I wondered if the other Brando had been the same.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” I mused. “How you claim I’m the one who shines in your darkness, but your name means that very thing.”
Being well-equipped to deal with my veering changes in subject, he caught on quick to my thoughts. “Yeah, even my name belongs to you—what you are to me.”
He said nothing else, and the sigh that escaped my mouth came unbidden.
“I’m not afraid to talk about it, Brando,” I said. “Speak your piece.”
“Speak my piece, even though you already know?”
I hesitated. “I want to hear your thoughts first.”
“There’s a spot here, for us. If we want it.”
“It’s the natural course of things. We should talk about it, where our children should go if something were to happen to us both, where we want to go.”
He refused to think about us being separated, even in death, so I purposely didn’t mention us separately. Being blunt wouldn’t make him open up to me. He was on edge, and that would push him off it. I didn’t like thinking about it either, but this was a tough conversation all around.
All of this had once been nothing but formalities to him. “Once I’m dead,” he’d once said to me, “what difference does the rest make?”
It seemed to make a difference to him now.
Ettore’s death had affected him in ways he hadn’t foreseen. He didn’t need it to remind him that we’re all mortal, but it did remind him of how short life was, and it made him consider where his life was headed.
His choices would not only direct my steps, but somewhere down the line, his son’s and daughter’s. Mia’s life wouldn’t be so controlled, but her marriage would be discussed. Matteo…we were in the thick of Italy, no longer in Louisiana anymore, and Luca was about to become head of thefamiglia. Certain expectations would be put on all the men closest to him.
Brando’s heart had come to a decision before his head.
“I’m only discussing us both. Not you alone.”
“All right,” I said, knowing that was coming. “It wouldn’t matter anyway. Like you said, after death, what does it matter, ah?”
He gave me a mean look, his lips pinching, his eyes narrowing. “Where do we want to be, Scarlett?”
“You have to deal with this,” I motioned around us, “in life. Do you want to spend your eternity here too?”
“Good point. Louisiana then?”
“Or we can be buried in Italy, but not here. Tuscany?”
“We met in America. We’ll stay there.”
“All right. Where will the kids go?”
“Your parents.”
“They’re getting older, Brando, and—”
“I feel comfortable with them. Your mother has a way with schedules.”
Ah, the foundation he always craved.
“What she did to me, though, with the dancing.” I hesitated. “One of your brothers?”
“No,” he said right away. No hesitation. “They have their own kids—too close in age to ours.”
“My parents along with Violet and Mitch.”
