I had come close to something like acceptance when it came to people wanting to kill me—us, since what happened to me also happened to him—but it still stung.
My feelings were raw.
It had become much more than that, though.
What I’d lost? Was a part of myself. And that wasn’t only limited to me.
What happened to me also happened to him, or inversely, was not a limited clause. It didn’t only apply when someone wanted to maim, torture, and then kill us. Its expanse was great and limitless. He might have called what I had a peculiar sense, but he had it, too, though he rarely admitted it.
We both knew he felt me in his bones, and I sure as hell could feel him in my blood.
He had gone through a gauntlet of emotions to get to where we stood. Denial, rage, and then acceptance, which meant he had become vulnerable.
To me.
The one—what had he called me sometimes?—sweet creaturethat had the power to destroy him with words alone, whereas anyone else would have to take a sword to his most vital parts.
“Of course,” I whispered, finally answering him, looking down at my feet. They had a sheen about them—smooth, slick with muggy air. Violet had painted my toenails white, and they almost blinded me in the sun. My feet were bony, each one traceable with a fingertip. And tough, tougher than any other part of me, conditioned that way by so many years of dance. “Even more now.”
“Scarlett.”
“Hm?”
I looked up to find him staring at me. He shook his head and turned back. “If you still feel me, then you understand what the wordheartbreakmeans to me.”
“If?” My tone came out cutting, keener than a newly sharpened blade. “Are you accusing me of lying?”
My eyes narrowed on his. No, no, that’s not what he was doing. He was accusing me of purposely being obtuse.
His shoulders relaxed some. My own anger a balm to his. It was much better than indifference, which he’d never allow.
My fingers curled around the arms of the rocking chair, squeezing hard enough to get a splinter. “I know damn well what the word means,” I snapped, “to you.”
He turned, crossing his arms over his chest, his legs doing the same, leaning against the railing. The intensity of his eyes always softened me to his charms—to him.
Brando had had this effect one me since he came into my life. As he grew older, it became stronger, and my resolve became weaker. Those eyes could be as powerful as his touch—the look could go straight between my legs.
Those same eyes could make me feel his emotions as though I held them in the palms of my hands, and right then, it was the sort of intensity that made me want to squirm in my seat.
Instead, I became impervious, or acted as if I did, and stuck my chin up at him. In response, he said nothing, waiting me out. He wanted to hear it.
“All right,” I said, squeezing the arms of the rocker again. I resisted wiping my palms on the fabric of my dress. “The decision to marry me was heartbreaking because you know how curious I can be and how hardheaded I am when it comes to you. I don’t listen. Good enough?”
He shook his head. I cursed underneath my breath. Baiting me, that was what he was doing.
“Dammit!” My hands came up, landing against the wood with a loud slap. “We’re fire and gasoline. That’s why! You knew the danger in marrying me—what we could potentially become. Deadly to ourselves, to the people around us. Our histories…your family, mine. Then there’s what I could do and who you are—all roads led us to this very spot! Explosive. That’sus.
“It broke your heart to marry me because you knew life wouldn’t be easy, we’d have to sacrifice blood for our love! Because it’sthatgood. The better we are, the more we sacrifice, because the devil knows it and goes up hard against whatever is good and meant to be.
“Your heart broke because you couldn’t turn away, but you knew what you were turning to. A life where I might be taken. I know who and what I am to you, Brando. What I stand for. Your Sunday. Your grace. Your forgiveness.”
At this point the breath in me left in pants. Sweat coated me from head to toe. Some of the fine hairs around my face stuck to my skin. Others around my forehead frizzed out, curling with the heat and humidity.
A cool wind seemed to touch my neck a second later, making me shiver.
In the heat of the moment, I had leaned forward, still holding on to the arms of the rocker, nails digging into wood, eyes narrowed to slits.
He muttered something underneath his breath, almost too low for me to hear. I heard. He called me his only heaven, which seemed to break me even deeper. That he could still believe the worst of himself.
