“Sì. I have not been able to speak to you. Alone. Since.” He motioned to his head. “I could not. What we need to discuss must be done in private.”
“Brando,” I said quietly, not even able to take a breath.
“No, no.” He waved a hand. “He is all right. I am sure of it. It is something else. I—do you have a feeling about who hit me? Was it the giant?”
That was a loaded question. I had thought it over plenty, but there were so many question marks that it was hard to decide which one felt more dangerous. “It could’ve been Taylor or one of the guys he was with, but I’m not positive. My feelings are all over the place. Do you remember anything?”
“In fragments and nothing after the hit.”
We talked things over for a few minutes, but in the end, the mystery still remained.
“This is such a mess.” I put my head between my hands.
“Do not worry, Scarlett. I do not seem like much at the moment, but I will die to see you safe.”
“Guido,” I said, voice muffled. “That does not make me feel safe! I don’t want—” I cut myself off with a growl.
Men! They just didn’t understand how hard it was to let them be men. All of my instincts ordered me to protecthim.
“I do not want you to worry.” His voice was soft, and it drifted.
“Guido? Can you do me a favor? Can you stay with me? I need you to stay close to me.” I knew that was the quickest way to get him to agree tonotgo wandering on some hero’s quest.
“Sì. I will bide my time.”
I watched him for a moment. Then I took him by the hand and led him to the bed. He said nothing as he sunk into the softness of it. I resisted the urge to tell him that he looked like a boy, just a boy who risked his life for a girl he didn’t even love. Sleep made them seem so innocent and loving—like sleeping toddlers who you know are only peaceful while asleep, but once up, all hell breaks loose.
Wishes—they always seem to come after regret. I wished Guido had danced with the red-haired girl at the pub and gotten the tattoo he had wanted. I swore that once this was all over with, Brando and I would take him back to Ireland, to do all of those things.
I was an effing nightmare.
Resting a cool hand towel on his forehead, I left him a glass of water and told him Valentina would be in soon to check on him. Later on, I’d take the plush-looking sofa and leave him the wide bed to stretch out in. Perhaps Valentina would stay with us and make it a slumber party.
“Scarlett?” he called, stopping me before I left him to get some rest.
“Yes?”
“A woman such as yourself does not belong in this life.”
I belong wherever he is, I wanted to say, but only shut the door behind me.
* * *
“Fireworks” turned out to be a hot little red bathing suit that gave my skin ample space to breath in the plump Spanish air. I wasn’t feeling all that rebellious, but after all of the men went to find other spots to guard—it wasn’t like any of us were getting on or off, and Gabriel, Eva, Michael, and Layla went to nap—Violet took a few pictures for Brando’s collection in the pool.
“You’ll have to pretend that the bathing suit is yours, so he’ll think he didn’t see it,” she said. “Serves him right!”
After she was done with me, all of the women wanted a few pictures, so Violet busied herself, acting like a professional photographer, calling everyone “darling,” and “gorgeous.” I laughed, finding a lounge chair to take. The water was cool and the air hot. I felt like a washed piece of cotton out to dry. It was wonderful, snuggling up to the sun and the citrusy smell of Spain.
The break was much needed. Some of the tension seemed to slip away from us, and Carmen smiled from ear to ear. This was what she had wanted all along, to get to know us without the men around and to enjoy some girl time. It was no secret that in an Italian family, you didn’t just marry one person; you married the entirefamiglia.
The Fausti family was different, seeing as their line of “work” was not traditional. As important as it was for the men to stick together and be loyal, it was equally as imperative that the women band together too. When Ettore and his merry band of thugs had shot Brando, Rocco, and Uncle Tito, we—Rosaria, Aunt Lola, and me—had leaned on each other, taking hands and praying for the men we loved.
It made my heart swell to think that things were starting to go well, and perhaps Carmen and Rosaria could bond. I had bonded with Rosaria the best that I could. She was hands-off with her husband; I was two-hands on mine. It somehow caused a gap that we couldn’t bridge, but other than that, I liked her fine enough.
Feet slapping against the deck caused me to lift my sunglasses. Carmen. She sat down next to me, her face pinched, turned toward the sun.
“You okay?” I asked, sitting up a bit.
