“You are a trip, Annie. The best fucking trip of my life, for my entire life, and even after that. We’ll be relaxing together—the best sleep of our lives, tangled in each other.” He turned me forward, lifting my hair, and something cool touched my neck.
My hands went instinctually to it and found another necklace, longer than the Annie pendant. I lifted the pendant closer, attempting to make out the design in the glow of firelight. It was a square block with a water design, a turtle in the center, but the coolest part—melted emeralds and sapphires seemed to pour out of the square like water.
“This is…” I turned around to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love it,Marito mio.Grazie mille.”
He kissed me, told me one of my great-uncles designed and created it for me at his order. He took my hand and led me toward the music.
I did not waste time. I started dancing as soon as we were under the shelter of the pavilion, as Mariano called it. A live band—a super country star!—was giving a private performance to a group of people who were invited to the island.
Mariano said these concerts happened a few times a year. It was never announced ahead of time who would be performing, but it seemed to be my lucky day: it was the genre of music I enjoyed most. I wondered if Atta would ever be invited.
As I danced, my husband twirling me around and bringing me in, a rush of excitement raced up my chest at the thought of my cousin performing for the world, a reaction from the crowdsfeeding her love of singing. She would love this type of crowd. So warm and welcoming, singing every lyric back to her, losing themselves in the moment.
The musician even asked if anyone wanted to sing with him, and no one raised their hand to offer, so I whistled with my two fingers and pointed to my husband.
“My husband can sing better than you!” I hollered.
Mariano gave me a look, as if to say…you’re not drunk, but you fucking seem like it.
I laughed even harder, danced even harder, when Mariano sang “Can’t You See” followed by “Take It Easy” with the artist.
The entire night made me high, as if I were floating in the water instead of my feet being stuck in sand. As the night progressed, I kicked my sandal thongs to the side and allowed the night to move me even more freely. Mariano had truly taught me what it meant to flow with him instead of fight. To hold onto him and him only when the world attempted to pry us apart.
I truly understood what he meant when he had warned me about forces from the outside attempting to steal what we shared. The world always wanted what it, perhaps, could not understand. It was attracted to it. Wanted to dig in deep and find out the mechanics of it. Dissect it for its own nefarious reasons. Science had no place in something as mysterious as love.
“Love looks good on you, Fausti,” I whispered as we swayed to a slow song.
“Get your own line, lil’ outlaw.” He grinned at me. “Stop stealing mine.”
“Ah, you mean, like you stole my heart?” I pretended to muse.
“Fucking punny,” he said.
“Yes!” I laughed.
He kissed me, and there was no pretending. I faded into him, and although the night was almost a soft blur, even that fadedwhen he possessed my heart and soul in that way. When we separated, our eyes kept the connection, and we left. I could not stop touching him as he navigated the choppy water back to our shore.
He lifted me out of the boat, but he did not put me down. His eyes studied the sand.
“Are you looking for a fiddler to challenge?” I joked. “You do not have to worry about your…claw. It has won.” I laughed, and he promptly set me back in the boat. “Where are we going?” I asked as he sped away from our private area of the beach.
“Back to the other island.”
“For what?” I asked in Italian.
“I forgot your handkerchief at the table.”
“It is not that important.”
“It is to me.”
“Okayyy.” I drew the word out.
He said nothing, but I could tell his demeanor had changed. He was no longer in the tide with me but fighting against it. I took a cleansing breath, sobering some. When we arrived at the other private island, the band had left and music drifted from the speakers; some of the guests were still dancing. The torches from the tiki lights stretched along the sand. The water was a dark void that did not seem as friendly when I could not see it.
Nino, Dr. Musa, Oscar, and a few other men arrived a few minutes later.
Mariano stood from his seat and kissed my head. “Bathroom,” he said, setting a glass of pink lemonade in front of me.
