After wrapping the towel around his waist, he snatched his toothbrush from its holder and started vigorously scrubbing his teeth. The muscles in his stomach rippled when he moved, and the veins in his arms stood out against the bright light filtering in through the windows. Even though he had dried off, droplets of water from his hair slid down his chest and back, the bubbles bronze from the color of his skin.
Tattoos marked him. The ones on his wrists seemed to pulsate with the beat of his heart. I could imagine the drums being frantic, pounding against our names. His skin was smooth, but not unmarred. Numerous scars stood out in between all the ink, along with the bruising from the last couple of days.
He was still the most gorgeous creature I’d ever seen.
Even after all this time, my eyes refused to stray. I doubted that I’d ever find someone who could rival his…beauty? That word couldn’t even describe what he was. Gorgeous? Unearthly? Ruggedly handsome? The truth of the matter was that it took more than one adjective to encapsulate the sum of all his parts.
He said nothing to me, though I knew he felt me watching. How could I not? Apart from his…captivating ways, the hurt from him seemed to waft in the air like steam. He might not have been thrilled with the prospect of sharing, but he knew that I felt everything.
There was no escaping, and he was cornered, in more ways than one.
I steadied myself for what would come next after inhaling the humid air and the scent of him in it. He had ditched the towel, searching through our closet for clothes. As stunning as his front, his behind mirrored one from some ancient god, his form something marble would be honored to give its life for, just to have his shape molded into its skin.
He grabbed a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back. He covered it with a hat. The shirt stuck to him in the places the water never dried. I knew his boots would be next, but if he put them on, it would be too late.
“Where are you going?” I asked to fill the silence. We both knew.
“To see the kids.”
“All right.” I swallowed hard, almost painfully. The lump there felt like congealed barbed wire. “Where else?”
He stopped right in front of me. His warm hand caressed over the red mark on my skin, where Scott had squeezed my arm, staring at it. I’d driven Scott crazy with my insistence to stay close to my husband. I didn’t feel he was safe.
Before they threw him in a cell, I knew they were probably going to do the same thing Luca’s men would do if someone had assaulted him. Get retribution. And knowing my husband, he didn’t even say a word as they did it. He probably grinned, egging them on.
I was right.
“Brando…” My voice came out as a whisper, tempered down to fit his mood. “We need to talk.”
His eyes snapped up to meet mine. “Tell me.”
“I think…well, I think it was a mistake to move back.” The words rolled off my tongue, full of blood from the sharp wires in my throat. “We should go back to Italy. We…belong there. Now.”
At first, he seemed to take the comment as the shore would take a rushing tide, absorbing the impact with ease. But then he shoved it back, causing a backward rolling wave that would capsize a ship. It almost bowed me over, the intensity of his reaction, though his words came out smooth and cool.
“You see me ashisson now,” he said, taking a step back, his eyes taking me in from the top of my head down to my toes. “You see our children ashisgrandchildren. Look at you.SignoraFausti.Hisdaughter.”
“I won’t have you getting killed over this!” I almost screeched, my own intensity scaring me.
I blinked, realizing that my fists were clenched, my muscles trembling so hard that it made my teeth chatter. It had been a long two days.
“I won’t have my sons being treated as criminals because a man misplaces his grief and directs his hatred towards innocent people. You are NOT your father. Our children are MORE than their names! I remember, you know!” My hands slammed into my chest, over my heart. “I remember what he did to you that night! It wasn’t just our son on that field, being manhandled. It was you, all over again.”
He came so close to me that I almost took an involuntary step back. If heat could emanate from a being, he’d be throwing off smoke. I stood my ground, though, sticking my chin up, narrowing my eyes.
“I lived here most of my life,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “I’m not dead yet.”
“YET!”
Our intense gazes held until he said something in Italian that made me whisper, “What?”
“You heard me. You want that life. This place—” he waved a hand around “—the place we used to call home, is not fucking good enough for you anymore.Take a hard look at yourself,”he repeated.
I looked down, taking in the soiled dress that covered my skin. When my eyes moved back to his, he was in our closet, madness overtaking his mind. All the dresses from Italy were being flung, reckless piles being created on the floor. Muttering drifted out, something aboutthe one I should wear today,so Luca could be proud.
There was no denying it. Moving back was still an adjustment. We had been enclosed in Luca’s bubble for so long that the rest of the world seemed foreign. The sheriff had given me a grim reminder that we no longer existed in that private world.
A world that my husband couldn’t live in anymore. Neither could I. But the bubble had been slower to pop for me. He was right, in one sense—I still reflected that life.
