“Those shoes saved Maja’s life—also her beloved’s. If it was not for the two of them, your wife would not be here today.”
Brando sat for a moment and then shook his head. He rose out of the chair, came to stand next to me, and then placed a soft kiss on my head and on my knuckles. I could feel the tremor in his bones.
Nothing had changed about his demeanor though. He only had more to chew on. He went back into the shadows, watching and waiting.
Chapter Ten
Scarlett
No amount of heat could thaw him out. And the world was that. Hot. Relentlessly so.
The day before I left for the girl’s trip had come, and the entire lot of us stood in a flat in London that belonged to one of my father’s friends. Including the men.
The women were going to Scotland for the first leg of the journey. The men were going to Africa for the entire vacation. Donato was one of Dario’s best friends and had to go. It would have been awkward for him to be our chaperone since Chiara was coming too. Things between them had become more strained. Donato would not budge on his morals, and she was beginning to resent him for having them.
So it was decided that Guido would accompany us, along with a slew of other men, including Ciro, who I didn’t particularly feel comfortable with. I still couldn’t read him, and that bothered me more than anything, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t need a reason for Brando to renege. Lothario had sent Ciro, claiming that not only would I have one top man, but two. Guido was the second in charge after Donato. Brando trusted him just as much as he did the solider. Both of them had been soldiers.
Then there was Uncle Tito. It had been decided that he was to go with the men—after all, he was a man—but this caused considerable issue with Brando. Since Dr. Abbruzzese (Valentina) volunteered to come along, he relented again. He trusted her as much as he trusted Uncle Tito. She also had a hand in saving my life.
It felt as though I had been through some kind of Icelandic hell to get here, though, and not for the first time I wondered whether hell was two-dimensional, fire and ice competing for the worst punishment.
Brando had completely withdrawn. He was quiet and spent most of his time in our room, or riding his Ducati, or on the bench in front of Matteo’s Garden, staring with troubled eyes. It bothered me that he went not to feel close to our son, but as a reminder of what had happened, and what could still happen.
The entire house kept their distance, feeling he needed time and space. I was the only one who refused to stay away from him. It was me he needed. Yet I refused to give him what he wanted—to give in to his silent demands and cancel. He needed this. More than ever, his brothers needed thisfromhim. I just hoped that once he arrived, the African heat would defrost him and he would open up. He would show them who he truly was without the constraints the family name put on him.
And without me—the biggest constraint, and the source of his constant worry.
While we were in London, Brando and the men went to get tattoos. He had been planning for quite a while to get something in honor of his Coast Guard days. Violet had arranged for me to do a photo shoot at the flat we were staying in, and sans men, it seemed like the ideal place. It was all chandeliers, ornate damask furniture, pretty wallpaper throughout, my favorite being the rose, but in yellow, and it smelled of fine tea and buttery biscuits. It boasted a stunning view of Hyde Park.
All dolled up in a pretty lemon chiffon gown and pointe shoes, I lost myself to work, to the perfect poises the photographer was asking for, and the interview.
I hadn’t realized Brando had come in. Not until I smelled whiskey and the cologne of ink and ointment from the tattoo parlor. He stood in the shadows, and I could’ve sworn his eyes glowed like coals.
“Oh!” The interviewer sucked in a breath. “Whois that?”
“My husband,” I said, staring at him staring at me.
“Would he mind talking to me, do you think?” She bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair. It was done unconsciously.
The conversation usually came to this.To him.It seemed the world didn’t see us separately, but as one. And word got around quick. After I started doing photo shoots and interviews, one look at him and the news of the dancer’s beautiful Italian husband—who belonged on a runway in Milan or New York or London—spread like a wildfire.
Not to mention his name. The Fausti family rarely gave interviews, unless it had to do with charity work.
I could see it in her eyes, the recognition and the eagerness to talk to him. He was being mysterious, standing in the darkness of the house, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb, simmering in anger and despair. He looked like he was on the verge of giving a good spanking. The woman sitting across from me seemed like the type to volunteer as tribute.
“What about a quick photo for the magazine?”
“Not today,” Violet said, stepping into the room. She was good at keeping people corralled. I appreciated her take-no-shit attitude. “SignorFausti did not sign up for this interview.”
“That’s a beautiful dress,”SignorFausti said, words slow to come forward. “You look beautiful, Ballerina Girl.”
“Is that what he calls you?” The interviewer practically swooned, as though he called me something overly sweet, like sugar. I was thankful he didn’t call me baby—it would have made her levitate.
She had no idea what simmered under that casual tone though. I had an idea. I didn’t like it. Nor did it help that he was stoned on whiskey. She asked again, but I refused to answer.
“I’ll meet you in our room,” I said to him, striving for casualness, but my heart hammered, my palms were full of nervous sweat, and I had to swallow twice to get air down. “Just give me a minute to finish up.”
He rarely accompanied me on interviews, or photo shoots, but after I had done a few that he considered risqué, he started accompanying me. He felt that the magazines and the companies were pushing me in the wrong direction. I tended to agree—they strove to over-sexualize me.Oh,just a little more skin. How about this sheer leotard? You would look fabulous soaking wet.
