“And fucking meaner,” Marciano added, touching the back of his head where his brother had whacked him.
I had a pang of sympathy for Marciano. I knew how this felt—except it was Mariano’s flesh pipe that had gotten me in the head.
Another bubble of laughter escaped my mouth, and I covered it again. I probably looked so devious, an evil mastermind, the way my hand was set and the look on my face. Bwahahaha,I am going to laugh at everyone until my wicked spells have been cast, bwahahaha.
Mariano narrowed his eyes at his brother before he turned back to me. “You’re safe with me.”
His words seemed to sober me up. I dropped my hand and my eyes. “I know,” I whispered, looking for a piece of grass to pick. “I just do not like them. Snakes, I mean.”
He turned my face, met my eyes, then leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Come,” he said in Italian, picking me up, “you’ll sit close to the fire. I’m going to feed you.”
I might not have been good at the fishing, but Mariano was excellent at the catching and cooking. He manned the grill, and every bite was as delicious as the last. I would not go hungry with him around.
However, it seemed he was avoiding bringing me back to nature after the fishing trip. We only had a short amount of time before his family arrived. I felt their arrival was going to change things. I could tell Mariano did as well. Sometimes his sighs would be so heavy, I felt the weight of them in my soul. Still, we did not bring it up. Although my cousin’s wedding was a bright spot, the impending reality was hard to face at times.
So I did not.
I concentrated on the moment—no further.
Since he was so good at feeding me, he would take me into town almost every day to grab a drink from the local coffee place, The Main Bean. I almost screeched when he pulled up and the outside menu flashed their new flavor of the season: caramel apple.
Mariano looked around, as if a predator was upon us.
I smiled at him, squeezing his bicep. I could not get my hand around it.“You can relax, my knight. I am just excited!”
Per my usual, I climbed over him and placed the order. This time I had no changes, and instead of just ordering two, I ordered enough to hand out at the ranch. This drink should be celebrated.
“That’s going to take a while,” the barista said with a Wyoming twang to her voice.
Mariano’s hand was where it usually was, stilled close to myculo. When I turned to face him, our eyes caught, and his breath was coming faster from his parted lips.
“What?” I smiled.
I enjoyed catching him off guard. It transformed his face. As if he was seeing something he never had before. He liked it. Could not get enough of it. Fascinated.
He ran his hand tenderly down my face then squeezed my ass cheek. Just that alone sent the memory of our last, and only, time rushing through my blood. It felt as if my entire body flushed.
“If you only knew.” He took a breath, released it slowly, shook his head. “This. Just being this way with you. Just being with you. It sucker punches me in the heart sometimes. When you climb over me, so eager to place an order for coffee with a ton of fucking preservatives, sugar, and fake flavoring. The way you sing along to every song on the radio, no matter if you know it or not. Country or not. The way you turn to me and sing it tome. How you fucking steal my breath every time you walk into a room.”
“I am new, this is why.” The words came out automatically, without the permission of my mouth.
His face turned to stone. “Fuck new. Fuck middle. Fuck old. It doesn’t matter when. You’re my new, and you’ll be my middle and my old, if I have to give my last breath for it. You’re my life, Annie.” He set me down next to him, placing my hand over his heart. It pounded against his chest, as if it wanted to be set free. “My heart is racing. It always races. And I never fucking knew why. I thought I was restless. It made me feel reckless—a compass without a direction. I found out why the day I walked into the jewelry store and was stopped in my fucking tracks. It was always racing to you,la mia vita. Already the wife of my heart. My soul.
“When I first looked at you, it was a religious experience. A life-altering experience. I was gazing at the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling, the light filtering in, bringing it to life. Bringing you to life, every color imaginable surrounding you, like they all couldn’t bear to be far from you either. Right now, even the space between your heart and mine feels like fathomless, endless, miles. It’s hell. The kind of hell the devil couldn’t even fathom.”
“Ah,” I breathed out, licking my lips. As with our first kiss, what was a mere woman to do with those life-changing words? “Fuck, ah, me,” was all I could whisper, my eyes burning.
A huge grin lit up Mariano’s face as he hit the gas and pulled up to the window. The baristas, who waited for him to arrive every day as if they were all mares waiting to be romanced by the wild stallion in town, were all huddled together, dabbing their eyes on their aprons.
Mariano’s eyes narrowed before they turned to me. I was wiping my eyes.
His eyes turned soft, and he took my hand, kissing it. “It is your right as a woman to cry this way,” he whispered in Italian. “Today will be the first day of this kind of romance.”
This might have been the first day, but it was not the last.
After that it was:
A rodeo in Cheyenne, accompanied by Marciano, Atta, Angelo, Ty, and Emma. It was one of the largest in the country, next to the one in Houston, and they even had live entertainment. New and established artists took the stage. I was so excited, I took my fingers and stuck them in my mouth, sending out a sharp whistle. Atta’s Papà had taught me how to do it.
