Maybe he was past that point.
Sighing, this time longer and harder, I pulled down the vanity mirror and checked my reflection. We were invited to dine with Luca and Maggie Beautiful that evening before our stay in their walled city. I’d done my hair in big waves, pulling it up on the sides, almost giving myself a Bardot look. I dressed in a form-fitting, off the shoulder, dark olive-green maxi dress, and paired it with gold heels.
Thanks to my husband, I was decked out in fine gold jewelry that caught the light and almost blinded me. I lifted my designer sunglasses, fixing any makeup that had smeared, before I applied more dusty rose lipstick. I’d been torn between the color I’d chosen and berry mauve. Maybe later in the season I’d opt for something a little darker. Both colors complimented my hazel eyes and made them pop.
My perfume drifted in the air around me like an autumn melody. It was redolent of sweet, ripened figs, and all I could think was...my husband knew all that worked with my body.
When I closed the mirror, my husband stopped the SUV, and both he and Ermanno were staring at me. Rocco’s mouth wasn’t parted like Ermanno’s was, but it was mighty close.
I grinned a little. Rocco was always hypnotized by my female rituals, as he called them. A time when he said I smelled so divine, if he could not taste me, he would die of hunger.
The thought made me think of Aunt Lola and how she’d said the men of her family weredrammatico, and my grin turned into a smile. My heart broke while I did it, but I would honor her by keeping her memory alive.
Rocco’s eyes softened, and he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Your smile is like honey to my heart. Your laughter like wine to my soul.”
He pulled away, and I was too dazed to move. He dug inside of my purse and grabbed the same lipstick I’d used, then reapplied it to my lips. I blinked at him, realizing he had mauve colored lips. Using my fingers, I wiped them clean and then fixed his hair. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped my fingers.
“Is all love this way?”
Rocco and I both looked at Ermanno.
“If you are lucky,” my husband said, stepping out of the car, fixing his suit.
The men around him hustled to do whatever it was they thought he expected of them. All the lower men, especially, respected my husband while also fearing him. I wasn’t sure if they respected him because they feared him, or if they just respected him because of his history and status in the family. The fear came when they thought of the things he’d done, and what he could do to them.
I hadn’t been around long enough to truly see the differences between the way Luca ran the family and the way my husband would. One thing I did notice. My husband seemed to be more social than his father.
Rocco stopped to speak to some men. While he did, I took a moment to ask Ermanno if he was missing his father. Until Rocco pointed it out, I didn’t realize Giovanni, the soldier who escorted Thandie out of the rented house in the Quarter, and to my birthday bash on the bayou, was Ermanno’s father.
He shrugged. “My father travels quite a bit for his position within the family.”
“Who takes care of you?”
He sat up straighter. “I am a man,SignoraFausti. However, my father hired a woman to cook and keep me fed when my Nonna cannot be around to do it.”
“My Nonna took care of me too.” I smiled. “Nonnas are the best.” I shared with him my history, how my parents had split up.
“Your mamma did not cook for you?”
“No, I lived with my Nonna. Neither parent…wanted me.”
He was truly disturbed by this. He set a hand over his heart without conscious thought that he had. “Why would anyone not want you? You are…you are…” He was motioning to me with his hand, too caught up in his shock and anger to put together his thoughts.
“I’m me,” I said. “And for selfish reasons, both of my parents didn’t have time for me.”
“Your father should be killed and your mamma whooped!”
“The first one has been taken care of,” I said. “My father is gone. And the second…it’s been taken care of, in a way, too.”
“SignoraFausti,” he said, his voice tender, “mi dispiace.”
“It’s okay, Ermanno. I’ve come to terms with it. I was so sorry to hear about your mamma.”
He set his hand over his heart again. “My mamma was a good mamma.”
“I’m so happy to hear it,” I whispered. Then I cleared my throat. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Sì,” he answered without a breath of hesitation.
