All eyes swung to Scarlett, tucked behind my arm, almost like a small child.
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip, brows drawn while she thought. “I feel uncertain.”
Tito took her hand in his, squeezing to reassure her. “Is this because of Matteo and Maja?”
She came out some from the protection of my body. “Yes,” and with the word, her breath left her.
“Do not feel afraid or uncertain. This place—this was a wonderful place for them to take refuge. It became sacred, as most sanctuaries do. Perhaps you feel uncertain because Maja had? I am certain Matteo as well. After all, he found out he was to be apapàhere. Yes.” He lifted his glasses, as though the move would make him see her in a clearer light. “That was an uncertain time, but happiness was found here as well. It was,ah… a special time for them. Take comfort in that.”
Scarlett sighed when he held her hand in a secure embrace for a minute. He let go, grinning toward the room where all of the guests enjoyed the party. “Lo facciamo?”Shall we?He took Lola by the arm and led the entourage forward.
It wasn’t until much later, after Scarlett whispered in my ear what I had missed, that I wondered how he had come to know so much about Matteo and Maja, and what had happened to them at the castle.
* * *
After we settled in our room, which overlooked the rose gardens, Scarlett fell fast asleep, curled against me as close as possible.She hadn’t bothered to get undressed. She had fallen asleep waiting for Monica to bring whatever Maja had left.
She clamped down on me like an octopus—all arms and legs. Her nose a breath from my ear made a delicate snoring noise, almost like the quiet humming of a bumblebee. When drink took her, it took her hard and deep.
3 a.m.
The knock finally came at the door. A light tap, tap, tap that caused Scarlett’s eyes to pop open. We looked at each other before our eyes went back to the door, a sturdy-looking seventeenth century piece of work. I doubted even a sledgehammer could bring it down. The metal hinges were probably hundreds of years old.
I had been waiting for it. It seemed all the guests had gone home, or taken a room in the massive castle— the place had at leasteighteen bedrooms—for the night. Even Charles, who had fizzed from the balcony above, settled down to sleep.
Scarlett nodded to me and I stood, opening the door to find Monica and Rocco standing on the other side. His arms cradled a vintage wooden chest.
I cursed underneath my breath. Scarlett was going to havefeelingsabout them being together.
“I offered to carry this for Monica,” Rocco said, lifting the chest in the air some. “It is heavy.”
She put a hand to his arm and squeezed.
I nodded and let him through to put the chest down somewhere close. He placed it on the table before the bed. After he did, he glanced around, taking in the room, and Scarlett, still in her bustier dress.
“Your color has not improved,” he said, as though she needed to hear this. “Are you still feeling ill,bella?”
She shook her head, but before she could respond, I told him we needed to speak out in the hallway. Monica took my place, probably to give Scarlett the dirt on the chest before leaving it.
“Brando,” Scarlett stopped me, fingers twisting in her lap. “Are you—”
“I’m not going far,” I said. “Just right outside, in the hallway.”
A solemn nod met me before I closed the door. Rocco and I stood face to face, the castle much cooler than it had been earlier.
“Tell me why it matters,” I said.
“You are perceptive,fratello.” He grinned, but it wasn’t in response to anything amusing. “I came to tell your wife that I was not here to have sex with Monica. That time has come and passed—she is not that type of woman. Similar to your own wife.”
I could tell he had something to say to Scarlett. The fact that Scarlett knew about the history between him and Monica grated on his nerves. Even more so, the idea that Scarlett might think he was there to rekindle that history. He had never hid his affairs from Scarlett before. In fact, he had fucked a flight attendant on her father’s plane, calling herbellathe entire time. If it had been anyone else, I would have killed him.
“Tell me why it matters,” I said once more. I wouldn’t repeat myself again.
He ran a hand through his hair, and then rubbed his bottom lip in a thoughtful manner, so unnervingly similar to my own. I was often thankful that he had green eyes. It was a subtle difference, but one all the same.
Lifting both shoulders, he heaved a deep sigh before he dropped them. “Her opinion matters,” he said in Italian. “She is a woman who speaks to a man’s conscience.”
Realizing that I rubbed my lip in the same way, I stopped. Sometimes it was hard to speak to Rocco, man to man, because the “Fausti Three” were brought up to abide by the laws of thefamiglia, and being the oldest, my word was law. I wanted neither his obedience nor the responsibly of being the oldest. He was only a few months younger than me. I wanted to be his brother, to be able to talk to him, to give and receive advice, and to enjoy a beer or whiskey with him every once in a while.
