All right.
Maybe I didn’t really feel hate. But I wanted to.
That had to count for something, right?
It never did, though, not when it came to him. It was all or…all. I didn’t really have a choice or control over the situation.
A heavy breath slipped past my lips, fogging up the window. I used my finger to create a nonsensical pattern against the glass. If I didn’t move something other than my mouth, I would askthequestion, and then my father, two of my brothers, and my uncle would want to knowwhyI wanted to know. That would only lead to an uncomfortable conversation, and I wasn’t ready to have one of those tonight.
It felt like a lot of unpleasant conversations were about to take place. They could wait until tomorrow. I needed time to process. Mostly, I needed time to come up with a plan that would fortify me against the charms of Saverio Macchiavello.
He wants to marry me. But marriage only leads to wars, especially when the entire world wants what the Fausti family has. Including me.
I need to stay away from him.
I can’t wait to see him. To smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his body against mine…
If things continued this way, I might start talking to myself like mamma did sometimes. I never really understood it before, but I was starting to.
Her hand squeezed mine. When I met her eyes, the emerald color glittered against the lights of Paris. She leaned over some and created a heart around my slowly fading artwork on the window.
I’d drawn an “S” wrapped around an “M,” hoping the image of them together would dissipate like the fog. She only seemed to seal something I wasn’t ready for. Would never truly be ready for.
I sighed again. Her smiled widened, even though the lines around her eyes were soft with understanding, and she pulled me close. The scent of her—candied roses—enveloped me, and I rested my head against her shoulder. It had been a long day. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was with a jolt.
If I had to guess, we were around thirty minutes away from my apartment, in a more provincial area of Paris. A large, French-inspired country house was tucked behind tall, ornate gates, and men swarmed the place. Or places. After we were through the checkpoint, a bunch of smaller houses revealed themselves like mushrooms sprouting from different sections of the property. Glass lanterns that hung from the houses cast an eerie glow.
If Saverio’s arrival didn’t confirm what was happening, this did. My parents were hiding me from the world for a reason. Again, my gut told me it had something to do with my life being in jeopardy.
Before anyone could offer an explanation, I yawned and shook my head. “Bad news can wait. It’ll keep until tomorrow. Which place is mine?”
“The main house,” papà said. In general, he wasn’t a fan of being in France. A lot of bloody history existed there for him and mamma.
I shook my head. “If my brothers get a place, I get one, too. There are enough men here to protect me.”
Papà looked at mamma. She met his eyes and nodded. “She’ll be all right,mio marito.”
Even though I could read people easily, it was hard for me to understand their language. It was like they had a private one, and most of the time, only the two of them could speak it.
It took him a minute, but he finally nodded. Even if grudgingly. I was the last one out of the car, and before papà and my brothers walked me to my place, he kissed mamma and whispered something in her ear. She touched his cheek, then took zioRocco’s arm and allowed him to lead her into the main house.
“You don’t have to walk me, papà,” I said to him, securing his suit jacket over my shoulders. I’d worn a lavender halter dress to the dinner mamma had planned after the show. It hugged my body, showcasing my curves but at the same time keeping them contained.
The story of my life.
“I do,” he said, and that was that. I knew that tone. It meantyou got your way this time, but don’t push me.
I sighed, and my brother Marciano grinned at me. When I stuck my tongue out at him, he placed a hand over his heart, like I’d wounded him. Matteo snapped at him to pay attention, and Marciano straightened up, keeping his face forward. Mariano shook his head, like he wanted to slap the back of Marciano’s head in frustration. Maestro nudged me and told me in sign language how proud he was of me. He was partially deaf and struggled to hear around loud noises. He had no problem with words, but we often communicated that way.
I thanked him and told him how much I loved him in the same language. His face lit up, bright from the lanterns on the property, and I almost melted looking into the same green eyes as mine.
My brothers were all beyond handsome, like my father, but I loved being able to pull the differences from them, giving them each an individual identity in this world. They were not only the sons of Brando Fausti, grandsons of Luca Fausti. They were also Matteo, Mariano, Marciano, and Maestro. All separate men.
After they walked me, let me into my place, and checked every inch of it, they each kissed me goodnight. Papà gave me a look that meantwe’ll talk tomorrowbefore he shut the door and reminded the men guarding me that their lives depended on mine.If something happens to my daughter, something happens to you.
My heart refused to settle. Not because of papà’s words, but because I knewhewasn’t far. I could feel him. The pull. It was like an invisible string stretched from wherever he was to wherever I was. I had to resist it constantly. It was becoming harder and harder to do. When I denied the pull, it felt like I was denying blood to my veins.
