“It’s not like we haven’t—oof!”
He spun me around again. This time my head went light, and I came close to collapsing in his arms, but the strong hold he had on me kept me upright. He had a hand to each of my arms, almost pulling me forward.
“We have,” he said, his voice even, belying the rage egged on from anxiety that he buried well below the surface. “But not like this. Not likethis, Scarlett! Look at you! I can’t—I should’ve known.Fuck!I should’ve known better!”
It thrilled me that he hadn’t held back, and he saw the truth on my face—I saw the subtle shift in his expression when he caught it, and the danger lurking underwater was about to break the surface. He rolled his shoulders; he was about to lose it.
“I wanted this!” I almost shrieked. “I needed it!”
“Tell me. Give me a fucking reason.” His eyes had turned as mad as they had been in the darkness, but in the light, they were altogether another a beast. “Adesso!”
I tried to struggle out of his hold, fighting with all that I was worth. “Let me go, dammit! LET ME GO, Brando!”
“Never.” His hold tightened. “Do you hear me, Scarlett?” He shook me. “Mai!”
He bit down on his bottom lip and the split from earlier reopened. A fresh surge of blood welled up, and something inside ofmecracked.
My hand tried to come up—still so damn shaky!—and I had to fight against him to release it. Once he did, I touched his lip, the deep crack, and a silentohformed on my lips before a rush of emotions seemed to burst free. I didn’t even know what to call it—a shriek? A sob? A mewl? A plea?
Whatever it was came out like I had hit a sad note in a song, but not as gracefully, and tears started to drown me.
“You—” I sucked in a breath. Let it out on a gasp. Collected myself. “You’re so good to me, Brando. You always have been. Even when I was young and stupid and—immature!” I hit his chest, then ran my hand over it, wanting to protect him somehow fromme,the one person who could cause him such pain.
“Scarlett,” he growled out—but I knew what it was. A plea for me to stop. He took my hands in his, holding tight, keeping me steady. “Not another fu—”
“P-please. L-let me f-f-finish.” I sniffed. “You loved me. You’ve always sacrificed for me. You w-worked s-so you could buy me a house, a home, our home. You would go without so I could have whatever it was that I wanted—that’s why you w-worked so h-hard without me k-knowing a-after you b-bought our house. My ring. The jewelry box. I know.I know. I know what I’ve cost you. And I’m sorry! But I’mnotsorry for falling in love with you—for claiming you as my own. For praying that you’d love me every moment of every day.”
“Scarlett. Don’t.”
“N-no. I h-have to.” Ihadto. But I could feel his strength starting to fade. He didn’t want me to say these things. He was terrified that I was. Almost crawling out of his skin with each word. “You’re all I ever wanted, Brando. You. Justyou. I love you more than my own life. And our babies—”
The breath in my lungs left in a rush, and before I realized what was happening, he had me crushed up against him, bringing us to the floor.
“Fucking stop,” he said, rocking me. He wasn’t crying, but something that felt much worse—he sounded wounded, broken, breathless. Gasping, almost. “Please. Stop. Don’t. Don’t say another word, my baby. No more talking.” He held me even tighter, almost to the point that I couldn’t breathe.
It broke me even harder—not his hold, but his words and the tone of them.
Realizing this, he released me, but not by much. After however long, he picked us both up from the floor—determination written all over his face. He wasn’t a man to wallow. No, he had made up his mind, and the world be damned if he didn’t get his way.
Setting me on the counter, he left me with a long, hard kiss to the forehead, before he went into the other room to grab the extra clothes hanging up in the small closet.
A flannel shirt that was too big for me, with a pair of leggings that had been left behind from either me or Charlotte. A white undershirt that was almost too tight for him. The pants fit him—my grandfather had been a braw man too.
No matter how we looked on the outside, though, we both reflected the night and all that had been said and done. Our pace reflected it as well.
Though he had found me a pair of slippers to wear, he insisted on carrying me back. I wanted to argue but thought better of it. I’d never win. Not when it came to this.
“Look at me,” he said, when we were halfway back.
I had been looking up, through the many boughs of the trees, some of them leaning towards each other, creating a green canopy against a blue sky. Soft light streaked through the spaces, touching him with Rembrandt’s light, making him seem almost angelic. A cool wind kicked up, perfuming the air with fresh pine.
He wasn’t looking at me, but straight ahead.
“I am,” I said, then cleared my throat. My voice sounded shattered.
He nodded once—still not looking at me. It made him uncomfortable, the thoughts that he probably felt coming from me. That, and my ability to stare up at the sky for long periods of time without blinking. Especially when the stars were out. Sometimes he called me water in a jar, or whiskey in a glass, him the trembling hand that brings either to his mouth to drink.
“We’re going back to Italy,” he said, as smoothly as if he had commented on the weather.
