“True!” Rosaria lifted her hands. “Let’s get them.”
I was afraid to leave Carmen and Abree alone, so I asked Violet to grab my gift and check on Guido while she was in the room.
“Guido,” Abree snorted. “He is a good lover, but not good enough. Not after you have had one of Luca’s sons. No.” She moaned and squeezed her legs shut tight. “They arethebest lovers.”
“If she says she has slept with Donato,” Chiara said from her face-down position on the lounger, “I will cut her.”
Carmen sat up taller, staring at Abree, who still had her face turned to the sky. Sweat started to pop up like dew on her skin. She had sharper features than Rosaria, and apparently, a sharper tongue too.
Abree didn’t bring a gift for Carmen, but at least she kept quiet while we gave her ours. Carmen opened them with a mixture of pleasure and shock on her face—exactly what we had intended.
“Here.” Rosaria handed me a book. She went around handing them out to all of the girls except her sister and Collette.
It was some type of lover’s guide. I thumbed threw it, curious. At one really interesting part, I sat up, pushing my glasses to the top of my head. It was directions on how to make your man orgasm even harder. A warm drink before you got started, it went on to say. Heat makes things swell.
Ooh, this is good stuff.
“Why didn’t you give your sister and Collette one?” Carmen asked.
“We do not need them!” Rosaria laughed.
Carmen bit her lip. I had never seen her do that before. She was attempting to hold her tongue. She was near to bursting, the pressure enough to make me feel it. And then she spoke, as easy as a passing breeze. She had had enough. “Oh, I think you do. Since your husband can’t seem to stay home. Maybe you should read this.” Carmen lifted the book and shook it tauntingly at Rosaria. “Then he might keep onlyyourbed warm.”
Violet spit out the drink she had just taken. Collette—the French space cadet—stopped dancing. Chiara was suddenly awake and sitting up, rubbing at her eyes. I had just taken a sip of my drink and I gulped it down, coughing after. The pineapple was acidic.
Abree moved like a snake after a bunny, poised and ready to strike. “You!” Abree said, coming to her sister’s defense, her pointer finger coming up with her slim body. But she had been ready to say whatever was coming for a while. She needed an excuse. That one was the clinical definition of passive aggressive. “How dare you! You think you are good enough for Dario Fausti?Ha!You are living in a dream world. A fantasy!Rags alla ricchezza!Even Rocco sees this. You are not evenItaliano! You have nothing to offer him!Niente!”
Carmen met her—face to face. “You do?” she said, lifting a brow.
“Of course! I have given it to him before. He knows what my warmth feels like from the inside. No complaints. He asked me to marry him.Isaid no tohim. I was young and stupid then. Then he meets—” she stuck a bangle clad wrist at Carmen, gold and diamonds glinting in the sunlight “—you.He does nothing but pity you. Dario has a need to act the hero. He does not love you. How could you even think that?Pietà! That is all it is. For you and yourbastardo!”
I didn’t even realize I had done it until Abree’s head snapped back: I punched her, right in the nose. The wordbastardowas a trigger for me. It was what Brando had always called himself, and I knew that was what some people in our small town back home thought of him too, and I couldn’t stand to see the same fate for Diego. I couldn’t stand to hear another word out of her viscous mouth.
Blood shot out in a spray from her nose, and due to all of the shouting, the men came rushing in, guns drawn, searching for the threat. Abree pointed at me, ordering them to shoot me. Well, I think that was what she ordered—it was hard to tell; she gurgled like she was dying.
Valentina came out to check on her. Rosaria hugged her sister’s shoulders, leading her toward the doctor’s room, her eyes throwing daggers at me. I returned them, in good measure.
“Sandy,” Violet said, coming to stand beside me. “Do you need anger management?”
I shook my head and flexed my hand. “Where’s Carmen?”
Violet sighed. “She went to pack. She said the wedding’s off. She just doesn’t fit in Dario’s world.”
Chapter Thirteen
Scarlett
A night later, in Barcelona, I feltrojo. The dress I wore was one of Pnina’s tailor-fit creations that ran a full size too small. A soft crepe material, the dress was slim-fit with a sweetheart neckline that dared to bare the entire shoulder, the straps hanging precariously off of my arms, and though it was floor length, it flowed and pooled, coagulated into a swish ofrojoin the back.Red. The thigh-high slit was only noticeable when there was movement.
I could’ve been a red flag in a ring full ofGanadería Miura.I felt dangerous, much too reckless. I was a woman on the edge, cloaked in an audacious emblem.
Despite the mother of all hangovers in Ireland, I sat at the bar in some posh Barcelona restaurant, watching exotic fish swim in a glistening tank, listening to the music in the background, every once in a while sparing a glance at the dance floor, and sipping the most delicious sangria ever tasted. Whether I felt dangerous or not, I kept checking my phone. I had only heard from Brando once. The usualyou okay?After I replied,yes, where are you?—radio silence. Fear had long ago clawed me from the inside out. And that thread I held on to? It no longer existed. It was just a memory.
“He’s fine, wee dancer,” Gabriel said. “I’m sure he’ll be callin’ soon enough.” Gabriel and Eva sat next to me, enjoying their drinks. I nodded and fiddled with the diamond-encrusted bangles on my wrists—a gift from Brando—and the new watch he gave me before we separated in England.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled for the hundredth time. I had warned them that I was the plague from the very beginning, hating how they bore the brunt of watching me. “I—”
“Stop it!” Eva said, a gracious smile on her face. She took a sip from her glass. “This is my first time in Spain! I love it. I want to get drunk on sangria and dance in the streets! Oh, and after this, Italy!”
