“Whatever,” I said, rushing past him, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm before I could even get out of the doorway.
“This is not a game, Mia,” he said. “A man’s life could be on the line.”
He eyed me seriously, and I gave him the same look back. I knew what was at stake—Saverio’s life, in more ways than one. Outside threats were one thing, but personal issues, like Saverio not going to my father first to ask for my hand in marriage, were another.
I squeezed my brother’s hand, knowing he meant well. I knew he liked Saverio. I knew he liked Saverio’s family, and so didzioRocco. Even mamma liked them. But my brother would do whatever the family ordered him to do, if it came down to it. Or he would take it upon himself to do it, if he felt I was disrespected in any way.
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m fully aware of the stakes.”
“Do you love him, Mia?”
“You won’t tell?”
He searched my eyes for a second. “Enough said.”
It would have been nice to say it, though. To finally tell someone. Maybe it would lighten the pressure on my chest. But maybe it was best if I kept it to myself. My brother had enough going on in his life.
Besides, even if I could admit it to Matteo, it didn’t change anything. The world could never know.
Being a Fausti meant more than being a “Royal of Italy.” It meant that enemies were always looking for a way in, and if they found one, they would take advantage. Then wars were started. People were hurt, maimed, killed. Mamma and papà had been to hell and back when the world found out how valuable she was to him. She was his vulnerable spot. And her dancing only upped the price. When they found out she felt what other people couldn’t, like I could, she became a priceless weapon in a dangerous game.
“Too much empathy,” was how papà described the way we could feel things other people couldn’t.
History was repeating itself. I refused to allow it to touch Saverio.
My denying him had nothing to do with hate, or not wanting him. It had everything to do with loving him enough to let him go before something bad happened.
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to forget about the memories that seemed to ambush me. They came at me from a time when a madman, Olivier Nemours, took my mamma and tried to kill her. After, papà had made the decision not to live if she didn’t.
The connection they shared couldn’t be severed. Wherever one went, the other followed. The heaviness of it felt like a weight on my chest.
Had the air gotten thinner? I was having a hard time catching a breath.
“Mia?”
My brother’s voice sounded faraway. Before I could tell him I was okay, he had me sitting on the bed. The bed where Saverio’s scent still lingered on the pillows and sheets.
Love hurt.
It hurt so bad.
Especially when there was no escaping its clutches. If I truly loved him, I had to save him, right?
I held up my hand when Matteo went to reach for his phone. He was going to call mamma.
“I’m okay,” I said, reaching for his hand. He helped me stand. “I think I overdid it the last couple of weeks. Seriously. I’m okay, Teo.”
His face softened at the nickname. He nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t truly buying it. Thankfully, he didn’t push, just kept my arm in his as we walked toward the main house together.
“You ready for this?”
“You make it sound like I’m heading to my funer—”
“Don’t fucking say it,” he said.
“All right,” I said softly, because I could tell he was truly pissed. Which meant he was covering for being worried.
I concentrated on my surroundings, trying to avoid the main conversation: why we were here, thirty or so minutes outside of Paris, on this French provincial estate. It was exactly that. The main house looked like it came straight out of a fairytale book, along with the smaller places surrounding it. I could smell chlorine and lavender in the air.
