The location of Mitch’s garage was close to Scarlett’s ballet studio, so I’d parked and walked, the weather being nice enough. Perfect, in fact. The only time the weather in Louisiana could be described as such. I knew the conversation had the potential to become heated, too, which it had, and walking would do me some good.
The meeting hadn’t been long, but it had been fucking intense.
Before I knew it, I stood outside of the dance studio, staring at my watch through my Ray-Bans, attempting to suffocate the rage Mitch’s words had inflamed.
A man speaks the truth when the truth demands it of him. Whether it comes during a drinking binge, or during a fight, the truth comes, and it demands respect. I preferred to speak the truth before any of those things—I was the only one in control of what came out of my mouth.
We both had our moments to say how we felt. Even though it seemed like only a few words were spoken, it was enough for me to understand that Italy, and our time apart, had broken something between us.
Where we went from there?
“How the fuck should I know?” I grumbled. “I’m not good at all of this he said, he said bullshit. I’m not even good at he said, she said bullshit.Feelings. Fu—”
“Are you Matteo’s dad?”
My mouth stopped right in time to see a girl who looked around Matteo’s age, maybe a little older, looking up at me. All dolled up in a fluffy tutu, she stared at me expectantly. If she wouldn’t have been tapping her foot, I might have mistaken her for some comical doll. “Yeah, I am.”
“Brando,” she tried my name with an Italian accent. “Do you sing too?”
“Chloe,” I guessed, but really having no fucking idea who she was.
She sucked in a breath and slapped a hand over her heart. “Madison! Did you hear that? Matteo’s dad, Brando, knowsmyname!”
Before I could respond, or run for my life, a rush of tutu-toting girls ran from the studio, close to attacking me. Questions were being hurled at me from all directions. I think I might have even inhaled glitter or a sequin.
Was this what Matteo did at school? Charm all these little girls? Even Mariano’s name rushed forward, though it was hard to tell with their squeaks and squeals.
“Shh!” Chloe said, lifting her hand, silencing her flock. “What did he say about me?” Her voice went high on “he.”
Matteo being thehe,I guessed. My head was starting to fucking hurt.
“MatteoandMariano look just like Mr. Brando!” one of the other girls said, taking advantage of the silence.
Apparently, he and his brother did share things—this group.
“SHHHHH!” Chloe hissed again, this time spraying me with spittle.
Overzealous had nothing on her. I lifted my hands in surrender, prepared to either make a run for it, or back away without sudden movements. “Ah, he, ah, he—” He has bigger balls than me if he dealt with this group, I was tempted to say, but didn’t. He had a fucking harem.
“Girls!” A woman came striding out of the studio, eyes narrowed, hands on her slim hips. “Get back inside! Dance class is not over!”
One of the teachers. An older dancer, one that I just remembered had arrived from England not long ago. She came to teach Mia, but she wanted to help with the other classes as well.
Chloe gave me an impatient look, her foot tapping, before she had no choice but to get back inside. Before she did, she took her two fingers and pointed to her eyes, before she did the same to me.
She had been watching me from the window, I realized, and then it seemed she roped her friends into waiting by the door until she confirmed it was in fact the person she wanted. Matteo’s dad. Brando.
Another little girl stuck her head out, screaming that she was sorry she missed Mariano’s practice—could I tell him?—before someone inside made her move from the door.
“Jesus.” I wiped sweat from my brow. What were they feeding those girls? Estrogen popsicles?
“I do apologize, Mr. Fausti,” the teacher from England said. “Some of the girls have a mind of their own. Not to mention the infatuation they seem to have with your sons.”
What was her name? Scarlett had mentioned it.Smith?No. Something else…Laurence?Close.Lauren? Close but no fucking bingo.Larsen.That was it.
I waved a hand, dismissing her apology. “The classes are going well,” I said.
“Oh!” She sucked in a breath. “Wonderful!”
