Feral love and the uncertainty of tomorrow.
Pressing my hand against the window, I breathed a flare of life on the pane from my heat, but the cold was no slow burn. The chill became a flash of charged electricity, and if I worried about the memory being branded to my heart and soul, I didn’t need to. It already had been.
Brando looked up at this ending thought, as though I had summoned him by will alone. He found me even though he couldn’t see me.
“If it’s one thing we’re damn good at,” I whispered, “it’s holding on to each other.”
Closing one eye, he lifted his hand, setting it center against mine— palm to palm. Space was never an issue for us. Wealwaysgravitated to each other.
Proof, his heart seemed to whisper back,that my heart heard the whispered secrets of yours.
26
Scarlett
Luca arrived at our chalet a minute or two after Brando, Mia, and Eunice, not even bothering to knock. His quiet presence had communicated without words his stance on the issue of us taking Mia back. He didn’t agree with the decision.
Brando, Mia, and Eunice were still outside, and Luca stood in the doorway of our bedroom, waiting to see if I was going to take the bait and argue with him.
He wasn’t getting one out of me. Our decision was final.
Luca disappeared a moment later but hadn’t left entirely. He had gone down to the kitchen to get a cup of hot coffee. I could smell it, the heady scent of roasted beans wafting in the air, and it made me equal parts hungry and nauseated.
My stomach had no idea what it wanted to do.
After a second of deliberation, it settled on nauseated, and I hightailed into the bathroom, making it just in time.
To my horror, Luca followed me, sans coffee cup.
I lifted a hand. “Go. Please.”
“You are such a lady,” he said. It wasn’t meant in an exasperated manner, nor was it meant as a compliment. It was stated as though his opinion was fact. He maneuvered around the bathroom, as though he had been there a hundred times before, and took a soft washcloth from the cabinet, then soaked it in cool water and set it against the base of my neck. “There,” he murmured.
“Grazie,” I whispered, closing my eyes to the horror of Luca Fausti witnessing this, and to the soothing balm the cool fabric brought to my skin. It was warm in the chalet, but I felt clammy.
“You have not eaten today,” he said.
“Ah.” I felt my cheeks rush with blood and shut the lid, getting rid of any evidence. Which was scarce but still there. “Brando made me a cup of broth before he left. I couldn’t stomach it.”
He waved the mention of broth off. “Chicken.”
I nodded, but it wasn’t like he needed the confirmation.
He waved harder this time. “This is not what you need. Come with me. I will make you feel better.”
“All right,” I agreed, almost hesitant. I lifted a finger. “First I need to brush my teeth.”
He made a go-ahead motion with his hand but made no move to leave. This was well past awkward, so I brushed and rinsed in a hurry, wanting to get this over with. If one has never brushed and rinsed in front of a gorgeous Italian man,an effing force, one does not understand the true discomfort in this simple task.
It was unnerving.
“You are good brusher,” he said conversationally as he led me by the hand into the kitchen. “You also rinse for the correct amount of time. Your parents did well.”
“Thank you…” The words fell from my lips almost posed as a question.
Once we were in the kitchen, he pulled out a chair and ordered me to take a seat and relax. I watched in honest fascination as he maneuvered around the kitchen, pulling out a pot, filling it with water, and then setting it on the stove. A few minutes later the water reached a rolling boil, and he emptied a box of pastina noodles into the pot.
Stirring, he turned his head to face me. “Pastina is the cure for all, ah?”
