It wasn’t everything I wanted him to say, but it would do.
I kissed his heart. “Thank you,” I whispered back.
“Get dressed,” he said.
Get dressed?It wasn’t like him not to want me, especially when I was nakedandwet. Maybe he really wanted to see the kids.
He watched me as I dressed. A white tank top from his side of the closet that I tied on the side, and a soft maxi skirt that billowed out and came close to sweeping the floor. The material felt nice and cool against my legs. And if we decided to go for a walk, I could free my feet from the oppressive heat by wearing sandals.
A smile came to his face as he looked me over.
Brando Piero Fausti smiling that way was a rare sight, a rare treat—something he reserved for me and our children. He did it so rarely that the impact of it stole my breath and made me weak in the knees. I summoned the will to return it, though, and then ran into his open arms, wrapping my legs around his waist.
“La mia piccola scimmia,” he said, kissing my chin, working his way down.
My little monkey, he’d called me.
“Where are you taking me? My hair is wet. And I know we’re resorting to old ways, going causal, but—uhh!” I bounced on the bed when he dropped me on it. I would’ve held on, but I wasn’t expecting him to let go. Immediately, I scooted back, though, eyeing him warily. The look in his eyes went straight between my legs. “I thought you were taking me somewhere, Fausti?”
“Ah,” he drew the sound out. “I am,my wife.”
“I see.” I tilted my head, biting my lip, watching as he undressed. “So you had me get dressed for nothing?”
“For nothing?” A thick, black eyebrow quirked up.
“No,” I breathed. “You always have a motive.”
He almost laughed, a shocking row of white, perfect teeth flashing from his wide mouth. “I love you, Scarlett Rose Fausti.”
“I love you more.”
“We’ll see. Now I’m going to rip those clothes off with my teeth, ah? Then you’ll do that magical thing you do with your legs—open them.”
* * *
The house was almost eerilyquiet after our love-making, not a sound but the house’s old bones settling into its concrete and wood.
A creak here, a creak there.
The easy breaths Brando took mixed in with the natural course of things. His breath washed over my bare breasts, warm and with a rhythm I found almost hypnotic.
The last of the sun coated our windows, the softening light highlighting the darkness of his skin and the lightness of mine. Dust motes floated in a warm abyss. A gilded glow encapsulated us both before it faded into darkness.
My fingers drifted up and down his back, coolness against heat, over sinewy muscles and broad bones, almost lulling me into a fathomless sleep.
I wondered if I could fall asleep this way, my fingers working, carving him in dreams out of my own bone.
We lay tangled, his mouth coming up to search for mine, and as the sun’s great heat touched our fragile flesh, we burned as one, hoping the night wind would leave our ashes home.
9
Scarlett
September came, but it might as well have been July. The house, holding onto the warmth and humidity, made the yeasty smell of dough prominent in the air. Among other appetizing smells.
Before we moved back to Natchitoches, Brando had had an underground pool installed in our yard. He also had a garage built to house his boat and his car, the old Chevy. The older kids, despite it being early autumn, flocked to this area—a bunch of suntanned bodies darting from one place to another like dragonflies, the dogs running and barking behind them.
All the men hovered around the boat and the car, one or the other occasionally checking on the kids, even though four guards sat by the pool always watching. Uncle Tito and Agosto were playing bocce ball. The women were with me in the kitchen, sitting around the table playing poker, listening to music.
