She nodded, and then held up an entire hand, fingers splayed. “Five all together. Not counting our first Matteo.”
“All boys.”
She smiled. “All you.”
“That is something to celebrate, is it not, Wildflower?” came a voice at the door—Luca and Maggie Beautiful passing through, eavesdropping on their kingdom. “Three more beautiful Fausti children to bless the world. Our army grows.”
“Our family grows,” Maggie Beautiful said, blowing a kiss into the room.
Scarlett’s face paled at his words—our army grows—then a rush of blood colored her cheeks. She pulled herself together a second later, blowing a kiss back to Maggie Beautiful. The two of them moved on, heading toward the veranda to join the game. Or maybe to stop it.
“What are you thinking?” Scarlett whispered.
“You’re positive about this—five?”
“You’re answering a question with a question.” She grinned. “Yes, I’m sure. It feels right—the number.”
I sighed long and hard. “We make beautiful children.”
“We do.” She beamed.
“And I love fucking—making them.”
“Me too,” she said, rising from her seat. Her hand lingered up my arm, along my shoulder, before she went to the door, closing and locking it.
We got straight to work.
39
Brando
The next morning, I sat out on the veranda with my daughter. Scarlett had stayed with Matteo in his erstwhile nursery, feeding him, spending some quality time alone with him, while I did the same with Mia.
Mia and I were waiting for the food to be cooked and the table to be set for outside dining. The ones with teeth who could eat solid food would then convene and enjoy breakfast.
I’d taken her to the opposite side of the veranda, away from the clatter of noise and food discussions, where it was quieter. From this side, there were better views of the lawn.
She sat on my lap, wearing a purple dress, soft cream stockings, and a barrette in her hair, singing quietly to herself while she fussed over her stuffed lion’s hair. If it wasn’t his, it was Matteo’s, or the little lamb I’d given her in Zermatt, or the ballerina doll her grandparents had given her for Christmas.
Every so often, she’d look up, touch my nose, or my eyes, and then smile at me. Her face still had traces of warm sleep, beautiful dreams, but as the cool air touched her skin, it was awakening her endless energy. Food would make her roar.
The sweet song she sang drifted in and out of my consciousness. My attention blurred, the line between sea and shore, fading out into the distance. My memory washed the moment to me.
All I could see were visions of Luca from the night before, sitting alone in a darkened kitchen, a glass of red wine glowing like blood from the light of the moon in front of him.
I’d gone to grab some food for Scarlett, who had wondered if there was any of Eunice’s chocolate cake left.
I’d hacked off a huge chunk of cake, then opened the refrigerator to grab a cold water, finding a bunch of grapes staring back at me.
“Not today,” I’d whispered. I shook my head. “Five.” For a man who hadn’t wanted even one, five was a fucking team.
“I had five,” the serious Italian voice in the darkness floated out. “Of course, none of them were girls. However, we will be even with the men we will have. I take such things as being symbolic.”
“I lost a son, as well,” I answered in the same language.
“I am well aware.”
You would be, I wanted to say, but I kept quiet, shutting the refrigerator door, snuffing out the small amount of light illuminating the darkness.
