“It’s all a part of their story.” He shrugged. “We all have them.”
Yeah, but Scarlett without Brando, and Brando without Scarlett, made no sense. It was like, if they didn’t exist together in the world somewhere, the entire world wouldn’t make sense. It was crazy enough to make me shake my head. It would be like looking up at a sky without stars. I would know that things were missing, and it would haunt me to know thatwhatevershould be there wasn’t. Whatever that “whatever” was.
“He’s not a man to harbor regrets.” Matteo’s voice was suddenly thick, and he looked away from me. “He regrets that decision down to the marrow of his bones.”
“You learned from him?” I asked.
“His mistakes?” He thought about that for a second. “Yeah, I did, the rare ones he made, but I never thought I’d stand where he does when it comes to one half of…the heart not being able to exist without the other. I get it now.”
His mood was starting to change, and when his mood started to darken, it seemed like the entire world did. Or my world did. It was like a black cloud hung over my head. I held his hand tighter, changing the subject. I showed him a picture Mia had sent me of Graziana in a little onesie I’d sent over. It said,I love my aunt.Graziana didn’t have many aunts, so I felt special wanting to spoil her, and Matteo loved it. We sent the boys wooden puzzles that were age appropriate.
Talking about Graziana and the twins seemed to bring the sun out again, but further down the river, Matteo stopped me again.
“What?” I asked, taking another lick of my gelato.
“I’m sorry mamma hurt the way she did, but somehow, it seems like her hurt has turned into a reward for me. Your love. I feel it,la mia stella. The centuries it took to bring us together. The footsteps and the path. It all led me to you.”
I cleared my throat. “Na muri scrivutu ne stiddi. Un amore scritto nelle stelle.Did I pronounce it all okay?” It was hard enough to learn one language, but Matteo’s family members were teaching me Sicilian too. The saying, though, was so profound, sous, that I wished I could tattoo it on my heart. I touched the spot where Matteo had it on his chest.
“My heart understands,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
We both stilled a second and then laughed, leaning into each other. I might have had a little more work to do with foreign languages. But by the time our visit to Paris was nearing the end, I found that I’d picked up on some French. Maybe there was still hope for me after all.
The night before we left for Sicily, I finished doing my makeup and looked myself in the eye through the mirror, repeating some of the words I’d learned along the way. Words I had refused to learn when the language was forced on me.
Back then, it was the only control I had in my life.
“How sad,” I whispered to myself, dropping my lip liner in a bag on the counter.
My husband appeared behind me, setting his arms around my waist. We were a sight that night. Him in a tux and me in a sequined, strapless white dress. He was taking me to Palais Garnier for the big finale of the last leg of our Paris honeymoon. The opera house had already been rented out for our wedding,but tonight, someone important was going to speak to us after the ballet, to make sure all was good with our plans. I got the impression Scarlett Fausti, and her grandmother, Maja, were big figures there, and it was important to keep it that way. It was risky as all get out, but I was determined not to be afraid.
“Sad,” Matteo whispered against my shoulder, his lips pressed to my skin, his eyes up and on me. “There’s nothing fucking sad about you or this dress. You are the most beautiful woman in the worldto me. Always.”
“I know.” I closed my eyes and breathed out. “I was just thinking…comparing who I used to be to the woman I am now.”
“Free,” he said, his warm breath fanning over my bare shoulders. “With me.”
“Yeah,” I breathed out. “Free. With you. Always.”
I turned in his arms, running my hands up and down his tuxedo. I held on to the lapels and looked him in the eye. “This trip…has meant so much to me. I was too young to really have a talk with my mom about it, but I think…I mean, she would have loved you so much. Loved how you love me. So…completely. Like these rings on our fingers. A circle that never ends.”
My words had moved him; I could tell by the look in his eyes. For a man who was ruthless, his romantic side had come as a surprise. But living around Italian men, I noticed that about most of them. They were not afraid of their feelings or expressing how passionate they were about the woman they loved.
This man.Myhusband.
He was one of them, and I hoped men like him always existed.
He spoke his next words in Italian first, then repeated them in English, “It is the honor of my life, my wife.”
Setting me on the counter, he inched the skirt of my dress up until it was bunched at my hips. His hands were steady on mybody as I reached down and rubbed my hand up and down his hard cock. He breathed out, and I breathed in. And as soon as he was free, he slid inside of me, our eyes locked.
He spoke to me in Italian, his words slow and so romantic sounding. I could barely keep my eyes open as he made me feel so good, I started to cry. He was moving slow, but deep, and he kept hitting that spot inside of me that made me float up to the stars like I was made of helium.
As my body bowed to his, I bit his chest, whimpering into his skin. He moved harder, faster, and came with a growl that turned me on again. I was always so sensitive after, and with just a touch, he could bring me back to float with the stars again.
He knew how important this night was to me, though, and instead of kissing me, touching me, turning me on more than I already was, he cleaned us up and helped me off the counter. He smoothed my dress down, then his suit. I checked my makeup, but besides a little powder and lipstick, he’d left me better than he’d found me.
I was glowing.
