“Was there any doubt?”
“Never,” she said.
“Coup de foudre,ah? What does it mean?”
“Literally,” she came in closer to me, inhaling. “Stroke of lightning.”
“I’d say miracle, snow where it rarely snows, but stroke of lightning will do too.”
Chapter Two
Scarlett
It was market day in Siena, one of my favorite days of the week. Wednesday.
It was a day that Brando and I put aside for us. With the comings and goings at our villa, the central hub for ourfamigliaas of late, it was a time reserved for him and I. Brando knew how much I loved to shop themercato settimanale(weekly market) and we spent the entire day loafing around and making fresh purchases.
Siena’smercato settimanale, also known asMercato della Lizza, known for the medieval fortress it wraps itself around, sold everything from clothes to shoes to knives to fish to fruits to vegetables to flowers to plants for gardening. If theMercato della Lizzadidn’t have something available, it was a mystery to me as to what. I doubted that any wish couldn’t be granted. The seller’s collections were extensive.
I enjoyedMercato della Lizza’swinter and summer markets the most. Christmas was a magical time in the town. The vendor’s booths were all lit up with twinkling lights, music to suit the time of the year drifted in with all of the voices and noises, and aromas from a variety of foods hovered in the air. I always kept close to Brando, enjoying his warmth and the way the lights would dance in his dark eyes.
The market in the hot months was crowded, filled with locals and tourists on vacation. They were all out to bask in the heat, summer buzzing through the air like a fat, happy bumblebee. The vibrant colors that exploded from the sidewalk almost made you go blind. The green of the plants, the palette of the numerous fruits, even the spikes of the purple and greencarciofo(artichoke)seemed to burst with flavor and life. When I took thirty of these, thefruttivendolo(greengrocer)gave me a narrow eye before she smiled and made a very Italian hand gesture that meantOkay! Whatever you need.Or it seemed to. I collected these in my wheeled basket, knowing by the time all was said and done, it would have to stretch to accommodate.
A warm wind blew. I had to put a hand to my skirt to keep it from billowing out. I wore one of Maja’s old dresses, a 1950-something blue cotton number that came in at the waist and landed just above my knees. Dainty brown buttons lined the front. The wind brought with it scents ofpollo arrosto(roast chicken), and I placed an order to pick up later.
Brando had gone to extricate Eunice from thepescivendolo(fishmonger), leaving me with Livio, who put out a hand if anyone came too close. A few times I ducked my head and averted my eyes—some of the shoppers stared at me, trying to figure out who I was. Having an entourage made the crowd assume I was someone famous.
“Stop doing that!” I hissed at him. “You’ll draw attention to us.”
He waved a hand, as though this was easily dismissed. “They get too close!”
His win against Brando had touched his head, and I started to wonder if I had done the right thing. Livio had become more abrasive, giving any man that dared to look our way a steely glare. He even gave an older Italian gentleman that I always purchased mypesches(peaches) from the stink eye. The man had nearly fifteen grandchildren and a wife with no teeth.
Donato stood a few paces back, watching but giving me room. Donato’s space was not only for my benefit, but also for his own. He was miserable without Chiara, who had gone back to Milan for a couple of days.
“Hmph!” I gave Livio a mean look and he shrugged, yanking me out of the way of a woman who ran behind her small child. “It’s a busy market! What do you expect them to do?” I yanked him out of the way of the same woman, who still chased the now-screaming child.
His sudden bad mood must’ve come from his missingfidanzata(girlfriend). Santina’s father owned thesalumeria(deli), and on mostWednesdays she helped run the family business. She wasn’t to be seen today and Livio’s entire face changed. His bottom lip stuck out almost comically.
“Don’t start pouting now, Livio,” I said, stopping to admire a fat, perfect watermelon. I thumped it, picked it up, examining it to see if it had any bee stings— Eunice said that you could always tell a sweet melon if it had sting marks on it from the bees trying to get to the sugar. “I still have a lot of shopping to do.”
“Prenderai, Signora?” the seller asked.
“Sì.” I nodded, wiping a hand across my damp forehead before I paid the woman for the fruit. “Grazie.”
Donato snapped off a command to three men behind him. They took the melon from me, probably to deliver it to the car they had rode in. The sigh that escaped my mouth was wistful. Our market days were still ours, but not as they once were. Someone watched at all times.
Livio turned around, walking backward—a feat, since people were as thick as the heat. “Signora Fausti is not herself today,” he said, squiggly eyebrows shooting up, making his round eyes even bigger. His eyes were the only round thing about him—he was as thin as a pole. “I notice these things.”
“You do.” I sighed. It wasn’t something I wanted to discuss with Livio, no matter how willing he was to listen. Then I stopped, not able to shop and ponder at the same time. Flowers and plants were coming up, and although I loved all of the other areas, that part of the market was my favorite.
I had some thinking to do though. Dario and Carmen’s wedding was planned for August, and before the big day, the men were planning a trip, and so were the women, but to separate places. Rocco had approached me the day before, pleading with me to talk Brando into going with them. Well, as pleading as Rocco could get.Those damn eyes!
The chance was slim, but slim was better than none.
Brando had to go. Heneededto go. He had never spent time with his brothers in that way. It was my idea that they go to Africa, to do things that guys do, and Rocco thought it was a great idea. This would give Brando a chance to truly bond with them, and not over the state of his family and their associations.
The four of them, along with Donato, Mitch and Mick, enjoyed testing the limits of life. Doing it in the wilds of Africa seemed fitting for men like them. Safaris, swimming with great white sharks in Cape Town, sleeping in a tree house under the stars, with God knows what howling and growling below, was right up all their alleys. There was no question that Brando would enjoy the experience.
