All I could do was nod in return.
Mitch and Violet, along with Romeo and Juliette, met us at the chalet not long after and we made our way together. The security at Luca’s was thick, men crawling in every direction, as silent as the snow that touched the ground.
Nothing felt off to me, so I felt at peace leaving Mia in her grandparents’ care. And Eunice had brought her overnight bag, planning to stay too.
We weren’t going to be that far anyway. The place we were going was located along the main throughway of the village.
Hundreds of white lights dotted all the businesses. Snow fell in a constant tizzy, but it didn’t stop the crowds that had gathered to explore. Some people pulled children in miniature versions of a sled, making tracks through the coating of white as they meandered.
Though the weather was absurdly cold, the village had a snug feel to it. Decorated for the upcoming holiday, it felt as though we were part of a grand postcard for a winter wonderland.
A spectrum of scents enveloped me as we stepped into the bar. Spirts and cinnamon and wood smoke. All at once the cold from outside seemed to melt in the face of the warmth inside. Snowflakes that had clung to my lashes and the fibers of my faux-fur coat seemed to disappear by magic.
The interior of the place was nothing spectacular, a bar and small restaurant, serving only what we considered appetizers, but I noticed that it did have karaoke.
I’d probably overdone it with the gold cuff bracelets, since most of the crowd was dressed for comfort instead of fashion, seeing as frostbite was a serious issue. But Maja used to saybetter to be overdressed than under, so I didn’t mind that the gold shimmered against the fireplaces illuminating the room with soft light, cutting the harshness of faces and shapes.
The atmosphere gave off a relaxed vibe, which put us both at ease. People hanging out with people, wanting to enjoy themselves.
Brando and I needed this time together more than ever.
I hadn’t forgotten about what he’d done. The tattoo on his back mocked me every time he took his shirt off. And my anger shunned him every time he did.
We were still at an impasse, and neither one of us was breaking first.
I was dealing with what he’d done. He was dealing with me—because he showed no regret whatsoever for hurting me as deeply as he had.
He had the tattoo on his back. I had it in the form of a scar on my heart.
Back at the chalet, this was the reason why I didn’t see him as the man who had stolen my heart years ago. He wasalmostthe man who had, because this man, he wasn’t the same. He never was when Luca got too close.
He looked down at our hands, narrowing his eyes. “You have something to say to me, Ballerina Girl, say it.”
I raised my eyebrows in question.
He lifted our entwined hands. “You’re stopping blood flow.”
I eased my grasp, but the residual anger didn’t totally go back under. It was so close to the surface that I could almost taste the bitter tang of it on my tongue.
Before either of us could go further and probably start to argue, Mitch and Violet made it through the crowd, another couple in tow.
The new couple were the owners of the restaurant, around our age, and friendly. Mitch had found out that they were first-generation Americans born and raised in New York. They had missed the simpler things in life and traded in congested streets for the peace of being closer to family and living here. They even invited us to take the children to see a sheep farm that their family owned in the hills.
Mitch also mentioned that the couple had owned one of the restaurant/bars we used to frequent in New York when we lived there. It felt like New York all over again as we made conversation with them. It was a time when I had felt safe. We had gone years without threats and war until Nemours and Ettore showed up at our door.
My heart gave a sigh at the memories.
That night was couple’s night, and there was no line like in New York.
Mitch and Violet signed up first for karaoke. After they made the first move, people became interested and started putting names down. No one was more shocked than me when Brando signed us up.
Unfortunately, we were after two of the best duets: Mitch and Violet, then Rocco and Rosaria. Rocco’s voice was as smooth as Luca’s.
The trait seemed to skip a brother. Brando didn’t have it, and neither did Dario, but Rocco and Romeo did.
We took our seats, preparing to watch the shows unfold. Brando handed me a seltzer water while he nursed a glass of whiskey. I crossed my legs, and he rested his hand on my thigh. I rested mine on his.
“You do realize we’re going to get slaughtered, right?” I looked away from Mitch and Violet, who were about to get started. “We have zero chance of competing with those four.”
