That was when it hit me.
I’d seen these people before on the television at the hotel in Naples.
Rosaria’s parents.
Rocco greeted them by name, then introduced me to them. The man nodded and the woman stared at me with the fire of judgment in her eyes, totally ignoring him. I could feel Rocco tense, about to react.
I cleared my throat. “You’re welcome to stay,” I said. “We have plenty of food and drink. And Amadeo andLudovico are here, if you’d like to spend time with them.”
“Youare givinguspermission to spend time with our grandchildren?” she snapped at me.
Again, Rocco was about to react, but I held onto his arm.
“No,” I said. “I’m inviting you to stay at our reception and spend time with them,if youwant to.”
Since she couldn’t find any hostility in my voice, she was left with nothing. Nothing but her own feelings, which Rocco and I couldn’t change. Her eyes snapped from mine to Rocco’s. He nodded at her. A second later, her husband set his hand on her back, and they left.
But not before I heard her question how Rocco Fausti could replace their daughter’s rolein his life with “…that?! He is wearing a wedding ring! She has a beast on a leash!”She went on to say that at least their songbird was still married when she left them,and at least the world would say “…he could not possibly find another suitable match for the role of his wife, so this is why he tookheras a bride.”
Rocco turned to me, and I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, and meant it. “What’s a wedding without some drama?”
I thought I heard him grumble,an eternal fucking bachelor party, but I wasn’t too sure. I was too concentrated on getting him to shake off the situation.
Rosaria’s parents weren’t her and she wasn’t them, though I could clearly tell they were her parents, and not just by looks. But if their opinion of his marriage to me reflected how their daughter would feel about herrole,not her love, being replaced, and it would pull him in the opposite direction again…
Walking backward, away from him, I started to sway my hips to the fast beat of the music.
Reach out and touch me…the singer whispered in a seductive, raspy voice, and I made a motion with my fingers, an invitation…come and get me, you sexy beast.(My word choice could be lame when I was drunk on life, okay? I didn’t work nonstop.)
Rocco stalked toward me, and before I made it fully into the center of the dance floor, he grabbed me around the waist, growling in my ear as I laughed, then held me while I started to dance to the song.
The night seemed to fly after that, each moment punctuated by different memories, like when all the women pulled Romeo to the center of the dance floor and sang, “You’re So Vain,” to him. He ate it up, fixing his hair and bowing. Or when Luca serenaded the crowd with a heartfelt ballad in Italian, and every woman had to touch up her mascara after. Or as the men watched all the women dance while they sipped whiskey and smoked cigars. Or when Rocco met me on the dance floor, and we swayed to the music even though it was fast paced. When all the men came together to catch the garter that Rocco pulled off my leg withhis teeth. And when the women came together to catch my bouquet of peonies.
The darkness had thinned, and before the sun could make an appearance, we left in a cloud of smoke as sparklers lit our path and fireworks exploded over our heads. Women grabbed me from all sides to hug and kiss me, wishing us well.
A carriage pulled by dark horses with powerful builds waited for us as we made our escape. One of the two horses in the front whinnied, his eyes lighting up with the colors of the sky. The one next to him nudged him with her snout, shaking her head, her beautiful mane of black silk reflecting the sparking lights around us. She stomped her foot once or twice. She was ready to roll.
The driver went to step down when he noticed us, but Rocco held his hand up, signaling to the man he didn’t have to move, he had this. Rocco took my hand and helped me up the step, making sure I was all tucked in with my gown as he took his spot next to me.
We both seemed to take a breath at the same time, then turn toward each other. The smile on my face was in great contrast to the serious set of his. He lifted his left hand, with a new band of white gold as bright as light in the darkness over his ring finger, and as softly as the breeze caressing my face, he ran his fingertips down my skin. My eyes instinctively closed. The feel of it was tender, but the effect of it was as powerful as lightning against the sky.
A tremble tore through me before I whispered as he caressed my lips, “My husband.”
“Ah,” he breathed, his finger, smelling of whiskey and tobacco, stilling close to the part in my mouth. “You are ready for me,my wife.”
Two simple words that sent my heart into a free fall.
My wife.
The possessiveness in his tone sent a thrill through my blood. The meaning behind the two words was affecting me just as much as it was affectinghim.
“Mrs. Fausti.” The crushed velvet of his tone rubbed against my overly sensitive flesh—it felt like virgin skin.
I shivered.
I wouldn’t have cared if his last name had been a common one with common ties. It was his, and it was connected to me. I’d wear it proudly because he’d given it to me. I knew it wasn’t traditional for the women of Italy to take their husband’s last names, but in America, it was customary, and I felt it was one of the most romantic traditions we had.
Aria Amora Bella Fausti.
