His eyes shimmered green and gold in the waning light,buried treasure underneath the surface of water, and he ran his hand down my face. I leaned into his palm as he said, “Yes, my heart, you have my word,” in Italian. “I will never speak those words to you, in that order, again.” He repeated his family’s motto to seal the vow.
“Bene,” I said, kissing his fingers, but what I didn’t say was that my tears were his—the tears he couldn’t cry for all that had deeply wounded him.
Chapter 31
We Must First Experience hell To Fully Appreciate the Relief of Heaven
My wife was insatiable. Her verve and hunger for life and all it entailed were infectious.
Especially to the life in my veins.
She turned me upside down and spun me around. I did not recognize my life any longer.
I had never wished my life away, yet I found myself in an almost constant state of yearning. I craved to see her in new seasons, in new outfits, her hair done the same or differently, wondering what new magic she would spin from her mouth or her fingertips, whether her digits played across my skin or flew across a keyboard.
In the same breath, I held onto the moments for what they were, fleeting, as if I could somehow stop them with the tight grip of my fist—a fist that had killed men, fatally crushing their windpipes.
Yet, I was coming to understand this was hermagia: her love and the way it had the power to stir my life around. I did not feel lost if she was next to me.
I studied my wife and hermagiaas if she were the test of my life, and I would take my last breath passing the test of our time.In the bedroom, the magic was created from the two of us, and out in the wild, I still could not take my eyes away from her.
From the way she sang, sometimes to herself and sometimes so the entire island could hear, to the adventurous spirit she had when it came to food. The night theasino(donkey) doctor had sat at her table, and I stepped up behind her, watching as theasinoandratti ragazzi(boy rats) had fled, she had been eating a squid-ink pasta dish. If the menu offered foods that were not always palatable to most of the public, she dared to eat them.
She tried fried sheep brains at thetrattoriaon the water during our lunch date.Date.The idea of it was fucking thrilling. I’d never dated, and this wild creature would be my lifelong date.
She shrugged, not even reaching for herbirraafter trying it. “I don’t think it’s all that bad, but—” she held a finger up, as if she was making a point “—I don’t like the idea of eating anything’s brains. I feel bad about that. Now. Fisheyes?” She shrugged. “I’d try those and not feel bad at all.”
Captivated by her mind, I sat back, studying her. “Tell me more.”
“Okay,” she said. “Not that fish aren’t living things, but…I couldn’t get attached to one like I could a cat, or dog, or sheep—warm-blooded creatures with legs, you know what I mean?”
I did not react. I had never thought in those terms before. If it was meant to eat, I would eat it, and not consider why I would not.
She sighed. “Plenty of times over the years, I considered becoming a vegetarian.” She reached for herbirra, leaving me hanging on a cliff with a direct drop to boredom by not continuing her story.
My life—the life of Fausti royalty—paled in comparison to my wife. Her colors were vivid and bold, but not harsh, and without lines. Her life was abstract. Mine was a portrait. I wanted deep inside of her life’s picture. I did not want even what we shared to be painted inside of lines. When the world looked at our art, our secret would be safe—let them guess and speculate. It did mybrother and the sister of my heart no good when the world looked upon them and attempted to steal what not everyone could fully understand or have.
“More,” I said.
She leaned over and fed me a red prawn (gamberetto), and I fed her one before she continued. “Well…I’d walk into a restaurant and smell a hamburger and decide to try another day.”
As if she had reached across the table and run her fingertips wildly over my ribs, like an out-of-control hand-sized spider, I exploded with laughter. She had been so innocent when she had made that statement. So fucking cute.
She elbowed me. “Don’t make me feel even worse by laughing, Rocco!” She couldn’t help the grin on her face, and neither could I help the laughter tearing out of my chest. I pulled her close, kissing her all over her face, my heart not able to decide on one term of endearment to call her.
After lunch, one of the boats that belonged to thetrattoriatook us out to one of the island’s yachts for a sunset cruise, but we did not make it out of the suite to watch as the sun set. She wore a dress that moved me.
We did not make it off the yacht before I had to have her again—she wore nothing this time.
My wife was my own fatal fantasy.
Before her, I would fuck whenever the mood struck. I was like an animal, searching for my one true mate, never truly finding the love that could satisfy me and continue to keep me hungry. I was not accustomed to feeling anything beyond the surface. Pure physical need.
With my Amora, she pulled emotions from the deepest, darkest part of me, and it was not the act that felt as if it would almost kill me, but the emotional drain. It was even stronger than when I emptied myself inside of her—feeling as if my heart would stop, my lungs would collapse, my muscles would seize, and all that would be left of me would be what was inside of her to hold and protect.
My Amora kept the lion in my heart blood thirsty and roaring to protect her, while also keeping the passionate blood of the man pumping through my veins. Balancing the two sides was as easy as killing and lighting candles for a romantic tryst.
I had never felt as powerful physically, and much deeper, in my chest, even in the prime of my life. That time of my life paled in comparison to how I felt in this season, even if I had never been as vulnerable. My Amora was the first soul I had ever shared with what had happened in Trapani. I had not been sure how she was going to react to my confession. I should have known. She took the memory and spun it into something else entirely—a situation that meant she was made for me, and I was made for her.
