She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I don’t want to become complacent because we have kids.”
“You?” I scoffed, then simultaneously grabbed for the drinks the waiter set down. “I doubt that.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I lifted my glass, and she did the same. We clanked.
“There’s no hidden meaning,” I said. “Has your appetite for me lessened any?”
“No. It’s grown.”
“Same here.”
She grinned, taking a sip of her wine. “This is good.” She licked her lips.
“Drink up so we can have nasty, drunk sex later.”
Doubling over so she wouldn’t spit out the drink she’d just taken, she laughed. “You like that, don’t you?”
“I love it all,” I said, my voice more serious than intended. “With you. You bring out the fucking beast in me.” I growled.
Laughing again, she rested her head against my shoulder, getting even closer. I rested my chin against her head.
“I’m a lucky girl.” She sighed. After a minute or two passed, she let out another breath, the sweet scent of wine drifting from her mouth. “This is so beautiful. The moon is so big. It almost looks like a mermaid tail reflected over the water. Moon shadows. Like when you put a shape over a flashlight, and it reflects on the wall. It seems like she might jump out of the water.”
“Romantico.” I’d intended it to come out as fact, but instead, it came out sounding like a question.
“Yes,” she said, putting her hand on my thigh. “Very romantic. Anywhere with you is.”
We got comfortable in our spots, hypnotized by the water, and she began to stroke my forearm. She traced her finger around the ribbon tattoo I’d gotten a few days after meeting her, in her honor.
Even if we hadn’t gotten together, she’d altered my life to a degree that I knew would take me years, if not a lifetime, to comprehend. The man I was always supposed to be stepped out of the shadows the moment I watched her dance behind the glass at her parents’ dance studio.
Her ribbon, the actual one, was tangible, vulnerable to wear and tear, elements and time. My body was, too, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that, but it was mine to carry, a reminder of a night that forever changed my life.
Her cool hand lowered, tracing her name across my left wrist, right over my pulse point. It was done in script, and on the other wrist, the names of my children.
As she looked at the names, a mischievous glint came into her eyes—she knew something I didn’t. “It’s good that you left enough room for—”
Before she could finish, the waiter interrupted with more help, every man and woman holding traditional plates decorated in a sea theme, brimming with food.
Scarlett looked at the table and then at all the plates.
“I think we’re going to need a bigger table.”
Nothing daunted, the waiter made room, cramming each dish until they fit. He asked me at least five times if the food looked fine.
I made an okay sign with my fingers, nodding my head, and he called his staff to follow him back into the kitchen.
She went to swirl some pasta around with her fork, but I stopped her, doing it myself. She laughed, grabbing for a piece that almost fell out of her mouth.
Dinner progressed, our conversation easy, laughter coming from our table that seemed to echo.
An older couple passed us, asking if we were newlyweds, and Scarlett told them, no, we were enjoying date night, our two small children at home. The old folks’ faces lit up at this, and we laughed some more as they strolled down the street, still muttering about how nice we were.
Our conversation became more animated the more we ate and drank. We talked of many things and sometimes nothing at all. Then the conversation steered toward Rocco and Rosaria. They were causing talk within the villa’s walls.
Their relationship was stony, to say the least, even with the birth of their second son, Amadeo.
