Something was off, though, and the women felt it too.
Even though Brando assured me that it had to do with the business, and a few developments with Giulio Cesare that he didn’t feel comfortable voicing out loud, I knew there was more.
It didn’t have to do with a situation per se, but Brando’s reaction to it.
“You don’t need one more fucking thing to worry about,” was the words he’d used after the meeting, when he had settled some.
That didn’t make me feel better. At all. It was like telling a hysterical or pissed off woman to “calm down.”
Whatever had been shared in that room must have been disturbing enough for him to not want to share with me. Or was it Brando and how he planned on taking care of it? Why wouldn’t he want me knowing what he planned to do?
Another point of concern that I had a hard time not obsessing over.
A few nights later, it seemed to have caught up with him too.
I couldn’t sleep again, too distraught over the turn of events to give over to the pull and let the night carry me away. There didn’t seem to be a pull strong enough to release me from the shackles of my worries. Though I’d made a special trip to church to offer up control and the safety of my family, human tendencies seemed hard to defeat.
Especially in the face of war.
For the most part, I was able to part with it all, control what I could, like my husband’s hair but not his eyes. At night, though, all our issues seemed to float underneath the surface, and once tempted to think, I became hooked.
Brando felt the same way.
Right after a tremble ran through him, and then through me, he sat straight up, as though strings were attached to his back and had been pulled.
A soft light from outside barely illuminated our room, but it was enough to limn each bone and muscle of his slick body, the veins that swelled below the surface of his skin, and the sheen of sweat that had clung to him in sleep.
Wordlessly, I ran to the bathroom, quickly soaking a cloth with cool water, putting it to the back of his neck. I half expected his skin to sizzle from the heat radiating off of him.
He didn’t stir. He kept staring at the floor.
Moving around, I hunched down in front of him, so he was forced to meet my eye. It was hard for me to stay upright, to return the intense gaze. Luckily, his knees kept me steady.
“Talk to me,” I whispered.
At first, he wasn’t going to. I could feel the way he clammed up. He was hiding things so deep in the darkness that not even the brightest light could illuminate them. But perhaps because of the weight of my worry, or the look on my face, or the compelling softness of my voice…he released a deep breath, and the pressure between us lightened.
He lifted a hand, then let it down slowly. He spoke in Italian. “There’s no greater foe than life. I’m haunted by the idea that something will happen to you, and I won’t be able to stop it. These shackles—” he lifted his arms, as though they were tethered to some unseen force that he couldn’t overpower, muscles flexing, skin twitching “—will prevent me from saving my heart.”
The words he spoke were true enough. Somehow, though, I didn’t have it in me to believe them. He had always taken care of me, and when he couldn’t, the strength he stirred in me urged me to take care of the both of us. As much as he wanted to be the knight for me, in this fairytale, we both took part in the salvation of each other.
He took care of us. So did I.
His power came through the body. Mine came through spirit.
“Brando,” I said, conviction backing up each word. “Desideri.”
You will.
I had the utmost faith inus,and I refused to allow some outsider to separate what no man could. Neither of us would allow it.
He searched my eyes for however long, looking for one speck of doubt. He couldn’t find what didn’t exist, though. Realizing this, he closed his eyes, then nodded once.
Standing, I ran my hands through his hair, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “Will you rest with me now?”
Wrapping his hands around my hips, burying his face in my stomach, he took us both to the bed, tangling our bodies. His skin was still so hot to the touch. It burned through the layers of clothes. I shivered as his heat and my cold clashed.
“Scarlett.”
