out aloud, afraid that it might draw the very thing to us. Living around so many Italians had an effect on me—superstitious wasn’t just a meaningless word anymore.
“I didn’t make the vow to anyone but you. I’m here to protect you. It’s my job. Regardless if you dance or not, this is not over between Nemours and me. Lothario has his own agenda. This war has something to do with him proving himself. I don’t have a solution, but you dancing for him has been knocked off the table. By me.”
He rose from the ground, his entire body tense, keeping his temper in check. The more he spoke about Nemours, the more on edge he became. His eyes could melt steel. The pulse in his jaw ticked. His hands opened and closed, trying to rid himself of some of the pressure.
I gave myself up to our situation with a soft sigh. He was right. No matter what we did, if I danced or not, the inevitable was coming. I didn’t want to waste another moment with him worrying about things that couldn’t be changed or altered. Fate had her agenda. I could only hope—I squeezed the cross pendant that rested against my heart—that in the end, we would all be safe.
In the meantime…
“Vieni qui,” I said softly.Come here. “Sono sola senza di te.”I’m lonely without you.
Brando stripped down to bare skin, deciding to take asiestain the nude. No tan lines for him—anywhere. With the weight of the problem now divided between us, he motioned for me to move my legs so he could rest between them. His head rested on my thigh. His eyes closed to the sun, his hands relaxed across his chest. My bare feet were on each side of him, tapping against his body every so often.
The way the sun’s loving touch caressed my husband’s skin, I couldn’t help but whispermio angeloto his inert form. If there ever was a doubt as to why artists felt the need to recreate the beauty of the naked form through art, Brando’s naked form answered curiosity’s call. Nothing about his body could be considered soft, yet there was something soft about him:the way he looks at me sometimes when he thinks I don’t notice, his love when we are together like this, no one in the world but us, his lips when they languorously kiss mine.
His legs were so long that his heels rested in the grass, long feet and toes pointed toward the sun. His limbs were as muscular as the rest of him, all lean muscle and capability. His pelvic muscles made a deep V, a line of pure black hair leading to…
Even when he wasn’t aroused, his penis rested against his leg, long, wide, and heavy. The skin encasing him was as soft as silk and as bronze as the skin on his chest, but with the slightest rosy tint. All set in a nest of jet-black hair that shone in the light.
Lion. He had the spirit of an angel and the power of a lion.
He made a content noise in his throat; moving the slightest bit to get more comfortable. His arms came above his head, resting near my hips.
