“What should I do, Uncle Tito?”
“I am not to say. A marriage is between a man and a woman, not an old fool and two young lovers. Perhaps just be mindful of his feelings. He still struggles with what he saw. There are nights I remember as well. And I have seen quite a lot. Then again, he is as stubborn as they come—no helmet!—and soft persuasion is only one theory,sì?”
He tapped me on the chin, stood with a groan, and stretched. Then he asked me if we had any leftovers. I told him yes, and he went to the door, opening it a crack.
“You are so much like her, you know.”
I looked up, surprised at the look on his face. “Who?”
“Your grandmother.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. Swallowed. Stuttered. Cleared my throat. “You knew her?”
“Ovviamente.”Of course.
“You’ve never mentioned it.”
He pointed at me, a smirk coming to the old doctor’s fine-boned face. “You didn’t ask,piccola colomba.” He closed the door a little more, shutting it on the discussion too, I sensed. “I shall send the miscreant up here when he returns! Or perhaps you should pounce on him! That is a bit more gratifying. Try a broom. Works for Lola!”
With that, he closed the door on my open mouth and curious thoughts.
* * *
The miscreant, as it turned out, didn’t show his unprotected head until the wee hours of the morning. I had given up on drawing anything worthwhile, too consumed by his absence and the thoughts of what could happen to him on a fast bike in the middle of the night without protection on his head to be able to concentrate.
So, I took my irritable self downstairs, picked at the fruit in a basket on the table (a gift from the bride’s parents) until a pear became a thing to roll back and forth, a distraction. It wasn’t, not really, but it wassomething. Something was better than a full-on panic attack, which had been inching its way toward my borders for some time. I even had a few of the men go out and look for him, but at this time of the night, and him in spyware, it was no wonder they returned shaking their heads.
The minute he strode in, looking more gorgeous than any law should allow, hot anger flooded out the chill of worry. I leapt up, as though his entrance had pulled a string attached to my back. I was so angry that I couldn’t speak. If I did, I would end up stuttering. I wanted each of my words to come out clear and sharp.
Then a sudden explosive war broke out inside of me. Between relief, anger, and hurt. Hurt fed anger’s fire. Relief was fighting to keep the peace.
All of these emotions together seemed to equal…desire.
One of the hazards,yes, hazards!, of marrying a beautiful man, a man I was so attracted to that even the air between us crackled with sexual tension, was that my body refused to tell him no. Even during anger it longed for him. My heart beat double time, my pulse hammered, and my underwear was soaked from desire.
He looked so fine in all black, like some rogue biker come in off the street, smelling of summer and vineyards, his own anger and cologne.
I wanted him in my bed.
A momentary mental breakdown plagued me. I wanted him to make an example of my behavior. I wanted to give in to him, to say the hell with the plans, we would run off together, the two of us, to some place where there was no time, only us in primal lockdown.
God, what is wrong with me? I am such a freak for him.
As it turned out, anger held the upper hand, hurt even more so. Even if the right words came, they refused to leave my mouth. I didn’t want to talk to him. I hoped the hurt I carried spoke loud enough for him to hear.
“You were waiting up for me.” He took in the house, the beer bottles on the table, the olive oil Uncle Tito had left out with his meal. “Oppure avere una festa.”Or having a party.
He knew damn well that I’d been waiting up for him, and judging by the smug look on his face, the war that raged inside of me. What I wanted from him. What I craved. The battle between our bodies…it was like he could smell my insane desire for him.
I quelled the want down to an ember, using his look as ice water. “You forgot your helmet.” My voice was low but sharp with warning.
“Forgot.” He smiled and then tapped at his temple. “No. I didn’t forget anything.”
Oh.The air I had been holding escaped my mouth with the word—it hadn’t dawned on me before. The truth was as blinding as the sudden appearance of the sun. He left it on purpose, to hurt me, to show me—
“Now you’ll know how I’ll feel when I’m away from you.”
He took the ice water and turned it into slicing shards in retaliation.
