“The jealousy in it.”
“The cattiness of it, too,” I said. “The men have their issues. The women do too.”
“You deal with the men better than you do the women.”
“Sometimes,” I whispered. “I had to learn how to deal with the men on my own.”
“You mean me.”
“Don’t I always?”
Something about those words triggered him. His eyes narrowed and the tick in his jaw jumped. The pressure on my wrist increased before he lightened his touch. He moved, forcing me to move with him, until my back was to a building and he was looking down at me, eyes glistening.
“About what Rosaria said,” I said, meeting his eyes and challenging his intense stare. “You want—went—all in. You want this—this life.”
We had been sidestepping this issue since the tattoo. And again, someone else had pushed our detonate button.
Out of all the words Rosaria had flung at me, the only ones that had broken skin wasyour husband refuses what is rightly his because of you. I didn’t need another woman giving me advice on what to do with my own husband or reminding me that he was at war within himself over the right to be a legendary Fausti. Though, in all actuality, he already was, but how deep he decided to go was up to him.
He’d made that clear enough. The decision was his alone. The tattoo on his back proved that.
“Tell me what’s best for me, Scarlett.”
I bit my lip; he released it. I shook my head. “No. I won’t. You have to make this decision on your own. I can’t be your conscience, Brando. I refuse to be. We’ve been down this road before. It was the same when the time came for me to decide to continue to dance or not. You told me I had to work it out on my own. We could discuss it, but ultimately, it was my decision. You have to do the same.”
“Even though I hurt you, you still go into battle for my soul,” he said in Italian. “Even putting yours at risk for the sake of mine.”
“Until the day that I die.” I spoke in Italian too. “You save me. I’ll saveyou,my husband.”
He became as still as the snow that surrendered to the ground. He searched my eyes as though he had the power to crawl in, take the perilous journey to my mind, and fight off whatever creature guarded the gates so he could claim the answers as his.
Finally, after realizing that the creature he met at the gates wasme, and that I wasn’t giving in this time, he spoke.
“Us then.” His voice came out soft but with an intensity that made me almost close my eyes. “Tell me what’s right forus.”
“Us? You and me? I’m not going anywhere,” I said with all the conviction I could summon. All that was mine to give was all his. “No matter what your decision, I’m here. Whether it’s right or wrong, I’m here. Until the day that I die. It’s us, after the good times, after the bad times, and in all the spaces between.I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I, Scarlett Rose Fausti, will love and honor you all the days of my life, Brando Piero Fausti.”
His eyes started to dilate, and I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or love. “Tell me what I need to know.”
I knew what he was asking of me. He hadn’t wanted to know whether Mia was going to be a boy or a girl. I had feltherfrom the beginning, and Eva had backed up my feeling in a dream. This time, he wanted to know. Whether a son would make a difference in his decision, I wasn’t sure. But I was sure that he would consider the fact that not only would his decision touch his son, but even further down the line.
Still could, even if he decided he didn’t want to go all in.
“Tell me,” he said again, this time more forcefully. He had prepared himself to hear it.
I took his hand and put it to my stomach. “Tuo figlio,” I said.
Your son.I knew any other children we had would also be sons. I could feel the certainty in my marrow. God had eased him into fatherhood with a daughter, knowing Mia was who he needed to be brave enough to fulfill the plans for his life.
He nodded once, real slow, and then we both became motionless, staring at one another through the thin air. We stood still for so long that snow collected on our lashes, on the hoods of our coats and our shoulders.
Through his eyes alone, I could see the struggle to come to terms; no telling what was going on inside of his heart. A bloody battle between satisfaction and uncertainty.
I’m carrying Brando Fausti’s son.The thought both thrilled and terrified me.
We were both going back and forth on each side of the battle lines.
Despite the tension, there was an undercurrent of magic in the telling. Feeling this, he pulled me to him, hard, squeezing my hips in his warm hands.
