I lifted my beer. “Be grateful my hand is not deep in yours.”
Cerise’s voice reached us first, followed by Scarlett’s laugh.
Nodding, I set the knife down.
Nodding, he relaxed into his seat.
“Brando—” Scarlett put her hands on my shoulders. “Cerise has never been to the villa. I invited them back.”
My shoulders tensed. She felt it and squeezed, letting me know she felt my irritation. Our eyes connected and we had one of those marital moments—It’s for his own good, her look seemed to communicate.Don’t make me fucking tell you what’s for his own good, my own look shot back.
It was rumored that Fausti men had a sixth sense when it came to women. Luca could tell by looking at a woman what her dress and ring size were. Marzio had been able to tell their preferences in music, and sometimes would sing to them.
I knew my wife. I could get lost inside of her mind, the labyrinth of her heart and soul, knowing all the routes in and out. Therefore, I knew what she was aiming for by inviting them to the villa. I also knew how Cerise operated.
Cerise wanted to visit the villa, under the pretense that she hadn’t been there, so Livio would be forced to face his ghosts. His tan face blanched in the darkness, realizing he had to go back. He was man enough not to admit defeat, especially in front of me.
Not for a minute did I doubt either of them hadn’t realized this.
“Sì,” I said, then downed the rest of my beer. “We will meet them later. We have plans first.”
* * *
We didn’t have plans, per se.
All the unexpected twists and turns over dinner—thoughts of Cerise and Livio’s sudden appearance—made me feel like I’d been through a battle that existed inside of my mind.
I had a need to be alone with my wife that rivaled the most basic needs, the ones usually taken for granted until they’re violently stolen by life, and then we realize how vital they are once they’re gone.
We started out by taking a walk along the beach, the moon big enough that it bled silver over the water. Slow rolling waves came into shore, and I could smell the briny scent of salt and seafood in the cool air.
The night. The moon. The beach. My wife. They did fucking things to me.
She gasped when I swooped her up, carrying her to a darkened area of the beach, deep in the shadows, the place abandoned. No one was around—an off-season benefit. I couldn't seem to get to her fast enough.
“A dress,” I said, unbuttoning her jeans, “would have been much easier.”
“The bike,” she said, giving me a practical response, but the noises she made were wild. “I didn't want to give all of Positano a show.”
A growl vibrated in my throat. “Il mia,” I said, biting her bottom lip.
She took my face in her hands, her eyes flickering back and forth between mine. “You are the most passionate man I’ve ever known,” she whispered.
“Sono Italiano,” I said by way of explanation.I’m Italian.
“Grazie Dio!” she said dramatically.
Keeping my mouth pressed against hers was the only way to keep the noises we made down.
I didn’t keep track of time—it would have been a sin to do so with her—but by the time we made it back to the villa, Livio and Cerise were waiting for us.
Luca had been informed ahead of time about our guests, and since he hadn’t formally announced his presence to the world, he kept his distance. He’d planned on doing that in November, during a party Scarlett and the other women had been planning for over a year in Venice.
Luca didn’t show his face, but I felt his presence. He was somewhere close, lurking, taking in Livio. He’d known what had transpired. He knew everything, it seemed, but what had happened with Lev, the Russian assassin. The only reason he hadn’t known was because it was a detail, at the time, that he didn’t need to know about. He’d gotten the gist of the situation, and that had been enough.
Everyone else was out on the veranda. Opera played softly in the background, and we got comfortable. Jokes were told, stories shared, laughter rang out.
The music changed.
