Then there was Iggy. After the battle in Tuscany, my grandfather and Lev came to an agreement. Since Iggy had proved himself, somewhat, he could keep breathing. It wouldn’t come down to a war between Lev’s people and ours. However, Iggy owed me a toe. Symbolic. He had stepped over a boundary. I fucking hated that it was only a toe. The situation had evolved into a Brando Fausti vs. Lev one. Me versus Iggy.
My wife smiled and tipped her hat to me, then gave Seraphinaa nudge. The two of them took off, sand flying from the alabaster horses’ hooves. My wife’s hair flew in the wind, and every muscle in her body worked to fly.
Guerriero rose on his haunches, his front legs almost whirling as he kicked out, and then, with a snort, he took off after her. He could easily catch up, but it seemed like he always allowed her to have this short freedom before he cozied up next to her, nuzzling her.
Even a cold-hearted bastard like him had fallen.
I had fallen.
Hard.
Irrevocably.
For the woman ahead of me, laughing into the wind, the sound carrying back to me. I could scent her in the air, juicy apple, floral pear, sweet rose, tangy citrus, along with leather and metal, and I couldn’t wait to get her back to the barn, wherethe sign was fixed and hanging straight, and make love to her in the hay until night came. I’d pick her up, carry her to our room, and spend the entire night buried inside of mine.
The next morning…who the fuck knew where life would take us.
To Wyoming, where our cabin was almost finished? It just needed a few decorative touches, and Sistine said those could come in time. We’d spent a portion of the summer there, getting it ready for winter. We demanded to watch all the seasons from our window. We would always look out at a world that was ours. A world within another world when we needed to disappear into each other.
Or to Fiji? She had collected more decorative items to make the place ours. We’d gone back, and she got to do all the things her heart had desired the first time. Her blood pumping as hard as mine. Hers was from doing something wild enough to get her heart racing.
She was my wild.
It never seemed to fail.
She sent my heart racing in a circle as round as my wedding band.
As eternal.
She always would.
Or to our home in Maremma? We raced our horses there and lived in harmony with each other, knowing our lives had been intertwined since before birth. The day at the jewelry store, we had crashed, and our pieces were finally reunited.
Or to an old truck or a vintage car in Natchitoches? My wife would sit in the shotgun seat, sipping on a cold beer while she handed me tools. The cabins my grandfather had willed to each grandchild were almost done getting a makeover. We’d start decorating ours as soon as we were back.
Or to anywhere in the fucking world. If we were together, we were home.
All of these places and memories we were adding to our quilt.
My wife slowed her horse some, and she and her mare allowed us to pass, both breathing heavy as they watched us race. My wife had once told me it was her favorite time of the day. To watch one of the endangered species of the Fausti family, the last of the romantic and ruthless knights left in the world, be truly wild. She said she could barely breathe when she noticed how, by thighs alone, I could control the wild beast beneath me, always ready to take a fucking chunk out of me.
A fire would light her hazel eyes, my kaleidoscope of colors, from behind, and she would jump on me, breathing against my ear, “It’s time for me to ridemycowboy.”
I shivered at the thought. At how her mouth couldn’t get enough. She would gasp, like my air was hers and hers was mine, and to breathe, we needed to be connected. Her nails would rake me from shoulder to lower back, and the next day, I’d check in the mirror to make sure I had marks.
Hers.
She would say we marked each other as she checked her body for my brands.
They covered her.
She was mine.
As mine as the half-lion/half-lioness on my chest. As mine as the half-stallion/half-mare on my back. Her name was above both.Sistine Evitaabove the lioness.Annieabove the mare.
The world would always know who she was to me.
My wife.
