“Get me the lion with the…” Insert description here of that particular lion she was referring to.
When she wanted Mariano, who she seemed to love as much as Angelo and Marciano, she would say,get me the lion with the spirit of a wild stallion.
The day she had taught me how to preserve the fruit we had brought her, I had asked her why she had described Mariano in this way.
“Doesn’t it seem to fit?” She quirked an eyebrow up at me. She was one of the most stunning women I had ever seen. She aged so gracefully. Perhaps because she accepted time and the lines they caused. She had said lines meant she had weatheredthe storms of her life. Nature’s way of marking the passage of time.
“Not exactly,” I had said, preparing the cherries.
She had wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “Two separate parts of the human spirit can exist at once, just as two separate colors can, even if they belong to two wildly different spectrums of it.”
“Even predator and prey?”
“Your hunter has learned not to kill one important side to himself.” She looked over the counter. “Bring me more jars. This is a lot of fruit.”
This conversation still lingered in my mind, branching off into different directions.
It was true that the Fausti family embodied the spirit of a lion, years ago making it more than a symbol of who they were. For some of them, it was nothing more than the family name. A man who walked this earth, giving and receiving orders, only feeling inside of the scope of who the family name dictates they are at the table.
I had always applauded Luca’s line. How they all seemed to be different, but their lion hearts rooted them to the family name. I had always compared it toliving to eatandeating to live. Even when I considered Mariano and his moniker, theCasanova Prince, I could understand how easily Mariano could have disappeared in Matteo’s shadow. I had met his older brother before, and Matteo reminded me so much of Luca. He embodied his role in the family. Leader.
However, setting Mariano next to Matteo was setting two similar colors next to each other, but they were still distinguishable. Navy blue next to teal.
Mariano’s parents must have seen to that. Perhaps they did not want Mariano to covet the name “Matteo.” However, just because Mariano was different in his own ways, he still hadFausti blood running through his veins. So did Angelo. The situation made me uneasy. Rattler and his ass-faced brothers were not worth even getting rags ruined by their blood, much less the precious soul.
“Annie,” Mariano called.
Mariano Leone, the spare to the Fausti heir, but the only king of my heart.
My eyes slowly lifted to meet his. I had gotten too comfortable in his arms, my eyes almost closed, and I was melting, though staying put inside of his firm hold. It was a protective hold. His body around mine, a shield.
One of his thick eyebrows quirked up. “King of your heart, ah?”
“Sì,” I breathed out, my nose whistling. I had not even realized I said that aloud. I felt drunk off his…essence. His scent was intoxicating. His heat addicting. “You are.”
He moved the hair from my forehead, and I wrapped my hand around his wrist. “I do not have fever, Casanova.”
“Call me something else.”
“Something that is only mine?”
He nodded.
“It will have to come to me.”
He nodded again.
The way he was looking at me, as if he was already inside of me…thatmade me feel feverish, and I shivered. He wrapped me up even tighter, my head pressed to his chest, the sound of his heartbeats against my ear so soothing.
However, I was hot. Hot enough that it was making me uncomfortable, and my hand seemed to develop a will of its own. I pressed my palm against his chest and moved it up to his throat, exploring his skin.
He was all smooth lines, but with a ruggedness that pulled me in and held me captive. He was visually stunning. A pieceof art. And as an artist myself, I marveled at the hand skilled enough to design such a being.
“Annie,” he almost growled out.
The sound thrilled me, and my eyes shot up to his, determined to meet his intense stare and keep it until we both had to be naked from the extreme heat, the only relief each other.
He hauled me up, sitting me on top of him, and my eyes flew to where Angelo and Atta had been. They were gone.
