He nodded once.
“And our love?” I asked, staring into his eyes. He was lit up, his dark eyes illuminated by the burning globe behind us. “What’s the secret word for that?”
“We’ll each pick a word.”
“I already have mine,” I said.
“So soon?” He grinned, and I kissed him again.
“Yes. So soon. Transcendent.”
“Ah,” he breathed out, the scent of whiskey wafting in subtle, sweet clouds. “Perfetto.”
“Yeah?” I smiled. “Your turn.”
“Effloresce,” he said. “To reach the optimum stage of development.”
“Ah.” This time I breathed out, smelling the lingering grapes and wine. “Blossoming. The rose.”
“Yeah. But we picked each other’s word. I would’ve said transcendent.”
“And I would’ve said efflorescence.”
“There we are,” he said, his eyes hard on mine. “We have our secret worlds and our secret names. Don’t forget.”
“Non lo farò,” I vowed.
He took my hands, kissing each of my rings. “My vow.”
We both laughed again, real low, instinctively pulling closer to each other. So close that we were trying to melt into the others bloodstream.
Lifting my neck so he could kiss me there, his mouth and hands journeyed as though he had never touched me before, and he was looking for secret passages around the obvious.
“Your body is a labyrinth,” he breathed against my skin in Italian.
It was eerie how we could do that. Like we did with the secret words, we could read each other’s minds and finish each other’s sentences. But it wasn’t so eerie that I questioned it often.
Instead of thinking too deeply, I dissolved into his caresses, and my body heated.
I never wanted to stop lighting up his darkness.
“You know,” I said, turning to face him. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have spoken our secrets.” For some odd reason, I started to cry. Not hard, just an overflow of emotion. “I mean—that’s why they were a secret. So no one could confuse us if we somehow got lost or had a hard time finding each other again.”
It was ridiculous to get upset over something we had created between us, almost like a private game. But somehow, it wasn’t ridiculous at all. The thought that we had somehow given up something precious to the wrong ears made me feel desperate. Even with him this close, I felt lost in the world, like he was somewhere I couldn’t find him.
“Il mia amore.” He leaned in and kissed my eyes. “We’re in the olive grove. The trees will protect our secrets.”
“You think so?” I sniffed.
“I know so.”
Reaching over me, he set the crown of myrtles back on my head. It must’ve come off while we were making love. Touching the delicate petals with my fingertips, I told him what I remembered of them.
“Myrtle was a plant sacred to Aphrodite,” I said, my words a little slurred. “The rose and the myrtle were both significant and were connected to her and Adonis. It’s a symbol of love. Women used to bathe before their weddings wearing these crowns. Some of them were found in graves in Greece. They were even buried with the dead to symbolize victories in life.”
Before I could even protest, or catch it, he flung the crown off my head. It whooshed through the air like a frisbee and then landed somewhere in the darkness with a soft crackle.
“Brando!” My hands automatically went to my head, where it suddenly felt devoid of its symbol of love. “Why—”
