Not thecosein front of me.
Not even the gilded light that flowed through the many windows, coloring the world a deep shade of honey.
It was all at odds with the turmoil brewing inside of me, raging to be set free, but with no place to escape. I even wondered if the volume of my hair was a direct result from pressure that had nowhere to go.
Gazing at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but wonder how we even got here.
I had aged since last night. Lines of strain were etched on my face. My eyes were puffy and tired. My lips were turned down in a perpetual frown. Cast in a life that I neither foresaw nor wanted, unease seemed to plague me.
Glancing out of the cracked door, I watched as Brando bounced Mia up and down on his knee, while she shook her new doll and smiled. No, this was a life neither foreseen nor wanted, but so damn worth it.
This too shall pass…
Brando turned too fast for me to look away, catching me off guard. It was as if he were waiting for me to say something, reading my thoughts.
“I’ve always wanted you,” I whispered. “I always will. No matter how high the cost.”
It was a simple declaration made for the two extensions of my one being. More powerful than anything I’d ever known.
He stared at me until I couldn’t hold his stare any longer. I looked down at the soft tulle of the dress, just remembering that Violet had painted my nails and toenails jet black. When she stressed, she painted or fluffed or tinkered. Being here at this time had cost her a lot, too, and I hated it. I hated all of it.
Setting Mia down on a thick blanket that had been put down on the floor for her to play on, he came to me, setting his hands against my hips. I could feel the heat from his palms burning through the fabric.
He had dressed in an impeccable Italian suit, custom made for his build.
Something told me that I’d be seeing him in those often.
The Faustis had a world-renowned Italian tailor on payroll. He had Brando’s measurements stored in the vault of his brain, but it was me he referred to when it came to styles. I knew exactly what my husband liked on his body.
“You do not even look like you were touched by my child,” he said in soft Italian. “Except here.” He came in and placed a soft kiss against my breast.
“Do you want me to change the way I look?” I asked in Italian, looking up at him.
“I want people to look at you and see us,” he continued in Italian. It’s mostly what we’d been speaking since we got here. I had a feeling we would be speaking the language as often as he’d be wearing custom-made suits. “I want them to know you belong to me.”
What could I possibly say to that?
“I’m going to be late,” I said, fiddling with his black tie.
“You go in your own time.”
“Igo whenyougo, you mean.”
He put his hand over mine, stopping me. “I’m hurting too,” he said, pushing my hand against his heart. “He was a good man.”
If I spoke on it, or thought about it for even a second, I’d never be able to do this. I could still see Eunice’s face. Blank with incomprehension, then bursting silently with grief after she’d been told that the only man she’d ever loved had been murdered.
She’d loved that he was finally living his dream of having a successful boxer to train and travel with. It was hard on her, though, so when Burgess followed him to Las Vegas, or wherever the next round began, she stayed with us. Especially since there were so many children around. Eunice was like everyone’s aunt, because she couldn’t have children of her own.
Guilt warred with shock after the news had made it to her heart. “Why wasn’t I there?” she’d whispered. Her quiet, anguished cries killed me softly.
Uncle Tito offered her respite through medicine, but she refused, accepting Aunt Lola’s hand and a shoulder to cry on instead. All that she was feeling was turning inward, hiding in that secret place where dreams go to die alone, and memories are carved into stone. The shock of it too great to process all at once.
Burgess had reached the last stretch of his life, and he should’ve died with his wife beside him, warm in his bed. Instead, he was met by the cold hand of a horrendous stranger out to prove something through malicious cruelty.
“Stop,” Brando said, not allowing me to avert my eyes from his. “Don’t allow this life to slip through the cracks of your armor.”
A fine thing to say at a time like this, considering what was coming.
