In this, we wereentangled.
The song ended, and fresh air seemed to make it to my strangled mind. I blinked at her, then nodded to her black heels. She slipped them on, and after, I took her by the arm and moved toward the bedroom door. She stumbled a bit, being dramatic, as if I were yanking her, and said, “The daughter of a whore will not melt if we are late.”
“Chloe,” I said.
She rolled her eyes and said in a childish voice, “Chloe.” She snatched my hand and dug her claws into my skin.
Our guests lingered at the bottom of the steps, their eyes lifting as we made our way down. I did not want to be on the step with Rosaria, as if we were making a united front. I took the step below her. I did not move my hand, but kept it firmly where she had it, as we descended. She kept her face up, nose pointed, as if she were a queen and the peasants were to sigh at first sight of her. She soaked up the attention from our guests as if she were a dried sponge.
My heart was numb. My skin was numb.
With our feet on the marble floor, we separated. She began to kiss cheeks. I took a napkin from a passing server to wipe the blood from my hand. A few of her marks had broken skin, and I did not want blood on my guests’ hands and clothes from me. Once the moon-shaped wounds clotted, I greeted our guests as well.
Massimo held close to his heart as he navigated the crowd. I would have preferred Rosaria and Chloe’s first meeting to be private, our family only, but Rosaria needed more fanfare—she needed to be the center of attention.
Rosaria intentionally placed herself next to me as Massimo presented his bride. She was a fair woman, as fair as the sky on a bright spring day, with wispy blonde hair, even her eyebrows and eyelashes; vivid blue eyes; and pale skin. I did not smell perfume on her but an earthly scent lingering on her hands from paint. Her dress was a shade dimmer than her eyes.
Before I could take her hand, tell her what a pleasure it was to have her inside of my home, her arm flew out, offering her hand.
“Oh, shoot!” She looked at Massimo. “I was supposed to wait,” she whispered.
I took her hand and brought it to my mouth, the smell intensifying to the point I could smell chemicals mixed in with the paint. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Chloe.”
She giggled. “It’s so nice to see you again, Mr. Fausti!”
Rosaria stiffened at her use of Mr. instead ofSignore. A look passed between Rosaria and Massimo. It was lethal enough that Massimo’s hold on Chloe’s lower back intensified. Chloe was not expecting it. She took a step forward, not on purpose, but my son’s touch was insistent and ever present. However, Rosaria Caffi was his mamma, and respect had been instilled in him.
Massimo took his mamma’s hand, bringing it to his mouth. “Mamma,” he said reverently. He stood, presenting Chloe to her. I could feel his hesitation. He felt as if he was presenting a lamb to a rabid hunter. “Chloe De Bourbon.”
“Chloe De Bourbon,” Rosaria repeated, as if she were testing the sound of it, but finding it lacking, was about to spit it out.
Chloe extended her hand much too quickly to Rosaria. Rosaria’s eyes dropped slowly to the offering. Her nose wrinkled. “You smell like paint, girl. It is in your hair.”
“Oh.” Chloe touched the strands, not sure where to look. “I didn’t realize. Sometimes not even shampoo gets it out.”
My son looked over her hair, as if he had done it before, but could not find any specks. Perhaps he had never truly noticed. To him, her paint reflected the colors of her heart and were a part of her. To him, it was as if Rosaria was pointing out Chloe had fingers.
“I should go—” Chloe’s eyes were frantic, looking for an out. Her cheeks were a ruthless red from embarrassment. “Go clean up.”
“This way,” Massimo said, pointing her in the direction of one of the bathrooms.
“This is such a fancy party,” I heard Chloe say as she was led away. “And I made a fool?—”
Massimo took her hand and kissed it. “You are the most stunning woman in this roomto me.”
A server stood next to me, holding a private tray of drinks. I took one, staring at the line my son and his heart had made through the crowd. Rosaria’s eyes were on me.
“Thatis what you approved for your first-born son, Rocco Fausti,” she hissed at me. “That—” she pointed a hand in the direction my eyes were locked on “—plain daughter of a whore! For a king!Cha!She cannot even speak properly. Or clean herself properly. She wears rags to a ball in her honor. She is not fit for any of your sons. Any of them! She is not even fit for a street artist in Paris. She is subpar on all levels. And this is who the future king of the Faustifamigliawill marry?” She made a disbelieving noise. “Your father is allowing this as well! That woman,Maggie Beautiful,” she childishly mimicked her moniker, “has ruined his taste. She is what your uncles have said her to be. Astrega! I cannot understand all of this otherwise.”
“You should talk with my father about this,” I said as I moved away from her and began conversations with more guests.
My father and Margherita were on the other side of the affair. Guests had lined up to greet him. Dario and Romeo, along with their wives, kept close to my father and his wife. Brando and Scarlett were unable to attend. Matteo was fighting a war to claim his heart, the woman the Nemours had made everyone in the underground scene believe was a real star. My brother did not want to be far from his son.
Rosaria did not approach my father about her issues with his wife. Or his approval of my son marrying Chloe. After her first greeting of my family, she rushed to hers, putting a hand on her sister’s arm and whispering as if they were conspiring. Abree had never gotten over Dario not chasing her until she submitted, slipping a larger diamond on her left hand. The two sisters had always fed each other when one was lacking. Essentially, they were thesame in all things, except for the differences in their physical appearances, as slight as they were.
My eyes were on them. I did not even move my focus when Mac came to stand next to me, his wife, Mari, next to him.
“This is such a beautiful party, Rocco,” Mari said, smiling at me. “I’m sure Massimo and Chloe will appreciate it.”
