He was a good man, just torn between responsibility and his own feelings. He had inherited the burdens of the first born and lived strictly by thefamiglialaw.
“Yes,” I said, nodding, speaking to him in Italian. “She is. What about your wife? Does she not speak to your conscience, brother?”
Actions speak louder than words, Scarlett’s voice floated through the silence. Still, I owed him the chance to answer.
“Rosaria is different. One needs to speak first in order for the other to listen.”
“A bit of advice. Brother to brother.”
The idea that we could speak openly, for the sake of offering advice at no expense, seemed a novelty to him. He was the one used to giving orders and advice. Not for the first time, I wondered who he went to when his life became jaded.
“If it is a matter of pride. Leave it. I’m not sure if a marriage has enough room for three.”
Before he could respond, Monica came out. Her eyes flickered between us. “So alike, the two of you.” She smiled. “Our Scarlett needs her husband. She is waiting—and not easily. Rocco? A drink before bed?”
He held his arm out to her. She took it, her body moving close to his in a familiar sway, before the two forms faded into the blackened shadows.
She is waiting—and not easilywas exactly how I found Scarlett. Her face was pale, the dark dress only bleeding her of color even further. Her lips seemed too stark; so did the makeup on her eyes, as little as it was. Black ribbons ran down her face. She must’ve been crying. Her teeth chattered, and her body quivered.
I urged her up, and then back down on my knee, but not before grabbing my jacket and putting it over her arms. She snuggled into the warmth of it. It made me grin to see her sniff at the collar. She had done the same thing when I had given her my leather jacket that night out in the snow.
“I’m afraid,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She hesitated. “Of what I might find, I mean. What she left for us.”
“And curious,” I said, squeezing her closer to me.
Her smile was frail. “That too.” She caressed the worn wood with trembling fingers, sighing every so often.
“Open it,” I said. “Put your fears to rest. The inevitable doesn’t keep track of time, baby. It’ll wait in the shadows. We decide when it’s time to meet fate. It’s time.”
“Meet fate,” she muttered. Then she lifted the lid, the hinges creaking from age, like old joints. “I half expected beams of colorful light to shoot out of the chest from wisdom and insight.” She laughed. It was nervous. “To give us some light to read by.”
Colorful light couldn’t be found, but maybe wisdom. Three letters were tucked in (two with Scarlett’s name, one with mine) along with what I assumed to be Matteo and Maja’s things from their time together.
An old paintbrush, bristles stiff with leftover paint and time—I bet he used this to paint her portraits, Scarlett mused,and her, I added—more letters from Matteo to Maja, a few pictures of the two of them, one black and white from the castle’s rose garden, a vintage pair of ballet slippers, a thick journal, and a small sword encrusted with rubies and emeralds.
“Monica said Maja left me the painting. The one of her bellybutton that Matteo did.” Her lips twitched at this. “She told me I could leave it here for as long as I liked. It was safe.”
“I’d paint your eyes,” I remarked almost absentmindedly, stroking the cool silver of the sword. “Those draw me in.”
“To je varna, moj ljubimec,” she said in Slovenian. Her eyes met mine, and she ran a hand over her breasts, nice and slow. “Izberite nevarno.”
“I can’t understand your words,” I whispered to her in Italian. “But intent is clear enough in all languages. You think eyes are playing it safe.”
She tilted her head and nodded. “My words were…that is safe, my lover. Choose dangerously.One,” she held up a finger, “part of me to immortalize forever. For your eyes only.”
The room was getting hotter, heating rising from the ground beneath our feet, and the smoky tinge of the candles and torches perfumed the air. I wondered if Matteo had heard the same words whispered from Maja—intent clear enough.
Choose dangerously, because in choosing me, you’ve already done so.
“Consider that. A naval being dangerous.” I pulled down the jacket enough to kiss her shoulder.
Eyes closed, she rolled her head a bit, licking her lips. In a matter of seconds, the mood in the room shifted, tilted, and we both knew where this was headed.
“I suppose so,” she said, her voice almost breathless. “For him it was.”
“Here,” I said, throat choked. I cleared it. I reached out for the letters. “Two for you.”
She blinked at me before recovering her own equilibrium, clearing her throat. “Monica said Maja wrote a letter to each of us. The other letter is for show. For my mother and Charlotte. Maja told Monica and the countess of the situation between the three of us, and she didn’t want to add more strain to it by singling me out.”
