No weapon on this earth could hurt me as much as this woman could.
Once Mia was dressed in a violet bathing suit and matching robe, Scarlett went to hand me a pair of swimming trunks.
I refused to take them until she met my eye. Finally, she did.
“Happy Anniversary, baby,” I whispered.
Her eyes softened. “You—” She cleared her throat, probably to erase the emotion from it. “You told me already.”
“It’s not a crime to say it more than once.”
“Is it allowed?” Her eyes turned hard, into unbreakable emeralds. “Or should we ask first?”
She went to walk away, but I took her arm again, holding tight. She refused to look at me.
“You’re not going to rest.” I didn’t pose it as a question; it wasn’t. “Get your shi—stuff together. You’ll go down to the pool with me and Mia. We’ll spend the day together as a family. Don’t forget your book. If you get tired, you can rest poolside.”
“Whateveryouwant,” she snapped.
Ah, and there it is. The fucking fire. As long as we had passion or anger, no indifference, we were on the right road.
“You,” I said, and then waited for her to get ready.
* * *
In the middle of our swim, Scarlett went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. She wanted fresh pasta and refused to let anyone else make it.
She was skilled at that—making fresh pasta from nothing but water and a certain kind of flour. Lola had taught her, but the student had long ago surpassed the teacher. Even my Sicilian aunts showered her with praise.
Scarlett’s lasagna was legendary—the sheets of fresh pasta were rolled out so thin, yet they never yielded to her touch. They were extremely supple. Like her.
I loved to watch her do her thing in the kitchen. Her moves put me in a trance, because even when she wasn’t dancing, there was a gracefulness about her that never left.
She put me at ease when nothing else could.
That was me watching her.
I caught her staring at me when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Mia wasn’t a picky eater. Most of what you put on her plate had no chance at survival. After a plane ride, a helicopter ride, a car ride through town, and a long swim, though, she had started to become cranky, rubbing at her eyes, fighting sleep. She was hungry enough to keep awake, though she cried when Scarlett gave her steamed carrots instead of more of the little pasta she liked.
As soon as I started eating them, Mia followed my lead.
That was when I caught my wife staring at me—watching as I enticed Mia to eat. I used to do the same thing with Scarlett when she was little. Except she was an extremely fastidious eater, and her habits only got worse the older she got.
Scarlett was almost in a trance, not even noticing that I’d turned my eyes on her. Finally, she blinked and made a softohsound. Realizing she’d been staring, she turned from me and went back to making our dinner.
Though we were at an impasse, it didn’t stop her from being thoughtful enough to make my favorite dish for our anniversary—wild mushroom ravioli.
Twilight had come, and with it, the entire village seemed to turn an ethereal shade of blue. All of the details that were so brazen before were almost stripped down to bare bones. Tree branches had turned black, preparing to fade into the shadows. Small pinpricks of light started to dot the sky, enticed out by nightfall.
Scarlett’s eyes were drawn up, waiting for the stars to come out.
After the swim, she’d changed into a soft, flowered dress—a mauve color—and a knitted sweater a pale shade of gray. It was hard to tell from the sweater, but when she turned to the side, the fit of the dress gave me the perfect view of her shape.
I grinned and then turned my attention to Mia, who pushed her carrots away, not wanting any more. I ate them, making her laugh.
Scarlett turned, noticing the empty plate, and narrowed her eyes at me.
