Even though I was slowly coming to, I knew I had about another two hours, and then I could feed Matteo myself.
I had no idea why I’d even drank two glasses. Maybe because I hadn’t been feeling like myself, even though I didn’t understand why.
Mother guilt was a real thing, though, and I swore to myself I’d never drink again.
“Tell me why you did it,” Brando said.
“Drink?”
“Yeah.”
I shrugged. “Not sure. I was just thinking about that myself.”
He sighed, hard and long.
We became silent, getting lost in the quiet of the villa.
“You danced before I got home?” he said after a minute or two.
“Why even ask if you already know?”
“You are my wife. It’s my business to know everything.”
“That’s not what I said,” I said, my voice as tired as my limbs. “I said,whyask if you already know.”
“I wanted you to tell me about it.”
“Not much to tell. I danced.”
He leaned down and bit my breast. I gasped, then slapped him. His teeth were going to make a mark, and beside that, it burned, adding to the medley of aches he’d left behind.
He laughed, nothing daunted by my feeble slap. He probably liked it, the masochist. Then he kissed the spot he’d sunk his teeth into, his raspy laughter tickling me.
I knew if I didn’t tell him more, though, he was going to keep tormenting me.
“It was nice,” I said, running my hands through his hair, concentrating on his temples, the silver strands. “I felt—free. No thinking. Just moving. Me and the music.”
He must have heard something in my voice. He lifted his head, eyes narrowing. “You miss it.”
“I do it almost every day, don’t I?” I held a hand up. “Before you say it, I’mnotanswering a question with a question.”
“Impossible. I didn’t ask you a question. You do miss it. I can tell.” He waved a hand. “And dancing here is not like dancing on stage.”
I thought about that for a minute. He was right. It was different.
“I do miss it sometimes—on a primal, visceral level. It’s very much a part of me, like my flesh, blood, and bone—perhaps even my heart. But not as much as I would miss spending this time with Mia and Matteo. Nothing could ever compare.”
“You’re a wonderful mother, baby. I love you even more because of it. But there’s no guilt in missing that part of your life. It doesn’t mean that you love Mia and Matteo any less.”
He separated us then, and I winced at the loss of contact, at the emptiness that abruptly left me feeling cut in half, after the sensation of being whole. Perhaps sensing this, he didn’t stop touching me.
His warm mouth moved against my skin, making his way down to my lower stomach.
“Are you saying you want me to dance again?”
His eyes found mine again. “No,” he said without hesitation. “You are our children’s mother. You belong with them. I’m just saying that it’s okay to miss it. I miss seeing you dance in that capacity. For me, there are few things that compare.”
Not that I needed it, but I felt a lessening of the guilt when he gave me permission to feel the way I was. He seemed to understand there was a certain amount of guilt when I did miss it, because for some reason, it felt as though I were betraying the dream I’d wanted since I was a girl.
