“I remember what I wanted to tell you now.”
“That I stole your heart.”
“No.” I smiled. “You’re my favorite person in the entire world. You’re in my bubble with me.”
His eyebrows drew in and I laughed, smoothing them out.
“You are.” I sighed. “My favorite person in the entire world.”
“I’m in the bubble,” he repeated.
“Yes, us, together, for always.” I gazed into his eyes. “Mariano Leone Fausti, you make me feel like…me.”
“You love me,” he said, his voice rough.
“Is that even the right word for it?” I whispered.
He shook his head. “That’s why I haven’t used those words. They feel like a lie. But for the sake of not finding another word yet, I do. I love you so fucking much, Annie, it breaks my heart.”
He lifted me up, bringing my mouth to his, kissing me. When I felt as if I could not breathe, I was about to beg him to bring ushome, keep me up all night until dawn, then we could watch the sun rise from our window. Lock ourselves in the cabin for days, months, years, centuries, wrapped up in each other.
Then a thought hit me.
“Did you eat?” I asked.
The comment took him off guard. He roared with laughter. He sighed. “Youhaven’t eaten, and you’ve had too much to fucking drink. Jack and Coke. Fuck me sideways. My woman likes the burn.”
I held up a finger. “Unless we’re lounging on our porch. Then I enjoy wine.”
“Only red,” he said.
His truth seemed to hit me in that moment. My stomach suddenly revolted from too much whiskey and not enough food. It grumbled, and he heard it over the music.
He lifted my hand and kissed it. “Yeah, I’m starving for food, but the kind of food only your body can provide.” He led me toward the door. “Come, Annie,” he said in Italian. “Time to eat.”
Chapter 28
Sistine
The All Nighter, an all-night diner, was not even a block away from Gold Rush. Mariano shook his head when I suggested walking.
“Not tonight,” he said.
Mostly everyone who was at Atta’s girlie party, as Mariano had called it, decided to come with us. Atta, Angelo, Marciano, and more Fausti men included.
“Yeah!” Marciano punched the air. “I have no idea whose idea this was, but fuck,yeah. I’m going to eat a stack of pancakes that’ll break records. Eggs, steak, hash browns….” He continued to name off breakfast items as he jumped in the front seat of another SUV.
Mariano drove ours. Angelo and Atta sat in the back, all cozied up.
Mariano held my hand as he drove. Atta and I discussed some of the singers at Gold Rush. She showed me a few pictures she took, I showed her the ones I took, and we both promised to share the ones we took of each other with each other, especially the one she took of Mariano and me. We did not have a lot of time to talk, however. The diner was close. It was packed, andthere was barely any parking. The Gold Rush crowd was rushing the place for an after-hours meal.
Everything with the Fausti family seemed to run smoothly. Mariano braked, and not even two minutes later, Remo was there to take the SUV and park it. Marciano was stepping out of his and we all went inside together. After a bit of waiting, we were seated in a booth. I was squished between my husband and his brother, Atta was squished between Angelo and Michele, one of Angelo’s brothers. He was born after Angelo. The Fausti and their hierarchy.
Giacomo, Dante, and Piero, also Angelo’s brothers, were sitting behind us in another booth. By the time our food arrived, it seemed like almost the entire place was filled with Fausti men or Atta’s friends from the party.
All eyes were on Marciano. He was still eating. It became a thing in the diner. Everyone cheering when he took another bite. He ate it up. It was the first time since Gold Rush that I noticed him grin.
Mariano nodded to my plate, a glass of water in one hand, his other arm around my neck. He was sucking on ice, twirling it around his magical tongue. “You’re not far behind him.”
