My mind formed a scenario where his hands were no longer here to touch me, to protect me, or…what if someday he decidedhe had found all my routes and grew bored with them? The same old roads leading to the same old home?
“Will it be this way for us forever?” I whispered, and to my surprise, a tear fell from my eye, running over my nose. Before it could reach the pillow, he leaned forward and kissed it away.
“We won’t be making a habit of collecting those,” he said, taking my left hand in his left, our bands clanking.
Atta had taken me to a man in town who allowed me to use his shop for a sum and whatever the cost was for the white gold he had in stock. I had created Mariano’s band myself.
It wasn’t gaudy or showy, more…simple. Which took me by surprise when I was deciding on the design. In many ways, what he was passionate about, being a buttero, was not the most glamourous life, but he was a Fausti, and one of the most gorgeous in my eyes. Nothing, not even jewelry, could stand up to his looks or his persona. This was why I went with simple, but as some women claim when they cook, all my love went into the creating of it. I hope he felt it against his skin every second of every day. It was my own form of magic weaved into the band. I had never done that before him. Offer such a vital part of myself to my art.
“Yeah, without a fucking doubt, it will be.” He became quiet, his breath coming a little faster, but his eyes were steady on mine. “My parents. My old man grows more in love with mamma as the years go on. I’ve watched it. Seen it with my own eyes. How he watches her. How he keeps falling for her.” He set his right hand over his heart.
“That’s what he does, with his hand, when he falls harder. He keeps it there. He keeps her there. He refuses to allow anyone close to what they share. He’d protect it with his last breath. She would too. She has, as ferociously as he has. Even though he refuses to hear it, to acknowledge it, and I understand it morethan I ever fucking did, him refusing to draw the thought closer, she would die for him too. One cannot exist without the other.”
“Wherever you go, I go,” I breathed out.
He gave one hard nod. “Wherever you go, I go. My heart, my entire body, is not programmed to stray when we’re all in agreement. You’re the only way my heart knows. The only fucking way. Where you go, I go.” He paused. “I’ve never repeated myself for anyone before. Only you.”
“Wherever we go, we go together,” I repeated one of his vows from our ceremony.
“We go together,” he repeated, bringing our left hands to his mouth, my side against his lips. “Tell me why you love this cabin so much.”
I shrugged. “I do not have the exact words for it. The feeling exists too deep. It just…feels like…home. Perhaps, ah…I love what happens during each season from the windows. Time stops here, yet it still revolves around us. The cold, hard winters, when the bison are covered in ice, but they still find it in themselves to be frisky. The wildflowers running rampant during spring, carpeting the earth, reminding us that winter is over, and life has just begun. The heat of the summers when the creeks are cold, and the temperature is hot. I loved fall because of the change of leaves, the bonfires crackling in the air, adding to the smoky tinge. Now, I love fall because of us. Because ofourfall. Because it is when my life was connected to yours in a way that cannot be undone, Mariano Leone Fausti.”
“You bled for me here.”
I nodded.
“You promised your life to me here.”
I nodded.
“This is our home.”
I nodded but tilted my head.
He cleared his throat. “This is your safe space, therefore it’s mine too. Wherever your heart calls home, mine does too. This is ours, Annie. Hannah sold it to us.”
My eyes searched his. “This is why you purchased the mattress.” This was all I could think to say in the moment.
He laughed, and it was warm and raspy. He kissed my knuckles. “Yeah, Annie, this is why I bought the mattress.”
I was so deep in thought, attempting to process what he had just said to me, I did not realize he was about to walk away until he was about to stand. I popped up, just short of grabbing one of his ass cheeks.
My breath caught.
He was extremely…masculine. A physical representation of the word “virile.”
Even from the back he was visually stunning. His shoulders were wide, and they tapered into a thin waist. His back was cut and full of muscles. His ass was round and firm. His legs long and muscular, as well, but again, not overdone.
Tutto naturale.
He was the kind of man who would inspire a woman to take up sculpting.
I am this woman.
“Ah,” I breathed out, then shook my head, attempting to bring sense back to my brain. “Where are you going?”
“Not far, Annie. Just to the kitchen.”
