She used her fingernail to tap against the glass while she studied the two of us. “You two are very passionate toward each other. Maja was correct, I see. It is impossible not to see one without the other. Her thoughts run wild and his thoughts catch and mirror hers. He understands her without words. Whatever memory took you on a journey, Scarlett—I do adore that name!—also claimed Brando. The heat from your attraction is like a house that is on fire, yet the fire touches everyone but the two of you.”
She smiled, I grinned, and Brando’s mouth twitched. Yes, that was one way to describe the attraction between us. The world came down around us without much notice—if anyone tried to get too close, they’d get burned.
“I have something for the both of you. Something of a personal nature that Maja left in our care for a time such as this.”
Voices began to drift in from the hall, a signal that our group had come together again, ready to meet the Countess Sibilla.
Monica’s eyes slid to the door. “Abbiamo tempo,” she said, going for the exit, waving us forward. “Forse dopo cena.”We have time. Perhaps after dinner.
“If curiosity doesn’t kill you first,” Brando muttered, putting his hand on the small of my back, urging me to move.
He knew me too well.
Chapter Eight
Brando
Our second night at the castle, and my wife’s nerves were close to the surface of her skin, so curious and anxious to know what it was Maja had left for us.
The previous day was aimed at getting to know her “new”famiglia.
After we met the Countess Sibilla, conversation flowed and so did laughter. Scarlett’s mother had the same lines as this woman, though the countess wasn’t as attractive.
Pictures of Matteo—the man Scarlett had inherited her eyes from—were shared, and a few tears were shed when a picture or two emerged of Matteo and Maja together. These were a rare sight. Other than the collective letters from painter to dancer that had been published after his death, it was the only proof that the couple had existed, apart from Scarlett’s mother.
Monica had made it clear, though, that whatever she had for us was to be given in privacy after the house had “fallen silent,” which we both knew meant out of her mother and sister’s presence.
Scarlett had been on edge ever since our arrival. It wasn’t just the thought of meeting her newfamigliathat pushed her close to the final barrier. It was the thought that Matteo might make another sudden appearance. It scared her more than she cared to admit.
She felt too much here. I felt too much here.
As a consequence, she was drinking strawberry champagne as though it was water. The smell of it came out of her pores in sweet smelling clouds, the alcohol behind it in fumes. Her scent was as fragrant as the roses that surrounded us.
The party that her family threw was so that otherfamigliacould meet the women and their husbands, or so Monica and her mother had claimed. A few of the guests had big names.
Scarlett was being ushered around the room, a shiny new toy to be shown off—ah, we have seen you dance! Così piccolo! Semplicemente stupendo! (So tiny! Simply wonderful!)When she started to giggle and stumble over her words some, I cut off her supply of champagne. In return, she sent me a look that would slay without sufficient armor. I knew her too well now not to have suited up, and I gave her a look of my own.
That was when she claimed that she felt suffocated and couldn’t breathe with so many people around. She needed fresh air and a walk through the castle’s garden. In the garden, her fingers danced over the rose bushes, scarlet fire and white snow petals neon in the night. As if she enchanted them to respond to her touch, the bushes rustled.
If it could be said for green eyes, hers were on fire, glowing with a fierce heat. The entire castle was lit with flaming torches and candlelight. The champagne fed the inferno, a dewy sheen of sweat making her skin almost iridescent. She was more supple and yielding. Her body oscillated into mine with a knowing rhythm and rhyme. Alcohol made her that way, as lissome as a jellyfish in water.
There was nothing cool about the night. It held the heat of the day in its darkened fist, even with continual surges of wind. A breeze seemed to carry remnants of some invisible fire with it, blowing over us and making her hair wild and free. She had taken it down as soon as she could—as soon as we were out of the party. Some of the finer strands along her forehead were frazzled; others clung to her face and neck. The rest rose in thick, tousled waves around her head like a halo.
Monica had sent a dress for her. The woman knew her way around another woman’s body, like Pnina did. Scarlett called it a “bustier dress,” and it was as sensual as the word itself. Her breasts were full above the hold of the top, and at the waist, the satin material melted into lace, then more sheer lace that ended at her calves. The high heels on her feet matched the color of the scarlet roses.
The room may have been filled withfamiglia, but some of them were married into it, and even those who were related lost their breath at the sight of her. She was just that kind of woman. Females studied her in jealous comparison, but they still wanted to know where she got the dress. Males sniffed her out like prized prey, the high of her game too tempting to resist.
I waved the thought off with a flick of the wrist. The motion caused her to steal a curious glance at me, but she didn’t comment.
There were bigger fish to fry. I was still so fucking angry about the trip she coerced me into that every time we stood close, our eyes collided and the air between us flickered with friction. Teardrops puddled in her eyes, glistening, but refused to fall without her permission.
No armor known to man could protect me from those.
I put a hand to my heart before I went to her. Words refused to come to me. Instead, I slipped my hands around her waist, bringing her closer. She put her hands over mine, resting her head against my chest.
“E il cavaliere arriva al salvataggio della donna piangente,” she whispered.And the knight comes to the rescue of the weeping woman.
“I need a fucking steed,” I said. “And a sword.”
