“Ooore,” Mia whispered, her voice turning gravelly, parroting her grandmother.
Luca put a hand to his heart and made a face that said Maggie Beautiful’s words had nicked something vital. “Margherita, walk with me. Let us celebrate what we have created together out of love. We can discuss this later.”
I couldn’t fathom how conflicted Maggie Beautiful had to be. This man had killed her husband, and possibly a chunk of her sanity and heart, but when he was being loving, terribly romantic, it was hard to remember that he was capable of such things.
I loved Luca Fausti for my husband and daughter’s sake. Maggie Beautiful loved him because her heart and soul demanded that she did. She had no choice, though she had the choice to walk away.
Meeting Brando’s intense gaze, I amended the thought. She had nochoices at all. And when there are no choices, what is the only thing left to say?
“Yes,” she whispered, going to him. She held her arms out for Mia, and she went to her, a safe place to land, but still touching her grandfather, a new and shiny person in her life.
“Sempre, Margherita.” He placed a possessive hand on her lower back, directing her toward the dining room again, entering as a couple.
Each couple lined up along the wall in the dining room, husbands behind wives, a hand to her shoulder, watching as Luca Fausti and his Wildflower sat on a wide, thick blanket under an olive tree. The children surrounded them, playing with blocks, or attempting to crawl or run away.
Luca had discarded his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and took off his shoes. Maggie Beautiful had taken her shoes off, as well, her long dress and cashmere cream sweater enhancing her flawless almond-colored skin and blazing auburn hair.
The air floated in gold motes around them, painting the most heavenly picture.
Luca smiled at his wildflower while keeping Mia on his lap, a book between them. His granddaughter looked up at him, her finger on a picture in the book. He turned to her then, nodding and answering whatever it was she must have been after.
Brando’s hand was heavy on my hip as he leaned forward, itching to walk the grounds himself so he could be closer to his daughter.
“Does he truly love her?” I whispered.
What I felt was certain, but for some reason, I needed to hear the words from someone other than me. Perhaps it was disbelief, or a fear of being tricked into feeling one way when in reality it was another. As hot blooded, and as human, as any woman, I sometimes got carried away with the romantic, with twists of fate written in the stars.
I wished that a man answered. A man who had the capability of being poetic, terribly romantic, with his mind still rooted in the realistic.
Wish granted, it was Brando who replied, shoving me out of the rose-colored garden I was in and sending me into harsh reality.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s the problem.”
11
Scarlett
After Luca and Maggie Beautiful had a chance to reunite over their shared blood, Brando was anxious to get Mia close to us again. Exhausted from a long day full of new experiences and people, she finally fell asleep against my breast after fighting the pull, still hopeful more was to come.
Brando transferred her to the stroller, and after making sure she was covered, he closed the top to keep the biting wind from her tender skin.
By unspoken agreement, we decided to take a walk around the pond so we could admire the colossal giant.
The world was still colored gold, and in the distance, it seemed to ripple with the hills. Blazing bursts of crimson rose from the ground like balls of fire, trees turning vibrant for the season, burnt cinnamons and radiant yellows against pale greens and chestnut browns. The air was chilled and held the smoky flavor of fall, the earth reflecting its season.
Come spring, wildflowers would carpet the earth, so brilliant that it would make a free soul run through them with abandon.
The thought of wildflowers had me stuck back in thecastellowith Luca and his.
Perhaps Brando and I were thinking along similar lines. I turned to look at him after he said five words.
“He let her have me.”
Though Brando had spoken, we continued our stroll as though he hadn’t disturbed our silent flow.
“Luca let Maggie Beautiful have you, you mean?”
“Yeah.” His face was impassive, and he refused to look at me.
