In all truth, the letter wasnotall that telling. Well, not in words. She didn’t go into the pleasures of the flesh like she had with Brando—she had always said he was gorgeous, and I think she often saw him as a sexual being—but she had told me to take care of him, he needed it as much as I did, and that we should walk together in love.Togetherbeing the bold word.
Then she proceeded to go into more detail of her and Matteo’s relationship, skimming over the most dire times, leading me to the revelation that the man my mother thought was her father all those years—the world-famous Slovenian composer—had ordered Matteo’s murder out of jealousy. She went on to mirror her words to Brando. The gift she had passed down to me was a blessing and a curse, in equal measure, and should be treated as both, revered and feared.
That was when she came to her ballet shoes and how they came to be:Out of need. Perhaps I would have died without them. It is such a simple idea, yet it saved my life. Go to the village in Verona and find him—Calzolaio (shoemaker), they call him. He will be able to help you more than I can.
“I doubt that,” I mumbled to myself.
Reading the letter to Brando settled his nerves some, but he seemed to know there was more. It wasn’t the words Maja so carefully chose to confide in me, it was the tone behind them. I knew a warning when I felt one:Life moves forward,vnukinja, and things change, but by the same token, uncertainty remains the same.
Yes, so much uncertainty. It dawned on me after reading her letter—and only a few pages of her journal—that I needed more time to come to terms with all that had been set at my feet.
All those years Maja had stood close to my side, and it was more than her pride in me that kept her there. She had been attempting to keep me safe—to be the subtle wind that shifted the hands of time and history. She had looked all those men who watched me dance in the eye, letting them know she had endured years of their kind, and I would know their type and how to deal with them when the time came.
I wasn’t sure if the time had come—my dancing had started a war, or was about to—orifit ever would, but regardless, I wouldn’t allow it to take what was mine. My husband. Or anyone else that I loved.
If, if, if—ifif was a skiff, we’d all be on a boat.
Instead of a boat, we were on a plane heading to Verona. The ride from Perugia would have taken four hours or more. A nice ride, but Brando was too wired up to even considerate it. And not with the entourage that followed along.
My father had his pilot fire up the jet, and there we were, halfway to Verona. The seat next to me was empty. Brando had disappeared into the bathroom. Rocco and Romeo sat across from me, next to Uncle Tito and Aunt Lola (who had a villa in Verona). Mick and Violet sat on the other side of the aisle with Donato, Guido, and Thomas. Rocco had a few other men accompany us, as well.
The symbolic nature of Verona didn’t escape me. The mysteriousCalzolaiolived in one of the most famous settings known to the literary community, the home of Romeo and Juliet.
“O, what a tangled web we weave,” I said to myself, glancing out of the small window. Sun poured in, hot and crisp, and the land underneath spread out like patchwork.
“When we first practice to deceive!” Romeo said, a huge grin on his face as he occupied the empty seat next to me. “What is the trouble,donnicciola?”
Sometimes Romeo called me Sissy, something he picked up after he watchedUrban Cowboy. Livio, Peter, and Paul had somehow finagled him into watching all of the movies in the movie room back at the villa. He thought it was hilarious, and sometimes when Brando would accuse me of being sassy, Romeo would say to him, “Do not let her ride that bull, Bud!”
Now, if your average Joe would’ve said it, I doubt it would have been something to even smile at, even politely, but coming from his Italian mouth, it made me laugh every time. The more movies he watched, the more one-liners he picked up. He tried them out on us before he tried them out on his many femaleinamoratas.
God, I love that word.Inamorata.I especially loved it coming from Brando’s sensual mouth.
“What are you sighing for?” One of his thick, dark eyebrows quirked up. “Ah, do not tell me. I know. I see my brother has done his job well. You are a happy woman today. There is proof, ah?”
I slapped at him when he reached toward the scarf around my neck. Brando hadbranded me the night before, after I had antagonized him to tell me which part of me was the most dangerous to him. Between my breasts, a giant purple and pink love brandstood out, compliments of his mouth; he made sure toshowme which area he would paint, but he also made a mark on the front of my neck. Whether it was from the scruff on his face or his mouth, I wasn’t too sure. It was, however, done on purpose, either way.
Romeo put up a shoulder in mock defense, laughing in classic Romeo style, rough and raspy. He smelled like a citrus tree, if lemons and limes were spiced with cinnamon. Oh, perhaps a good Sangria.
They all carried that scent with them, as though they all grew straight from the gorgeous Italian soil and into the amorous sunlight. The tilt of his upper lip gave his eyes a wicked spark and showed off his perfect white teeth. Out of the Fausti Four, Romeo was the most sportive, but also the most vain. Still, he made me laugh, relentlessly. There was no stopping him. Italy and beyond her borders were full of broken hearts because of his flair for life and love. He showed no signs of slowing down either.
“Ah,” he sighed, quieting. “I have a new one for you,donnicciola.Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes!” I said, smiling in anticipation. Sometimes he made me snort. Or spit out drinks.
He cleared his throat, moving his shoulders like a boxer throwing a few punches. He sniffed. “Well, maybe I'll take you upstairs and violate you like a parking meter.” He said this just like Rocky, but with a real Italian Stallion’s accent.
“Yo, Adrian!” I said.
We both dissolved into fits of laughter. Rocco looked up from his book. Aunt Lola and Uncle Tito smiled from their seats. Violet started humming the Rocky theme song, and Mick shook his head, closing his eyes again.
The relationship between Mick and Romeo was polite. At best. Mick hated that his boys took a liking to Romeo, but he was easy to like. And since Romeo and Violet hadn’t slept together, Mick tolerated the situation. If they would have…I doubted that the plane would’ve had enough room to accommodate both men.
“Who is saying all of this?” Guido peered at us, a serious look on his face.
Romeo and I looked at each other and broke into another fit of laughter. It wasn’t until I sighed and wiped my eyes that I noticed Brando standing in the shadows of the plane. He watched us with a fathomless look on his face. The look wasn’t angry, more thoughtful. I didn’t like it. I wasn’t sure why.
“Fratello!” Romeo stood, freeing Brando’s seat next to me. “Sissy has been behaving herself. Perhaps you should allow her to ride the bull, ah?”
