A dance?Where?And music would make too much noise.I could dance silently, but I needed music to drown out the static at this point. And I doubted Eunice wanted the noise. Some people drowned themselves in music, while others avoided it like the plague while grieving.
“Come on,” I whispered to Ruby in Italian. She was so loyal to me and so smart. “How about a shower, ah?” She moved when I did, and I whispered, “You’ll keep me company? Yes, I thought you would.”
We were both soundless as we escaped into the bathroom. I flipped the switch on, but it seemed too bright. In light of…brighter light, I realized that over the course of a night and a day, I had developed a headache that came and went. I’d been too consumed and too tired to even acknowledge it.
Actually, too tired had moved past exhaustion, and it was highly unlikely that sleep would come without some kind of aide. A warm bath would be perfect. It didn’t take much effort, and it held the potential to melt away the cares and stresses with a natural touch.
Searching through drawers and cabinets, I finally came across a pack of matches and lit every candle in the room. Two sconces hung on the wall with long enough wicks. Italian bergamot, peach, jasmine, freesia, rose, iris—all merged in the air in a harmonic medley once the fire charmed their essences out of the wax. I inhaled. Something else. Suede? Musk?
With the warm water running and the flames swaying, I undressed in front of the mirror.
Childbirth had changed the shape of my body. Perhaps not drastically, but in subtle strokes that gave me a sudden thrill.
My waist had stretched as though it was made of rubber, but it had bounced back to its normal size not long after Mia was born. The child had a love of food, so it was no surprise that the demand she put on my body contributed to this.
The biggest change was up top.
I turned to the side.
The soft light and contrasting darkness illuminated all the deep cavities made from bone and the swollen, soft areas made from pregnancy, making me seem womanly in shape.
My breasts stood out more than they ever had, but after the milk dried up, I figured they would probably return to their natural shape, which were much smaller tear drops. I’d always had a littlesomethingthough. I hoped they didn’t dry and then shrivel like airless balloons.
No, perhaps it wasn’t only my boobs.
“It’s the hips,” I whispered, zeroing in on them. That was it. I had deeper slopes, definite curves.
Catching a glimpse of my bare backside, I smiled. That too. It had more bounce. I was somehow made softer.
Being as trained as I was, I was always more athletic, even if I had something up top, and I’d admired bodies that seemed more…feminine to me. Because I’d known the potential was there for me to be the same way.
Running my fingertips up my sides, my face tilted, eyes narrowing, watching as the light and the darkness created shadows that swayed drunkenly over flesh and bone. Then I stopped, really seeing past the charming tricks of the light, noticing the overwhelming sadness and worry residing in the depths of my eyes. All that I hid behind the windows.
I looked away, not wanting to meet all that awaited head on.
Not that I got sick often, but when I did, I always wanted my husband. Physically, emotionally, mentally—in every kind of crisis, I wanted him.
Though he was in the next room, the pull to be near him was strong.
All of me knew he was the remedy, but I couldn’t bring myself to disturb him. I’d take my bath and get on with it. If that didn’t work—tea it would be.
“Guardami.”Look at me.The voice was deep, gruff, and full of sleep. That wasn’t what had caused his grainy tone, though—it was emotion.
At the command, I almost jumped out of my skin. Brando didn’t scare me often, but this time he forced my heart to lodge in my throat and my hand to slap the area it should be in—my chest, clutching the cross like a lifeline.
It took me a second to catch my breath, and when I did, I said the first thing that came to my mouth. “Did I wake you?” The question came out whispered, but it was truly from the loss of breath.
My husband stood in the doorway, his solid build and force consuming the area. From the crack, I could see the portable crib close behind him. I hadn’t even noticed that Ruby had gone to lay next to it, on a soft bed that Brando must have put there for her. If she wasn’t with me, she creeped around Mia, making sure all was good. Brando had once told me he trusted her over most of the men he employed.
He nodded. “You know I can’t sleep without you,” he said in Italian.
“I can—” I went to turn, to turn off the shower and blow out the candles, but he stepped into the bathroom, stopping me with only a look.
“You didn’t wake me,” he said. Ever since his father arrived, he’d been mostly speaking Italian. Usually we went back and forth, but he was only speaking his father’s first language.
I shrugged, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror again as I turned my face away from his. Running a fingertip along the counter, humid with clinging moisture from the shower, I didn’t know what else to say, so I idled, letting him do the talking.
“You want me.”
