“Brando…” I barely got out.
Time seemed to move without the ticking of a clock, but I knew that if we didn’t separate afterthistime, there was going to beanothertime, and he wasn’t going to leave.
He did, though, grumbling something gruff about Rocco and Rosaria, buttoning his coat again, resentment on his features.
Moving on my knees toward him, almost cautious—if we started again, there would be no use for him to go—I fixed his hair.
“There,” I said, running my hands through the silky strands, fixing them. “Perfect.”
“You spoil me,” he said in Italian, or something close it, seizing my wrists, placing a warm kiss on each one. His eyes searched mine. “We’re not done talking.”
“I didn’t know we had anything else to talk about.”
He ran a hand down my face. “About what I walked in on.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What—”
“You crying.”
“We already talked about it. You told me to cry to you, remember?”
It was unlike him to linger. There was something uneasy in his eyes, not settled.
“Yeah, I know what you said. But we didn’t talk about why you were crying. It should’ve never happened. I—”
I placed a soft kiss on his lips, then rested my forehead against his. “We have time. We can go for a swim when you get back. Butgo. It makes me…uneasy, when you’re out late in this.” I nodded toward the window, the snow coming down silently but hard.
“You worry about me.”
“You know I do.” He came in to kiss me and I shoved at his chest. “Brando! GO!” I laughed, though the situation was serious. There was no telling what was going on with Rocco and Rosaria.
After the night she’d confronted me and slapped him, things had been tense between them.
“Promise me, Scarlett.” His eyes refused to let mine go.
“Promise you what, Brando?” It was hard to keep eye contact when his eyes became that intense.
“That you’ll be waiting for me when I get back. In this room. Unless you check on Mia, stay put. Don’t go swimming without me. It makes me uneasy to think of you roaming around this house without me. Promise me that we’ll talk.”
Talk? That was a stretch for him, but he was being serious. Hearing me cry and trying to hide it from him bothered him—I could feel it.
“Promettere,” I whispered, then kissed my palm and set it against his chest.
He placed his hand over mine, and we stood that way until he forced himself to move. He stuck his hat over his head and then left.
I could hear men’s voices as he passed through the house, probably checking on things, leaving orders. Not long after, the house became quiet again, after he’d gone.
Jumping from the bed, I padded to the window to watch him leave.
He was cloaked in darkness, but he was out there, looking up at the window, knowing I’d feel him. Our connection was beginning to stretch, to move like it was a never-ending piece of elastic that tethered us together.
He moved; I moved. I moved; he moved.
A flash of light came on, highlighting two faces. Brando and Lev. Snow twirled around them in surges. Lev must have decided to go with him.
Brando looked straight up, as though he could see me too, kissed his palm and then blew against it.
I caught it and placed it over my heart.
