Even Violet had made a snide comment to me and Juliette about our clothing. “Those dresses cost more than some people make in a year. What are we here to do? Eat lunch, or meet with the Queen of England?”
Violet had been out of our life for a while, so she looked from the outside in, apparently not remembering. Or not wanting to.
Brando was wrong, though. I wanted to be here with him. This house, it was ours, the only place I ever truly felt at home. But I had also come to know that the soil beneath our feet never mattered that much. Here or Italy or France, wherever, if we were together, we were home.
He knew this, too, but life had called him back here. I just demanded that it be kind to him, to us, and if it couldn’t, we’d have to find some place that could.
That was what we had been fighting for all this time.
Too tired to even fight, I stepped out of the dress, leaving it on the floor. I was surprised that it didn’t stand on its own. I had alternately sweated and caught the chills in the thing.
Stepping into the shower, under an extra hot spray, I closed my eyes, giving over to the comforting cleansing of the water.
Salt lingered on my lips from two days’ worth of extreme circumstances, and the chill that had seemed to seep deep into my marrow started to melt with the steam from the hot water.
I wondered, if I looked hard enough, would I see the tension floating in the air?
If I hadn’t been able to feel him as I did, I would have worried that he would have left me to find Scott Stone.
That had been his plan.
To bring me to my parents and leave me there with the kids. All the guards were with them. Brando had sent them home after he had been released, so he wouldn’t leave me here alone.
Besides, he had abandoned his manic dress ditching and stood where I’d stood, watching me.
We were both on unstable ground here, not sure which way to turn, trying to move forward together while our hips were attached.
The secret to this success came to me as easily as if my guardian angel had whispered the words in my ear.
For this to work, we would both have to free the future. I had to let go of the life Luca had offered to us. The safety of it. My husband would have to let go and believe in the love I offered him, instead of the lies of a bitter man.
My heart squeezed in my chest, and my hand came up to lean against the tile, while the water rushed down my back, streaming over every muscle.
Once upon a time I had hopes and dreams here. What I had wanted had been so damn simple.
My hand curled into a fist, and I pounded it against the shower, once, twice, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough that I felt it.
All those dreams. All I had ever wanted.
Dinner at the diner on Friday. The movies with the kids on Saturday, and a date to the bar with my husband that night. Church on Sunday.
Bouncing around in his old truck, windows down, music up.
Exploring the state in his old Chevy.
I had wanted to become a teacher.
Simply, I had wanted to spend my days and nights with my husband.
The man I’d chosen from the moment our eyes connected on that December night, full of snow drifts and bitter cold. The love between us, it had been…enough to defrost the numbness. I couldn’t even remember the feel of the cold, only the feel ofhim.
He knew we had been precariously close to losing that. In Italy, those dreams were being swallowed up, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. One minute we were young and in love; the next, we were fighting for our lives, becoming a part of something much larger than who we were. And then our beautiful years led us here, back to the place where it had all started.
Sighing, I turned the water off and reached for the second towel on the peg, drying off.
Did I even wash my hair?Pulling a piece forward, I sniffed. It smelled fresh enough.
I felt like I did after my babies were first born. Almost disconnected from myself, all my time and energy sacrificed in the name of a feeling that surpassed love.
