“Five minutes,” Brando said in Italian right before Matteo disappeared inside.
Mariano stood stiff, not sure what to do. He felt left out.
Brando set Marciano down but keep one arm on his shoulder. Then he pulled Mariano in by the shirt, so they were eye to eye.
“I did not forget you, my son,” Brando said in Italian, his voice serious. “What I must do is important, but I cannot do it if all my sons are with me. Leaving you here gives me peace in my heart. You will take care of my wife and my daughter, ah?”
“Si, Papà!” Mariano stood taller, chucking his chin up. “Do not worry. I am here.”
Brando grinned, touched his head, and then pulled both boys in for a hug.
“You will be long,Papà?” Marciano said, touching his face.
Brando looked up at me.
“He’s asking if you’ll be gone long,” I said, hoping he noticed the undercurrent of bitterness in my words.
“I would never leave you for long, if I can help it,” Brando said.
Both boys nodded.
Their father stood and Matteo came out. Less than five minutes. Mia came to the door, eyes narrowed. She leaned against it, resting one bare foot against her leg, and crossed her arms. My mother stood behind her, hands on her shoulders.
Mariano took my bag and instructed Marciano to take the smaller one that Brando had taken from the car. He smiled as he lifted it, making growling noises.
The five of us stood in the doorway, watching as Brando briefed Guido. A moment later, Lou hopped out of the car and came to stand with us.
Brando had Matteo get in the car. Then he came to the door, leaned in, and kissed Mia on the cheek. Instead of melting into his embrace, she stiffened and snatched my hand. We held tight, and my wedding ring cut into my flesh.
Brando’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Out of all our children, she felt the most. Felt what he had intended to do, and possibly, felt all that I did—like I was being left behind.
Then my husband looked me in the eyes, for what seemed to simultaneously last foreveranda second, touched my lips gently with his fingertip, and then left.
24
Scarlett
As the hot days of summer dragged on, the children became bored. Something they had never experienced in their lives.
My parent’s house was fun, but for only short bursts of time. We had always traveled to different places, wanting them to explore the world and all it had to offer. Different foods, languages, and cultures.
They kept wondering if we were going to do something fun.
I didn’t have it in me.
Brando leaving me had struck a nerve. One I hadn’t had to deal with in a long time. The last time he’d left me had been in the same spot, at my parent’s house, and the idea that he’d possibly done the same thing again grated on the old wound, reopening it.
Then again, I had to consider the fact that I’d given him an out. Of course I did. He didn’t deserve this life—a life where people constantly tried to kill his wife. But it ran much deeper than that.
My insecurities had flared up, all connected to the main vein—I couldn’t dance.
Therefore, if he didn’t have it in him to look at me the same way, even if he thought he could, I couldn’t stand the thought of him speaking those same words to me first. So, I had said them out of real fear.
Problem was that my feelings were all over the place. I couldn’t control them. What I feared the most had a habit of confusing me, especially when it came to me. Even more especially when it came to our relationship.
I moaned a bit, sitting up to slap a ravenous mosquito from my leg with the romance book I’d been reading. Or had been trying to read. I’d been stuck on the same page for as long as I could remember.
