Mia grinned. “I’m sure you’ll rectify that situation soon—the measly suitcase.” She sighed. “He’s not good, Mariano. Quite frankly, he’s going insane.”
She stopped, as did I, right before we made it to the door. “Different circumstances, but…he looks a lot like you. Are you doing okay, all things considered? What’s going to happen after this? Will Signor Dandolo take Sistine back to Venice until the day fate connects you two, formally?” She smiled, almost apologetic. “I’m not sure how else to describe it. Is there an official term?”
I let go of the suitcase handle and took her by the arm. “You felt something.” My eyes searched hers, my heart racing, my muscles tightening.
She shook her head. “I haven’t, Mari. I swear it. Not about Sistine,” she said, and I refused to ask her about Stella.
One, it seemed too personal, andtwo, I didn’t want to know if something bad was going to happen to her—also my brother. My brother loved Stella like I loved—for lack of a better word—my wife. We all might have our own shit going on, since we were Fausti sons, but our parents had raised us to be close, especially out of Italy. A part of me would die if a part of my brother did. The same went for any of my siblings.
“The situation with Sistine?” my sister reminded me, changing the subject.
I sighed. “I’m taking one of the groom’s places.” I opened the door for her. “My wife will stay in our room.”
My sister grinned. “Good.”
“Goo—” I started to say, but my sister was already hightailing it inside, going for the stove before I could finish my thought. Fucking “good”? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? I sighed again and looked at Graziana. “You haveZioMariano’s back.”
I expected her to kiss my forehead, then set hers against mine. She did that sometimes when she thought someone was sad. Instead, my niece gave me a wide grin, then started cracking up. I shook my head. That reaction about summed up my fucking situation.
The kitchen was filled, and it became even more crowded when Marciano and Maestro turned up. Oscar and Nino too.
Mamma was at the stove with Sistine. They were cooking steaks. Sistine wiped her hands on her apron, then turned to grab a plate—she had a thick, juicy steak hanging from a fork, the juices dripping on the floor. She did a double take at me holding my niece, then froze.
The steak fell.
“Ah!” she said, going for it. “I dropped it!” She sounded truly horrified.
I gave Graziana a kiss on the cheek, then handed her to my sister. Graziana was mad. She started to cry for me. Sistine looked at her, then looked at me as I lowered to the ground, stopping her from picking up the steak.
“I did not mean it,” she whispered.
“Annie,” I said.
She stilled, her eyes coming back to mine.
I lost my fucking breath.
The colors.
All my colors.
They sucked me into the kaleidoscope of her hazel eyes, and I got lost in my heaven.
“This is an Italian farm,” I said, breathless. “Nothing goes to waste. Not even dropped meat.” I whistled as I picked up the meat with one hand and helped my wife up with the other.
Apollo and Zeus came rushing into the kitchen. And after I tore the steak down the middle, I flung a piece to each of them.
Sistine nodded, turning away from me, washing her hands. She went to apologize to my mamma, but Mamma shook her head, laughing. “Take it from me,” she said, glancing at my old man. “I’ve dropped plenty over the years.”
Sistine seemed to relax, and after Mamma gave her more to do, she seemed more content. But that shy shit, the way she was being with me, continued long after everyone had left our kitchen.
Dandolo was our chaperone, but he was constantly on the hunt for Dr. Musa.If he wasn’t asking for her, he was looking for her. My wife rarely let him out of her sight. She demanded that he be around every second.
“Rules, Signor Dandolo,” she constantly reminded him.
She constantly reminded me that I had a working farm, and after her first tour of it, she was on every aspect of managing it. She even offered my “musical services” to Dandolo. I was to teach him how to play the guitar and sing a true country song. He was fascinated by this. Thought it was romantic.
I was wondering if the man had ever left Venice. Or if he was barking up the wrong fucking trashcan with Nino. Nino was quiet about the attention Dandolo was lavishing on his wife, but it was only a matter of time before Nino had enough. I warned Sistine not to encourage it.
